by Morgan Rice
“Kyra!” they chanted. “Kyra! Kyra!”
EPILOGUE
One sun cycle later
Kyra knelt alone in the dim, cool temple, knees pressing on the freshly hewn marble, feeling the solemn energy around her as she prayed before the newly built altar. She closed her eyes and, as she had for hours, slipped into a deep state of peace and reflection. Outside came muffled shouts of joy, all the people of Escalon, tens of thousands of them, citizens and warriors alike, free men and women and children, congregating upon the new capital. This was a special day. They had come from all corners of the land to celebrate the completion of Escalon’s new capital—and to celebrate, more importantly, her wedding day.
Kyra took a deep breath, feeling the enormity of the day before her. Here she was, in the new capital, and she could scarcely believe, after a year of arduous work, it had been completed. She had chosen this place, atop the ruins of the Lost Temple, a sacred spot of ancient spiritual power, where the ancient capital of Escalon had once lain, and under her watchful eye, thousands of Escalonites had labored for one year, quarrying marble from ancient cliffs and erecting this spectacular city by the sea. It was more magnificent than it had ever been, and it would, she knew, serve as a beacon for a new age, a new time. A time of freedom. A time unlike any Escalon had ever known.
The muted cheers of her people brought her back, and Kyra heart lifted her head and smiled to hear them so joyous, more joyous than she had ever remembered her people being. They should be, she realized. After all, Escalon was finally free. Free from the armies of Pandesia, free from the nation of trolls, free from the flocks of dragons. It was the first time in their history that her people could enjoy the land and rest at ease. It was the first time in their history they could usher in a new era of abundance.
Kyra smiled broadly as she thought of Kyle out there, somewhere, getting ready as she was, preparing for their holy matrimony. It felt like a dream. After all the battles, after each coming so close to death, finally, they would be together. It was what her people needed—a new Queen, a new King, a royal couple to preside over the rebuilding and bounty of the land. It was what she needed, too.
Her people had even more reasons to celebrate this day, too: Dierdre and Marco, and Merk and Lorna, had decided to join them in being wed on this auspicious day. It would be a triple wedding for the nation to enjoy, followed by a week of festivities, of dances, feasting, and drinking. Already she could hear the horns sounding, signaling that Motley and his new troupe of actors were starting their performance in their newly built theater. She heard the laughter, and she knew it had begun.
Kyra would join them soon enough. She was still relishing the quiet, the peace in here; she needed time for herself, time to reflect on this holy day. For this day was not only the one-year anniversary of the end of the Great War, of the rise of the dragons, but also the anniversary of her father’s death.
Deep inside, commingled with her joy, was a lingering sadness, one she knew would always be with her. He was her father, after all, the man she had loved her entire life. His passing was a deep scar from which she sensed she would never fully recover.
Tainting her joy was also a longing for her mother, especially on this, her wedding day. She lowered her head and clasped her hands, hoping still for a reply.
Mother, where are you?
Kyra had been trying to talk to her mother for a year, ever since she had become leader of this great nation—and to her surprise, she had been met with silence. She kept expecting her mother to appear, to embrace her, to tell her the secret of her identity—anything.
And yet there had been nothing. And that silence gnawed away at Kyra’s soul.
Kyra furrowed her brows as she knelt, needing to hear from her mother. Even just one word.
Mother, I need you now.
Kyra became lost in a deep meditation, and after much time passed, she began to sense something. She opened her eyes and blinked. Her heart beat faster.
There, in the darkness, the face of her mother was appearing.
“Mother?” Kyra called out, too excited to get her hopes high.
After a long time, she heard a voice.
“It is I, Kyra,” the voice replied. “You have summoned me. And I am more proud of you on this day than I can ever say.”
Kyra felt tears of sadness, mixed with joy, run down her face.
“I miss my father,” she said, surprised to find herself crying. “Very much.”
Her mother smiled back, reassuring.
“He is here with me now,” she replied. “He loves you and is looking down on you.”
Kyra felt her tears flow as she tried to steady herself inside
“What is it you seek, Kyra?” her mother asked.
Kyra reflected, trying to know what it was that she so desperately needed to hear from her mother.
“I need answers, Mother. You never told me. I seek to know who I am. Who you are.”
A long silence followed. Her mother looked back at her for a long time, her eyes shining blue. And finally, she nodded back and took a deep breath.
“I am of the ancient ones,” she replied. “Many millennia ago a prophecy was read to me, of the daughter I would have. The one who would change the fate of Escalon. The one who would rule the world one day. The one who is partly of us, yet partly human. The one true warrior.”
Her mother paused.
“That is you, Kyra. You are the chosen one. You are the leader, the warrior, that Escalon has always needed. You cannot even imagine the greatness that lies before you. You cannot even imagine the life you are going to lead, the worlds you are going to conquer. All of this, all that has happened, is but a prologue of your life to come.”
Kyra marveled, wondering what other twists and turns her life could possibly hold in store, what could possibly be bigger, more dramatic, than all that had already happened.
“I did not choose your father from amongst my people,” her mother continued, “but from the human race. I did not choose him from a line of kings. I searched far and wide for the man with the bravest heart, the strongest soul. Your lineage is your honor, your courage, your valor—more precious than any gems or royal bloodline.”
