The Beginning After The End novel Chapter 396

Chapter 396

Chapter 394: What Makes Home

ARTHUR LEYWIN

I was floating in a familiar hazy amethyst sea of emptiness.

The nothing-space stretched away into infinity in every direction. The absence of anything real and tangible was simultaneously a source of comfort and anxiety. Floating within it, I felt like a child huddled within my blankets, afraid of a monster under my bed I was almost certain wasn’t real—but not certain enough to let the fear fade.

Not that I’d ever had a childhood like that, but here, in the aether realm, it was easier to imagine all the different lives I might have had.

For the first time since I’d been just a small child on Earth, I imagined a life in which I’d known my real parents, ones who had raised me with love. What might I have been, then, if I hadn’t grown up as an orphan with that desperate need for attachment and love, that heart-wrenching desire to prove my worth so that someone would care for me?

I saw a life in which I’d never met Nico or Cecilia, or Headmaster Wilbek or Lady Vera. I would have learned a trade, ran a successful business, started a family of my own, and eventually died having been happy in my one peaceful, unimportant life.

“No,” a soft voice said, a physical thing that was more energy than noise.

I rotated around in the void. In the distance, a star burned bright white against the dark purple.

“Even if you lived a thousand lives, not one of them would be ‘unimportant.’”

My chest constricted, and I willed myself closer to the source of that shining light. It radiated a silvery warmth that made me feel confident and afraid and protective and loved all at once, and these feelings only grew more potent and complex as I zoomed closer.

The star grew and solidified, becoming a silhouette, which in turn manifested the refined details of a young girl with hair and eyes identical in color to mine.

I stopped just before her, greedily drinking in the sight of her, whole and unblemished. Reaching out tentatively, I poked the tip of one horn, and she stifled a delighted laugh.

“Sylvie...”

My bond smiled, and the sight of it filled me with tingling warmth.

There was so much I wanted to tell her: how sorry and grateful I was, how much I regretted everything that had happened, how much I missed her...

But I could feel our minds connecting, and I could sense in her the understanding of everything I was thinking.

“It’s still nice to hear those things said out loud sometimes, though,” she said, her head tilting slightly to the side as she examined me. “Don’t forget that.”

“I’m dreaming, aren’t I?”

“Yes.”

“Still, it’s...good to see you, Sylv.” I rubbed the back of my neck, a movement my old companion watched with clear amusement. “I’m sorry it’s taking me so long to bring you back.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ve got all the time in the world.” Her smile sharpened into a smirk, like she’d just said something she found very humorous.

“I will rescue you, Sylv.”

“I know. For now, though...” She reached out and poked me in the chest with one finger. As she did, a dull murmur of distant voices began to intrude on the dream. “It’s time to wake up, Arthur.”

My eyes blinked open. I was lying on a hard bed in a small chamber and staring up at the low, gray stone ceiling.

“Ouch! Damned, this thing is sharp,” the grumbling voice of Gideon exclaimed.

I turned my head slightly, revealing the old inventor with his back to me. Leaning against the far wall, Emily was watching him with the unique blend of amusement, fondness, and exasperation reserved for the old inventor. She noticed the small movement and met my eye, her expression dissolving into a look of pure relief.

“Aren’t you supposed to be some kind of genius?” I asked, getting a laugh out of Emily.

Gideon spun around and gave me an affronted look, the effect of which was somewhat dampened by the fact that he was sucking on his index finger like a wounded child. Removing the spit-shined digit, he glared at the dot of blood that immediately welled up, then at me instead.

“About time you’re awake. It’s been a day and a half, boy. Aren’t you supposed to be some kind of unkillable uber hero.” He scoffed. “Our last conversation was very rudely interrupted by a bunch of Alacryans dead set on murdering us all, if you remember.”

I pushed myself up onto my elbows and maneuvered so I could sit up with my back against the wall.

The first thing I noticed was Valeska’s horn resting on a stand next to the bed.

The second thing was that everything hurt.

