Lindon had always pictured himself saving his home, but deep down, he had wished for something else as well. He’d wanted to stride back into the Wei clan and show them his great power.

He mocked himself for that now. The people of Sacred Valley hadn’t been impressed even when they should have been.

The best he’d accomplished was bullying them into obeying.

As a distant third, he’d wanted to preserve the place he’d grown up. He had been gone from Sacred Valley for a long time now, but it had been his home for longer. He had almost as many fond memories there as painful ones.

Now…it was too late for that. It was gone.

The images of the bodies, spilled all over the foothills of Mount Samara, cut him as though the memory was razor-edged. They had died outside Sacred Valley, just as they would have died if they had stayed home.

But some had made it.

And some were still trying to leave. Still trying to escape.

Even so, Lindon felt the burden on himself lighten. Akura Charity had been a Sage before he was born—before his father was born, probably—and even she couldn’t have taken him across the continent in one trip. There was nothing he could do. The battle was over.

[Ooh, that’s what I said! I said that! Focus on the victory and not, you know, the failure. All that failure.]

Lindon did, and he found the lack of responsibility a welcome relief. He would be wrestling with himself for the rest of his life, he knew, looking to find every little detail he should have done differently to save more lives.

But right now, he couldn’t save more than he already had.

Only then did he notice Mercy, standing against the windows. She held her dragon-headed staff loosely in one hand, and the wind from outside stirred glass shards around her feet and whipped her ponytail into her face.

She had turned around, but otherwise stood exactly where she’d reached when she’d lunged for her mother’s hand. Now she chewed on her lip so strongly that blood welled up.

As Lindon met her eyes, she spoke, as reluctantly as if he’d pulled the words out of her.

“Does anyone want to go back?”

A buzz passed through Lindon’s body. At the same time, he and Dross remembered the item she’d left buried outside of Sacred Valley’s suppression field.

I was right, Lindon thought, and he himself didn’t know if the words were excited or hollow.

[I was way off,] Dross said.

From her void key, Mercy pulled out a stone carved with script. It looked as though she’d etched the scripts herself, and Lindon knew what it was even without inspecting it closely.

The stone itself wouldn’t do anything. Neither did the script, when it was powered. It only linked to a teleportation anchor.

Like the one Mercy had taken from Daji. The one she’d left buried in Sacred Valley when she’d seen her mother show up.

She had known Malice might send her away, and had prepared herself a way back.

That same anchor had allowed the Blood Sage to transport a group of Overlords halfway across the world in one trip. Such small teleportation anchors were disposable—permanent ones were huge, like the tower beneath them that Malice had used to send them here to Moongrave—but this one had been made by Reigan Shen. It would last another trip.

“We’ll need you to carry us there, if you can,” Mercy went on. They all knew it would be difficult for Lindon to move so many people, even if the anchor made it possible. “But…do we…”

She took a deep breath.

“It’s not like there’s much we can do. We can’t bring anyone back.”

That was a safe bet. Now that they were here, Lindon could carve a device with the corresponding script to the anchor beneath them, so they had a route back to Moongrave.

But he wasn’t sure he could make it all the way to Sacred Valley, much less come back. And there was no way he could bring back more people than he started with.

Which meant there would be only one reason to go back.

To stall the Titan.

His mother was breathing heavily, a notepad clutched to her chest. “Going back?” A general stir of terrified confusion passed through the Sacred Valley residents in the room.

“Don’t be stupid,” Jaran said, rapping his cane on the floor.

Kelsa slumped into a chair. She looked exhausted, and tears had run tracks in the ash and dust caking her face, but her voice was firm. “It wouldn’t be fair to you to go back. You owe them nothing. In fact, everyone who escaped owes you all their lives.”

Lindon’s sister turned to him, straightened her back in the chair, and dipped her head. “Gratitude.”

Repeated bows and murmurs of “Gratitude” passed through the room.

They weren’t bowing just to him, but to all the outsiders: Eithan, Mercy, Yerin, and Orthos. But those four looked to Lindon.

This was his home. They were only here because of him. And they would go back if he asked them to.

But what was he going to do? Fight a Dreadgod to buy time in the hopes that a few more people might get away? It might already be too late; the Titan may have crashed through Mount Samara and killed everyone by now.

Lindon could theoretically affect a Dreadgod, but theoretically a child with a sharpened stick could kill a tiger.

He had never stopped rolling Suriel’s marble between his fingers, and now he held it up. All this power, he had gained to protect Sacred Valley.

Now, he didn’t know what to do.

For the second time in a day, he gripped the marble and prayed.

I don’t know what to do. Help me.

Unknown Location

The Way

[Report complete,] Suriel’s Presence said.

As Suriel drifted along the blue rivers that made up the basis of all existence, she caught up on the diversion that she had allowed to distract her for the last few standard years: the journey of Wei Shi Lindon.

He had grown faster than she had expected. Faster than most models of him had predicted, though at the time, she hadn’t realized how much Ozriel’s meddling had changed things. Or how Makiel’s alterations would speed Cradle’s destiny.

By all odds, Lindon should have been dead by now, but here he was, debating whether to go back and face down a Dreadgod. She looked forward to his choice.

[The battle with the Vroshir might make it difficult to get further news from Cradle,] her Presence reminded her. [Probability of future delay is very high.]

She considered that. As always, her Presence didn’t speak solely in words, but also in thoughts and impressions, meaning conveyed directly into her mind.

It was reminding her that, the next time she got news from Cradle, there was every chance that Lindon would be dead.

Cradle would be protected even in the most extreme circumstances of the war, so she didn’t fear for the world itself too much. The Vroshir would have to extend themselves on several fronts and sacrifice valuable worlds to penetrate Sector Eleven.

They didn’t work that way. They were bandits, after as much bounty as they could with as little risk to themselves as possible.

The one exception was the Mad King, and Suriel went to face him now.

And she didn’t need her Presence to remind her that it might not be Wei Shi Lindon who died first. Despite all odds and projections, it was a possibility that he might outlive her.