She paused.
“Too many people knew of the prophecy,” she continued. “Ancient Ones, rival kings, dark forces, all wanting you dead. The nation of dragons, too, wanted to seek you out, to tear you apart. You had to be hidden, Kyra. Your identity had to be kept secret, even from yourself.”
She paused, and Kyra’s mind reeled as she took it all in.
“You are your mother’s daughter,” she continued. “And you are your father’s daughter, too. Most of all, you are yourself. A human with powers, powers that are imperfect, yet still more perfect than any human’s. They are powers you can access if you believe in yourself—and powers that will fail you if you do not. They are powers built on faith. And faith, after all, Kyra, is all that we have.
“You are a very special hybrid, Kyra. There has never been anyone like you, and there never will be again. You have saved this land. You have made us all proud. Trust in yourself. Believe in your powers, and you shall rule Escalon forever. Yet remember: you also have the same power to fall into darkness. Use your powers wisely, and always stay in the light.”
Kyra’s heart pounded in her chest as she listened, all of it, her entire life, finally falling into place, finally making sense. She sensed it all to be true, and she felt closer to her mother than ever. She felt a great tension leaving her body as the truth was finally revealed.
And then, suddenly, her mother approached, walking out of the mist. Kyra’s breath froze in her throat. There was her mother, no longer a vision, but a real woman standing before her, stepping forward to embrace Kyra.
Kyra rose and threw her arms over her mother, embracing her with all she had. She wept as she felt her real mother in her arms for the first time, finally, for the first time, feeling at home in the world.
; “I love you, Kyra,” her mother whispered into her ear. “I always have, and I always will.”
“I love you, Mother.”
And just as she finished uttering the words, suddenly, her mother was gone.
Kyra, now holding air, turned every which way, perplexed. She searched all the dark corners of the temple, yet saw nothing but the soft incense that hung in the air. Had it all been an illusion?
No. Kyra was certain it had not. Indeed, she looked down at her finger, feeling something, and she saw a glistening ring, one that had not been there before. It was purple, lined with sapphires. She knew her mother had placed it there. She closed her hand and opened it, marveling at the sparkling jewel, feeling the power of it. Feeling her mother now with her forever.
Kyra took a deep breath and slowly released it. She felt a great sense of peace. She felt her soul was restored.
She was ready, now, to face the world.
*
Aidan stood amidst the thick crowd in the grand, newly erected amphitheatre, swaying every which way as thousands of Escalonites gathered in close, all crowding the stage to watch Motley and his troupe give their wedding day performance. Cassandra by his side, White at his feet, contentedly eating scraps of meat off the floor, Aidan looked up and watched with pride as Motley gave the performance of a lifetime, keeping the entire crowd laughing with their comedy.
“I say, my dear wife, what are we having for dinner tonight?” Motley asked the actor on stage beside him.
“Whatever you decide to make me,” replied the actress.
The crowd broke into laughter as the farcical comedy went on and on. Aidan was glued by Motley’s wide array of comical expressions, and he could not help laughing himself. Motley had a special comic talent, strong enough to keep this entire city mesmerized, and he was on fine display today.
Aidan surveyed the stage and marveled that his acting troupe was now ten times the size it had been when they’d first met; he was even more in awe at the new amphitheatre, massive, holding tens of thousands of people, and he was filled with pride knowing that Kyra had assured it was built for them as the centerpiece of the new capital. She had put fantasy first, had given the actors the glory that had never been afforded to them in Escalon before. Motley thrived, seeming like a new man.
He deserved it, Aidan thought. He was, after all, no mere actor, but also a hero of the Great War. Finally, he and his actors could be respected in this land as much as warriors. In this new Escalon, under his sister’s direction, there was equal glory, side by side, for both war and art.
Aidan felt a squeeze of his hand and he looked over to see Cassandra smiling. Shaken from his reverie, he smiled back at her.
“Shall we leave this place?” she asked. “I would rather talk to you than hear this play again.”
Aidan nodded and led her out of the crowd, pushing their way through the mob, White joining them and snatching a piece of chicken out of an unsuspecting person’s hand, until finally they all exited the soaring, arched stone gates of the theater.
The crowds gone, the noise behind them, finally they could breathe again. Aidan took a deep breath and led her as they strolled through the new, shining white marble streets of the capital, White running excitedly up ahead of them, smelling everything.
Aidan took it all in as they went, as in awe as he was the first time he had seen it. Not only was the city new, but everything on this day was strewn with roses and elaborate wreaths, the red flower petals complementing the shining white marble. Warm summer winds rolled in off the ocean, ripe fruit and flowers hung from bushes and trees all around them, and it felt like no Escalon he had ever known. This coast was so different from the cold, howling winds of the northwest, of Volis, and he admired Kyra’s foresight and wisdom in choosing to build the new capital here. Their ancestors had had it right, and she had wisely deferred to their wisdom.