Looking down at my body, I realized I was covered with bandages from head to toe. The stump of my arm had regrown to the wrist, but my hand hadn’t fully formed yet. Worried, I checked my core, but it didn’t seem damaged, just low on aether. Being unconscious for such an extended period had no doubt hampered my ability to collect and purify aether effectively. Considering that, I had actually healed a lot quicker than I should have.

Something else was strange, too—an empty feeling, like something was missing.

“Regis?” I asked, worry quickening my heart rate.

He had barely been holding on when I’d woken up on the ground in the tunnel to the portal chamber, and I’d had no time to check on him beyond acknowledging that he wasn’t dead yet. I’d barely had the wherewithal to conjure my armor and build up enough aetheric reserve for a single God Step, but that alone had pushed me past the breaking point. If the Scythes hadn’t fallen for my bluff...

A small ball of purple flames and angst leaped up onto the bed, glaring at me tiredly. “What? I was napping. And having this really nice dream about—”

I reached down and tousled Regis’s puppy-form head with my good hand. “I thought you were done for.”

Regis huffed as he plopped down and rested his chin on his overly large paws. “I could say the same for you. Really went full nova back there. You were so dry on aether I haven’t been able to incorporealize myself into your core because I was soaking up too much, and I was worried you’d shrivel up like some mana-starved muck larva.”

“Well, thanks for not letting me die,” I said, bemused.

“Same though,” Regis replied before closing his eyes and immediately falling asleep again.

“You two are so cute,” Emily said, melting into a doe-eyed puddle as she stared at Regis. “I have to say, I like him a lot better this way.” She eyed Gideon carefully. “Arthur, do you think there is some way we can—”

“I am not your pet, girl!” Gideon snapped, crossing his arms and generally looking very huffy. “And anyway, all these tedious feelings are starting to give me a rash. Arthur, we need to finish our conversation so I can get back to work.”

I looked at him for a long moment as I searched my memory for some hint of our last discussion, but nothing immediately came to mind. “I’m sorry, it’s been a busy couple of days...”

“The fire salts!” he exclaimed, waving his hands. “The cannons, the...the...all of it!”

The moments before the Wraiths’ attack solidified in my mind, and the idea I’d had rushed back in, almost fully formed. “Right. Your weapons. Actually, I did have a thought.”

Gideon’s eyes lit up, and he flapped a hand at Emily. “Girl, write this down.”

Her eyebrows rose indignantly, but she pulled a scroll, pen, and ink out of a shoulder bag and made busy getting ready, shooting annoyed glares at Gideon’s back every few seconds.

“So, here’s the thing,” I began, knowing I was about to crush the old inventor. “No cannons.”

His face fell, vacillating between confusion and disappointment. “No...cannons?”

I shook my head and gave him an apologetic smile. “But, we do need to fortify our non-mage soldier’s fighting capabilities, and the technology that you’ve been working on is the foundation for how we’re going to do that.”

Although hesitant at first, as I explained my proposal in full, Gideon’s frustration transformed into studious curiosity, and then blossomed into outright excitement. Meanwhile, Emily scribbled frantically to capture everything we were discussing, only occasionally throwing in a suggestion of her own.

“This...well, it can definitely work!” Gideon said as he stared down at the long scroll full of our notes. “Not as flashy or impressive as the cannon idea, but”—he gave an exaggerated shrug—“it is a little more practical, I suppose.”

“But the priority remains on discovering how to operate the bestowal artifacts—”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Gideon said, not looking at me as he turned away and started moving languidly toward the door, his nose still in the scroll. Consequently, he was also not looking at the open door and ran face first into the still form of Bairon, who had stopped in the doorframe.

“Oof! Bah, you make a better lightning rod than a door, Lance,” Gideon grumbled, conjuring a sour look from Bairon. The broad-shouldered Lance didn’t move, and Gideon was forced to shimmy through the narrow opening to leave. Emily curtseyed awkwardly in front of Bairon, who shifted, allowing her to hurry after Gideon.

Bairon watched the pair go, then looked at me with one brow raised. “It is good to see you’re awake, Arthur. We were...worried.”

I eased my legs off the bed and sat up straight. “Worried? About me?” I held out my stump of an arm, which was already healing more quickly now that I’d regained consciousness. “Just a couple minor flesh wounds.”

