Her voice breaks and she closes her eyes, tears in her lashes as she hangs her head. I raise one hand to cup her cheek, soft as feathers.
“I am here,” I tell her. “I will never leave you. Unless you wish me to.”
“No,” she breathes. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I sent you away, Kal.”
“I am sorry I lied to you, be’shmai. I was a coward to do so.”
“You came here alone to finish him. To save the damn galaxy.” She presses my knuckles to her lips. “You’re the bravest boy I ever met.”
Him.
A shadow falls over me as the memories seep into the wreckage of my mind—the battle in the throne room, the war raging outside, Terrans and Betraskans and Syldrathi cutting each other to pieces as the Weapon pulsed and the Waywalkers screamed and my father …
“My father,” I whisper. “Did you … ?”
Aurora shakes her head. My vision is clearing, and I see now there are cracks running through her skin, radiating about her right eye. Her iris is still glowing, and the light shines through the cracks, coming from somewhere within her.
She is wounded, I realize. Weak. The Weapon has …
It has taken something from her… .
And yet, I can feel her inside my mind, a warmth spreading out from her and mending the tears my father ripped through me. I can picture him, holding me still with the power of his will alone, the knife I’d tried to plunge into his heart falling from my fingers as he tore my psyche apart.
He tried to kill me.
Just as I tried to kill him.
“What … happened?” I whisper.
“The Weapon fired,” Aurora replies. “I tried to stop it, tried to turn it inward on myself, but … I couldn’t hold on. The Waywalkers are all dead.”
“The fleets? The battle?” My heart quickens, and I rise to one elbow despite the pain. “What happened to Terra? Your sun?”
“The sun is fine.” She swallows thickly, trembling. “But Earth …”
She meets my eyes, her own brimming with tears.
“Earth is gone, Kal.”
My heart sinks, my hand finds hers. “The Weapon struck it?”
“No.” She shakes her head again, and I feel the kaleidoscope of her thoughts in mine—confusion, fear, rage. “The Ra’haam. It’s taken the whole planet. Consumed it. Absorbed it. Every living thing on it.”
“How long was I unconscious for?” I whisper, bewildered.
“A few hours maybe.”
“Hours?” I shake my head. “Then … how is that possible?”
“I don’t know. I reached out when I woke up, and I couldn’t feel anything around us. The fleets, the pilots, the soldiers, they were all gone, as if they’d never been. The only thing I sensed was … it. Like … oil and mold in my mind. So much of it. Covering Earth the same way it covered Octavia.” She drags a hand through her hair, the skin around her right eye cracked like drought-struck clay. “It felt me too, Kal. I know it did.”
The crystal hums around me, a shift in tone and hue. It ripples warm upon my skin, but again, I am struck by the notion that all is not well.
“The song of this place.” I look at the glittering beauty around us, frowning. “It feels different than it used to. Almost … off-key?”
Aurora nods. “I know. Something feels wrong.”
“… We are moving,” I realize.
Aurora glances to the glittering hallway, jaw clenched. “He’s doing it. I needed to take care of you. So he’s moving us through the Fold. We’re headed … I don’t know where. Away from Earth. Away from it.”
“I must speak with him,” I say.
“Kal, no,” she pleads, trying to stop me as I rise. “You need to rest. He almost killed you, do you understand? He shattered your mind into a thousand pieces. And if he tries again, I don’t know if I’m strong enough to stop him.”
“I am not frightened of him, Aurora.”
“But I’m frightened for you. I can’t lose you again, I can’t!”
I gather her into my arms, and she hugs me fiercely, and for a moment, all of the hurt, the pain, the grief fades away. With her in my embrace, I am complete again. With her beside me, there is nothing I cannot do.
“You will not lose me,” I vow. “I am yours forever. When the fire of the last sun fails, my love for you will still burn.”
I kiss her brow.
“But I must speak with him, Aurora. Help me. Please.”