She heard a voice inside her head. You have given me life. Thus, I give your life back to you.

Then, her head was empty.

There was a light. It was a bright, white light, shining in her eyes. Is this the afterlife? Sandry thought to herself. She had always thought that dying was like going towards a light. It was blinding, stinging; she tried to shield herself from the offensive thing in her eyes, but her limbs felt like dead weight. I never thought the afterlife would be so bright.

Her eyes fluttered for a moment. The light was still there, but in front of her was a plane of white, of blankness. She stared at it for a moment, wondering what the significance of it might be. Was she supposed to go through it? She went to walk, but Sandry then realized she was not standing. She was lying down; she must be looking at a ceiling.

It was a very familiar ceiling, truth to be told. Had she seen it before? Sandry puzzled over this. It took her a few seconds to realize that she could turn her head; the movement made her sight swim a bit, and her forehead began to pound. She saw a cabinet; it was wooden. She figured that she was in a room.

The room! Sandry thought excitedly. There was a table, and there were two benches pushed into the corner. Her heart thundered upon recognition of the cabinets, the walls, the floors, the windows, the trinkets on the counter. She was at Discipline.

Excited to realize that she was not, in fact, dead, she made to sit up. Then, she decided against it. Her stomach reacted violently, and she laid back down with a resounding grunt.

"You're awake," said a low voice.

Sandry glanced to the side and saw the dark-skinned Trader sitting up beside her on a mattress. The young woman's clothes were rumpled, but she looked very happy.

"Daja!" Sandry said. She was surprised to note that her voice was hoarse.

Behind Daja, Tris and Briar were sitting up in their beds, groggy. "Oh, Tris! Your hair looks quite wild," Sandry laughed all over her face. Indeed, the weather mage's hair stood on end, its ringlets frizzled.

"I am not concerned about my hair," retorted Tris with a small smirk. "I am concerned about my glasses." Briar had managed to find them somehow, and he handed them to Tris, who put them onto her face clumsily.

Sandry watched their antics, amused, thoughtless. She looked down at her dress; it was stained with blood all over the front.  It was then that a million things struck Sandry at once. She remembered everything – the temple with its high ceilings and dark walls, candles everywhere, Raeldro cloaked in black holding that opal, her blood all over his hands, the earth's core gone as small as a songbird, the colors of their combined magics, fire sprouting from the Hub—

"What happened?" Sandry asked slowly, cautiously. "We -- we can't possibly be alive! This must be some kind of a dream, some sort of a twisted joke – the Hub exploded! All I remember was a great deal of flames before this. How could we possibly be here?" Sandry, growing hysterical, went to sit up. She steadied herself and gave herself a moment of silence before she summoned the strength to stand.

She did not have that strength. Her legs wobbled under her, and she fell back onto the softness of her mattress.

"Relax," Daja said consolingly. "We have to be alive. I feel too awful, too sick, too in pain to be dead."

Sandry fidgeted, shaking her loose hair. She noted that her hands were both bandaged heavily. "I have to get up and find out what's happened. I won't settle down until I know. Why do I have these huge bandages on both my hands? Why isn't the earth destroyed? Why wasn't I destroyed? Where are Niko, and Lark, and Rosethorn, and Moonstream, and Crane, and Frostpine? Why aren't there--?" She made to stand up again, tears falling from her face.

"I already tried that," warned Briar. But it was too late. Sandry came tumbling down.

Sandry's heart raced. All she could think about was that great explosion, and the possibility that people she loved had died, and the fact that Raeldro had used her – so cruelly used her – for months on end. Sandry was out of breath and out of tears. She gave out a soundless scream that sounded like a strained cough, because she had no air left to make noise. Daja threw her arms around Sandry and pulled the noble against her chest hard, rocking back and forth.

Daja shushed her, holding her sobbing friend tightly. Tris and Briar, too, came to her side, crawling, wrapping their arms around their friends and giving her the comfort of their presence, for it was all that they could give. What Raeldro had done touched Sandry most of all, because though he had endangered all their lives and the lives of all their friends, he had endangered much more of that in Sandry. No one could give back what Raeldro had taken from her – her love, her trust, her faith, her spirit.

The door pushed open, and they looked up, still attached, but startled. Even Sandry managed to look up, though the tears still ran down her face. It was Lark at the door, looking grimmer than they had ever seen her. Her habit was streaked with dirt, blood, sweat, grass; her eyes were wide. There was a breath of silence, a tick of the clock in emptiness.

"You're -- awake," she said softly, and then she burst into tears.

Niko was instantly in the room behind her, his cape out behind him in brilliant colors, even still. "Calm yourself, Lark," he said coolly, taking her hands in his. "They're alright now. There's no need for all this crying." Lark was trembling fretfully, the wrinkles on her face going deep.

Niko looked up to the startled young man and women huddled on the bed. He gave them a weak smile; though glad to see him smile, weakness was not a trait that they ever liked to see in Niko. "But – it is good to see you all well again," he murmured. They smiled at him through their tears.