Bairon’s mouth twitched, but his brows turned down, as if he couldn’t decide whether to smile or frown. “I won’t pretend to understand what has happened to you, Arthur, and I doubt even you yet know the full capability of your powers. What I do know is that Dicathen is fortunate that you returned when you did, and that, after everything, you’re still willing to fight for this continent.”

I looked down at my feet, unsure what to say. My relationship with Bairon had always been hostile, and I wasn’t yet sure how to process this sudden change in the dynamic between us.

“I...want you to know something, Arthur.” I looked up to see Bairon ringing his hands, his gaze ascanse. “Maybe this won’t carry much meaning for you, but I forgive you...for my brother. For Lucas.” Finally, he met my eye. “And I’m sorry for attacking you, for”—he looked away again, some of the color draining from his face—“threatening your family.”

“Bairon, it’s—”

He raised a hand to forestall my response. “My pride blinded me to the evils of my family. My rage wasn’t even about Lucas, but your insult to our house. I was a fool, Arthur. And I’m sorry.”

I waited a moment to make sure he was finished speaking, then said, “I accept both. And I stopped blaming you for that a long time ago. The way you reacted, it wasn’t any different than what I did to Lucas. I thought it was justified in the moment—that I’d been right—but really, how I dealt with things, it made enemies, and that wasn’t smart, strategically.”

Bairon watched me with a distant, detached wariness, and there was a cold formality in his expression that reminded me of the old Bairon. Then, with a shake of his head, it was gone. “Even Lances, it appears, make mistakes. But...that is not why I’m here.”

He stood aside from the doorway, revealing a figure that had been hidden in the hallway behind him. All thought of fire salts and weapons and even the bestowment artifacts fled my mind.

Virion entered the room hesitantly, resting one old, tired hand on Bairon’s arm for just a moment. Then Bairon backed out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Virion pulled a wooden chair away from the wall and sat stiffly. His gaze roamed around the room for several very long seconds before settling on me. He cleared his throat.

“Virion, how are you feel—”

“Listen, Arthur, I needed to—”

We had both started speaking at the same time, then both immediately stopped. Virion leaned forward, his fists clenched together, and stared at the floor in silence, his body tense, a simmering animosity evident in each still movement.

I realized just how on edge I was, too. Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to relax. Beside me, Regis rolled over and continued sleeping. At least, I thought he was sleeping until one eye peeked open a slit, caught me watching, and quickly shut again.

“It’s good to see you, Gramps. How...are you?” My tone was hesitant, almost awkward. There had been no time to address it since my return to Dicathen, but it was clear that Virion was keeping his distance from me, and I wasn’t sure why.

Virion stared down at his hands for a long moment, then said, “I’m sorry, Arthur.”

I opened my mouth to immediately interrupt, caught myself, and closed it slowly, waiting for Virion to continue.

“But, how...?” Virion glanced at Bairon questioningly, but Bairon only shrugged.

“Here,” I said, reaching for the other two boxes. Bairon gave them up gladly. In a moment, they too were gone, and I could sense them within the extradimensional space, along with the items I’d collected in Alacrya.

I held up my forearm to show Virion the rune. “I have an original, not an old relic that’s been hacked apart ten times over. Must make a difference.”

Virion chuckled again, his brows rising all the way up into his hairline. “One of these days, I suppose I’ll stop being surprised by you, brat.”

“Let’s hope not, Gramps,” I said earnestly, then looked at Regis. “I think I’ve laid around long enough. Ready to get out of here?”

He yawned and stretched, sticking his rump up in the air like an actual puppy. “I’m ready to find a real source of aether, because I don’t relish the idea of being stuck like this for a week while we drip-feed off the atmosphere down here.”

With the Compass, I could return to the Relictombs at will, and mentally agreed that we should go replenish our aether reserves as soon as possible, but first I needed to check on Mom and Ellie.

After adding Valeska’s horn to my growing pile of artifacts within the dimension rune, I wished Virion and Bairon farewell, then made my way through the labyrinthine halls of the Earthborn Institute.