The new capital, built high up on the cliffs, towered over the sea, and the sparkling blue of the ocean reflected into the city and bounced off of everything. The ancient ruins of the Lost Temple had been preserved, though, and gracefully incorporated into the new capital, adding a sense of history. As he and Cassandra walked down wide, gorgeous boulevards framed by trees and neat rows of grass, he passed soaring, ancient columns, fragments of temples and buildings, the living history of their forefathers everywhere in this place. It gave him a sense of continuity he had never felt in the old capital.
The two of them walked in a comfortable silence for a long time, enjoying each other’s company, neither feeling the need to speak. After all, they had been through so much together, they could nearly read each other’s thoughts.
“My sister weds today,” he finally said to her, breaking the silence.
She nodded back and smiled.
“I know,” she replied. “The entire capital knows. Not only your sister, but Dierdre and Marco, and Lorna and Merk shall wed, too.”
Aidan walked aimlessly, and realized he was leading them to a place he had not expected to go. They turned down a street and he looked up to see before him the wide circular plaza in the center of the city, dominated by a huge monument in its center. He stood before the immense, shining statue of his father.
At the base of the statue was a bubbling fountain, surrounded by fresh flowers, and before this was an ever-burning flame, its flames rippling in a huge, black granite bowl. Aidan felt a wave of sadness as he stepped forward and looked down at them. He could not bring himself on this day to look up at the visage of his father, as he usually did. Instead, he struggled to suppress his tears as he remembered the war, his father’s death, his brothers’ death, the death of so many warriors he’d loved.
White, at Aidan’s side, whined, and Aidan reached down and stroked his head.
“Your father loved you very much,” Cassandra said. “I could see it in his eyes. He was so proud of you. I know he’s looking down on you now.”
Aidan smiled, filled with sadness.
“Our time was cut short,” Aidan said. “I never had time to show him the man I could be.”
Cassandra squeezed his hand.
“Maybe all you were was enough. Have you ever considered that?”
Aidan pondered her words as he took a deep breath and wiped away a tear. He finally turned and squeezed Cassandra’s hand and looked into her eyes. He reached into his pocket, hands trembling as he began to do something he realized he’d been wanting to do for a long time.
“Before my father died,” Aidan said, “he gave me this ring. It was his mother’s, and her mother’s before her. He told me that when I found the girl I love, to give it to her.”
Cassandra looked down, eyes wide with surprise, as he placed it on her finger.
“I hope you shall accept it as a promise ring,” he said. “When we are older, one day, I wish to wed you and no one else.”
Cassandra looked up at him and her eyes welled with tears.
She leaned in and kissed him.
“I would like that,” she said. “I would like that very much.”
*
Kyra, accompanied by a dozen royal bridesmaids, walked slowly down the wide boulevard, making her way toward the towering altar. Throngs squeezed her in on all sides, showering her with rose petals, and she felt the solemn joy to the air. She wore a magnificent wedding dress, hand-sewn by Escalon tailors who had worked on it for moons, its long train trailing behind her. Holding it was Dierdre, who had become a fast friend, one of the few friends she had left from the Great War. It served a double purpose, as Dierdre was walking down the aisle herself to a waiting Marco. Lorna held it, too, on her other side, as she walked down to a waiting Merk.
As they walked, they passed between ancient soaring columns and beneath the magnificent arches that had been preserved from the days of the Lost Temple. She passed by the old and the new, all commingled in this new capital, the new armory to one side, where all the new knights, in their shiniest armor, came forth to march toward the wedding cerem
ony. She passed the new Hall of Heroes on her other side, passed the abundant statues and monuments to the Great War, passed the grand new Feasting Hall, the barracks for her new royal guard. She passed a marble statute of Alec, kneeling, thrusting the Unfinished Sword into the Tower of Ur, and Dierdre paused to place a fresh flower in its well.
A solemn tune filled the air, played by royal musicians flanking the aisle, a mix of lutes and flutes and harps. As Kyra listened, it brought back memories, of growing up in Volis with her father and brothers, of when life had been so simple, so filled with hope for the future. She wondered how one person could live so many lives in one lifetime, how one year could give way to such a radically different year, how time could always march on so relentlessly. The tune stirred her soul, honored the dead, and toward its climax, became more hopeful, offering a vision of a new future.
Kyra looked out and saw the massive altar looming before her, a hundred feet high, framed by ancient columns, and at its center, smiling, waiting for them all, Kyle. He was flanked by Marco and Merk, waiting for their brides, too, and they were joined by Anvin, Seavig, Kavos, Bramthos and a dozen of her father’s men, all in full suits of shining armor. Kyra glanced over and saw Aidan and Cassandra seated in the front row, smiling back, Motley beside them, White and Leo at their feet. Off to the side, she saw Andor, snorting contentedly, bedecked in a white shawl for the day.
Kyle stared down at her, and Kyra fell in love all over again. He had sacrificed everything for her, so many times. His love had sustained her through the worst of times, had kept her alive through the Great War, through her father’s death, and beyond. Now, as she ruled Escalon, he would be at her side.
As Kyra finally reached the altar, thousands of eyes upon her, Kyle stepped down and took her hand. As he did, the crowd gasped in delight. Marco and Merk stepped down and took Dierdre’s and Lorna’s hands, too.