"Would you all like something to eat?" Lark asked them, coming to kneel near the mattresses. Her eyes glimmered. "You must be starved to death--" She paused. "I mean, you must be hungry, after all this."

Tris sniffled. "My stomach's too upset to handle anything," she said in a shaky voice. The others nodded in agreement.

"Tea," Lark responded immediately, standing, as though to get her mind off of disturbing thoughts. She rushed away from them in a busy green blur.

Niko smiled. "I will have to pester you with questions – but, later. You need your rest now," he said.

"No," Daja protested. "I mean – we really want to know what's happened."

Niko pulled out a bench from the corner of the room, and he seated himself on it gracefully. It was amazing that he still managed such a degree of elegance, even after eight years of knowing them. "Perhaps you ought to explain what you know to us, and we can fill you in on the rest of what has happened," Niko said.

The four, huddled together, did not know where to start. Daja nudged Sandry. "You know best," she said encouragingly. "You were there."

Sandry looked at her friend, pleading with her eyes to not make her go through this. But Daja squeezed her around the shoulder and nodded encouragingly. Sandry sighed depressingly.

"Raeldro told me to meet him at the seawall at noon. When I got there, I fell asleep. He had put me under a sleeping spell, I presume, though I don't exactly know. Then he kidnapped me--" She paused to breathe and compose herself; her voice had grown shaky.

"He took me to a great, large temple, decorated in tan and black. He left me tied to a bench there. When I woke, he told me everything. He had done everything, Niko. He framed Woodberry. He made you sick. He killed Gazelle and stole the opal. How could I not have known, having been closest to him? How could I not have guessed?" Sandry, shaking, stopped, gripping Daja's bandaged hand so hard that it began to bleed again.

"You cannot blame yourself, Sandry," interrupted Niko. "His rooms were searched. In it, they found various stations set up with various spells. One of them had numerous carved wax figurines, all wrapped up in a magical net. The people they represented were thus unable to see of his plots. You were one of them; in fact, you four, myself, Lark, several dedicates from here, Moonstream, and many others were figurines found in the net. It's not your fault that you didn't see; he had you spelled to not see."

Sandry nodded; this fact did make her feel a great deal better, but she felt the weight of guilt in the pit of her stomach still. The noble woman continued, cautiously. "Raeldro demanded that I give him my power, and that I link him to the earth. He was getting impatient – he said he needed our power, because we had links to the earth. I told him no, and he – he said he had never loved me, and it was all a plot to get close to me, so he could do this, and try to steal my power, and--" Now she was rambling, furiously, passionately, tears falling from her face.

Daja put an arm around Sandry. "He wanted to make himself into a god!" gasped Sandry. "He used me so he could make himself into a god! He didn't care what he destroyed in order to make himself a god – whether it was the earth, or me, or the lives of others – he didn't care! He didn't care about anything!" Sandry cried, yanking at her hair because she was so furious.

Lark thrust some tea into Sandry's hands. The young woman took it, surprised and shaky. Daja steadied her as she took a sip of it.  "He's dead, isn't he?" Sandry asked suddenly. "I mean – he couldn't have lived."

"Of course he's dead," Daja said in a quiet voice. "It's better that way."

Sandry nodded dumbly, tears in her eyes even still. She met the gazes of Niko and Lark and gave a half-hearted smile. "I was – well, rather attached to him." It was a huge understatement. She gave a weak shrug. "Well, I was, before this. Now – now, I just don't really know."

Lark came over to her and put an arm around her. "Keep drinking that tea, darling," she whispered. "He can't hurt you again, not now."

This was a sort of consolation to Sandry. He can't make me happy again, either, she reminded herself, but that thought went away. She knew she had to discard him, all his memories, all the emotions he brought. Sandry knew that she would have to recuperate, somehow.

Sandry looked at Daja, unable to speak. The Trader took the hint.

"He had the opal," said Daja, taking over. "But even before that, he had opal rings – if you found his body, you must have found them on him. He had used the spells written on the temple walls to make an elixir for immortality. What he had to do to make himself immortal was to break the opals into the elixir and drink it. But he didn't have enough power yet. He needed all of the earth's core."

Daja rubbed Sandry's back in a consoling manner. "But he knew that if he drained from the earth's core, he would never have time to resurface to the temple, recite the chant, add the opals, and drink the elixir. He needed Sandry's link – our link – to the earth in order to directly gain the earth's power. Using that link would have given him just enough time. He needed Sandry's blood to make that connection to the earth's core."

"And then something very odd happened," admitted Tris. "I've never heard of anything of the sort, even in all my studies. All of the sudden, all this information came to my head – I could see everything in the temple through Sandry's eyes. I suddenly knew everything that Raeldro had told Sandry. And then – I felt myself being pulled from my body. It was very strange."

"We were suddenly in the temple, in our magical bodies. I don't know how," Briar told Niko and Lark.