Regis stayed inside my body while we walked, hovering near the stump of my hand instead of my core. It eased the pain of the regrowing limb, but the healing was slow—at least, slow for me. I’d become so accustomed to losing entire limbs, it made me genuinely worry for my sanity. There was something distinctly inhuman about watching my hand regrowing in real-time. _{freewebnσvel.cøm}

‘Are you really human anymore?’ Regis sent, knowing just what to say to further agitate me, as always.

I don’t know, I answered, then cast the thought aside as I approached the door to the rooms where my family was staying.

It opened before I reached it, and Ellie was half through it before she noticed me and jerked to a stop. Her face lit up, then her focus shifted to my hand. “Oh, Art, that looks...”

I took her by the chin and turned her face up toward mine. “I’m fine, El. I’ve healed from worse.”

She gave me a single decisive nod, then pulled back. “I was just coming to check on you, so you saved me a trip. Mom is asleep.” She continued talking as she turned and led me into the rooms. “She was awake for about thirty hours straight, and she put herself into backlash trying to heal you.” She flinched and looked into my eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay,” I said, ruffling her hair like I’d done when she was little. It drove home how tall she was, how much she’d grown. And how much I’d missed.

“Arthur?” a wispy voice said from somewhere deeper in the suite. I heard feet hit the ground, and quick but uneven footsteps. Mom appeared in the hall, her hair disheveled and dark bags under her eyes.

Still, when she saw me, she smiled. “Oh, Art, I was so—”

Mom wobbled, her eyes losing focus. I was at her side in an instant, supporting her and leading her to the closest couch.

“I’m...fine,” she mumbled as I eased her down onto the couch, but it was easy enough to tell she wasn’t.

Activating Realmheart, I looked more closely, seeing the mana particles moving in her body and sensing her core strength.

“Oh, you’re glowing,” she said, her eyes crossing as she tried and failed to focus on me.

She had clearly pushed herself way past the point of exhaustion. Her core was so strained that it was struggling to start processing mana again, leaving her in a fatigued delirium, not to mention the intense full-body ache she would have been feeling with such severe backlash.

I let Realmheart fade away again.

“You’ve got extreme backlash. You need to be more careful. You’re—”

“Lucky?” she said clumsily, cutting me off. “I do feel quite fortunate, you know. Not everyone gets—how many chances are we on now? Four? Five? Anyway, not everyone gets a second, second, second chance to make things right.”

I winced at the mention of the past.

The regrets that I had from telling my parents the truth about me, and the solace that I felt from finally coming clean...the emotions all came back, forming a knot in my throat that I forcefully swallowed down.

Giving Mom a somber smile, I pulled a loose blanket over her lap. “What do you mean? You made things right a long time ago, remember? After Dad died...”

She sobered, shaking her head and squeezing my hand weakly. “I may have said it, but I was never able to act on it. I never got to just...be your mom. But I want to be. I will be.” Her eyes fluttered closed, and she sank deeper into the couch. “I suppose that’s kind of what it must be like being you, huh? Like...being reborn. Trying again to make it right.”

I knew it was the delirium talking, but still, hearing her so casually and calmly mention my reincarnation made my insides squirm. “Yeah, maybe. We can only just...keep trying. To learn, and do better.”

Softly, the breathiness of her tone telling me she was drifting back to sleep, she said, “I made you some porridge, Arthur. I know it’ll take time, but...I hope you can slowly let me be your mom again.”

Turning toward the kitchen, I could just see the small, round table, and on it, a wooden bowl with a spoon laid neatly beside it.

And suddenly, the armor of callousness and apathy I had donned in order to survive my time in the Relictombs and Alacrya crumbled.

My throat tightened and my vision blurred.

A part of me resisted getting up and walking toward the table. With Agrona’s swift counterattack, I knew I couldn’t stay here much longer. I knew he would attack again, and I knew it would only be worse.

But I let my heavy legs drag me toward the bowl of porridge, barely noticing as Regis led my sister out of the room.

Slowly, I took up the spoon and took a mouthful of the cold, tasteless mash. As I did, I gave in to the weight of it all.

Tears spilled freely as I took bite after bite. Alone in this little kitchen, far away from anywhere I’d ever called home, I wept silently as I ate the first meal my mother had cooked for me in years.