If stepping into the Nexus of Being had felt like diving into an exploding library wrapped in starlight, returning home was like being shot out of a cosmic slingshot and faceplanting into mud.
Which is exactly what Thorne did.
"Ow! My dignity!" he groaned, flailing from the puddle.
Kaelen landed more gracefully, light-footed despite the literal reweaving of reality he'd just performed. Lyria somersaulted into a defensive crouch, bow half-drawn.
Umbra didn't land at all. He simply reappeared standing, perfectly composed, adjusting his hood with the annoyance of a man whose coffee had been slightly too warm.
"Back in the realm of gravity," he muttered. "My least favorite force."
They had returned to the outskirts of the Arcane Keep, but the atmosphere had shifted. The sky shimmered with streaks of indigo, as though reality itself still hadn't fully adjusted to Kaelen's change. The very air hummed with something new—possibility.
Mellior appeared before them, floating lazily down from the ramparts like an aging owl in wizard cosplay. "You survived," he said, sounding somewhere between amazed and disappointed. "That's… statistically unlikely."
Kaelen cracked his neck. "Guess we're lucky."
"No," Mellior replied. "You're rewritten. Reality is adjusting. You're no longer a threat to the pattern, but a—what's the term—wild variable."
Thorne wiggled his fingers. "Do I get wild variable powers too?"
"No," Mellior said flatly. "You get mud."
Thorne checked his boots. "Confirmed."
Kaelen looked up toward the heavens. "What happens now?"
Mellior gave a weary smile. "Now? Now the End waits."
Kaelen frowned. "Waits?"
"Just because you're no longer an anomaly doesn't mean the threat is gone," Mellior said. "The End adapts. The Emissary was a scout. There will be more. Perhaps… stronger."
Kaelen exhaled slowly. "I figured as much."
"But," Mellior continued, pointing a wrinkled finger, "you have something you didn't before: a place in the weave. The pattern protects its own now. That means you are no longer alone."
"Didn't feel alone," Kaelen said, glancing back at his team.
Thorne flashed a toothy grin. "Even when I was screaming during the Nexus storm?"
"Especially then."
Umbra cleared his throat. "As touching as this is, we still don't know what form the next danger will take."
"And," Lyria added, "we might not be the only ones who felt that… shift."
She gestured to the horizon.
From the mountaintop, the land stretched wide—and far in the distance, a strange storm was gathering. Dark clouds roiled above a distant city, red lightning cracking across the sky in unnatural rhythms. Birds flew the wrong direction. Trees bent away from it.
Mellior's brow furrowed. "Oh dear."
"What?" Kaelen asked.
"That's Castle Var'Kareth."
Thorne blinked. "Wait. That place that disappeared from all maps two centuries ago? The one with the unpronounceable necromancer king?"
"The very same," Mellior said grimly. "Looks like it just RSVP'd back into existence."
"Wonderful," Umbra muttered. "Nothing says 'welcome back to reality' like an undead thunderstorm."
Kaelen sighed. "Alright. We go there."
Thorne groaned. "Of course we do."
"But," Kaelen added, "we do it after rest, soup, and possibly some bread that isn't made of arcane flour."
Lyria smiled faintly. "Back to normal?"
Thorne clapped him on the back. "Back to weirdly magical, slightly chaotic, our normal."
---
Later that night, around a flickering campfire outside the Arcane Keep, the group actually managed to relax for the first time in what felt like… well, five seasons.
Thorne sat with his feet up, carving a chunk of cheese with a dagger that may or may not have been cursed. Umbra stared into the flames, occasionally feeding it scraps of paper he claimed were "too classified to live." Lyria polished her arrows, though she kept glancing toward Kaelen.
He sat apart, gazing up at the stars.
They looked back now.
Not in a creepy way. More like… in acknowledgement.
Lyria approached. "You did something impossible."
Kaelen nodded. "Didn't feel impossible."
"Still. You're different now."
Kaelen gave her a sidelong look. "Would you believe me if I said I don't feel different?"
"No," she said. "But I'd believe you're scared."
There was a pause.
Then Kaelen nodded. "I am."
Lyria sat beside him. "Good. Only fools aren't scared of power like that."
Kaelen smiled faintly. "I'm not trying to become a god."
"Good. We've had enough of those."
Thorne called over, "Can we vote for him as God of Better Decisions?"
Umbra added, "I second the motion, provided he swears not to smite minor inconveniences."
"No promises," Kaelen said.
The group laughed. It wasn't forced. For once, it felt like they were ahead of disaster—if only for a night.
---
But deep beneath Castle Var'Kareth, far beyond the reach of their laughter, the God of Wrath stirred.
His form had not fully returned, but the threads of reality were weakened. Kaelen's rewrite had altered the pattern—enough to loosen old seals. The flames that had once burned the heavens churned again in his chest.
And he remembered Kaelen.
The boy who defied gods.
Who cracked the weave.
Who dared to change the script.
The God of Wrath opened his eyes—eyes that held the memory of celestial war and apocalyptic fire.
"Let him rewrite," he growled. "I will burn the book."
He reached out—and touched the storm above Var'Kareth.
It roared to life.
To be continued…