But as I look out over the Academy, a faint, lingering unease settles in my chest. Not fear. Just the profound, heavy reality of what comes next.
The war is over. But the world is changed.
I look down at my hands. The bandages are thick, the nerve damage from the Mariana Trench frostbite a permanent reminder of the physical toll of the war. My magical core is burned out. I am entirely mortal.
I look at Kade. His left arm is gone, a permanent sacrifice to the Architects. His chest is heavily scarred. He is entirely mortal.
We are broken. We are scarred. We are fragile.
But we are here.
You’re thinking too loud, Kade projects, a faint, wry amusement coloring his mental tone. He shifts his grip, his right hand moving to gently trace the line of my jaw. What’s on your mind, Luna?
Us, I