Niko shook his head. "Truthfully, I don't know how, either. But Sandry has a tendency to perform spells she knows nothing about just perfectly," he told them, making a reference to the mistaken making of the thread circle itself.

Sandry, feeling a great deal better, gave Niko a weak smile. "I did manage to grab the thread circle, somehow."

Briar continued, "When we had gotten there, Raeldro had gotten his hands on Sandry's blood, but Daja – well, she made the iron in Sandry's blood go hot, and it burned Raeldro and evaporated the blood."

"Sandry came out her body, too," Daja told them. "But it was too late. Raeldro had, through her blood, taken just enough energy to destabilize the earth. He took his opal and his elixir, and he fled. We followed him down to the earth's core. He took almost enough energy, through the opals on his rings, to complete the spell, but we knew he had not taken enough to complete what he needed to do. It was then that Briar remembered having seen the sap case in Moonstream's office, with just a bit of energy. We knew that Raeldro would need that to complete his spell."

"He had left enough energy in the earth's core so that it wouldn't destruct immediately, then," Niko suggested. "He had left enough to buy himself some time."

"Exactly," Tris remarked. "We met him there, and we fought him. We used the thread circle, charmed the earth's magic, called it – we needed it. And we even said the spell to seal it with blood, and started to bleed."

"Ah!" Niko said. "Let me take this moment to explain why your hands are bandaged. I suppose that this happened at the same time when you said the spell. Your hands all simply sprouted wounds, slices on your hands."

"We didn't use knives?" Tris asked.

"We didn't have knives on us," Briar reminded her. "Well, except for me."

Tris rolled her eyes and continued the story. "All the magic came out of the thread circle, hit on Raeldro's wall of magic. He knocked down the sap case – he knew that his cause was ruined, but he wanted us to die. He threw the elixir on the floor."

"Then there was blackness, a great deal of fire. Then – nothing," Sandry remarked quietly. There was a long sigh of silence.

"Niko, why aren't we dead?" asked Briar suddenly. "How could we have survived that?"

Niko's face turned stone-like. The look on his face and his own hesitation sent shivers down their spines. "You didn't," he answered. Lark flinched visibly.

Sandry's heart leapt into her throat. "Niko – but we aren't dead. Are we?"

Niko leaned back. "I saw the top of the Hub go up in flames," he answered her. "I arrived at Discipline, having gotten Sandry from the temple, just in time to see it happen. The clock burst open from within. Pieces thundered to the ground. And, as I saw it happen your heart stopped, Sandry. We ran inside; the rest of you we had put onto cots, having found your bodies in assorted places. You all lacked heartbeats as well. You were all dead."

His words echoed. Lone tears fell down solemn, grave faces.

Lark, sitting next to him, looked fretful. "You all looked terrible," she murmured. The four looked at each other nervously.

Niko went on to say, "But then – something very strange happened. Silver started to flow out of the earth, out of the tiles on the ground. We felt the earth begin to tremble underneath our feet. Your bodies started to glow a multitude of colors, like the earth's core – your hearts began to beat again. It was as though – almost as if the earth itself had surrendered its power to you."

Something hit Sandry; she recalled the voice that had called to her. You have given me life. Thus, I give your life back to you. Her voice was hardly a whisper. "The voice - I heard it in my sleep. It was like a great rumbling." She instantly knew, vaguely recalling soft warmth, inhaling… 

There was a great silence between them all. The four young mages, suddenly feeling very old, looked at each other, their glances knowing. Niko's look was questioning, lingering on being doubtful; and, yet, even he could not deny what he had seen. He had seen their bodies, rising into the air, suspended by a force unknown. He had fallen down at the sound that had rang in his head, the sound like screaming and surrender, a voice that had a whisper like a tempest. He had felt pulsing in their bodies.

"Why would it do that?" asked Tris breathlessly.

Niko stood quietly but with a strong sense of pride in his eyes. He went to the window, his cloak sweeping out behind him. "This is why," he said, and he flung the shutters open wide.

Sunlight, brighter than they had seen it in months and months, streamed in through the window. Blinded, the four shielded their faces from the white light. But, between that brightness, there were twinges of green.

"Oh, let me see," Sandry gasped. Lark and Niko helped the four on their weak feet to the window.

Everything was new, fresh, and green. The sky was a brilliant blue and the trees bloomed with buds and spring blossoms. The air smelled of growth, of fertile soil. The winds teased them with a trace of salt at their noses. Flowers of many colors radiated all along the winding road; Briar was amazed to see Rosethorn's garden bursting with vitality. Daja and Tris inhaled the salt of the sea at once, filling their chests gratefully. Lark drew some threads from her pocket and rolled them together. They stuck, rather than flying apart.

"It's back," Sandry said with a whisper. "Everything is back."

"After the explosion, everything started to grow again, all at once. There were trees, pushing from the earth, and the sky cleared in a matter of seconds. Everything bad that had happened was so quickly undone," Niko told them, holding a shaky Tris. His eyes fell on each of their weary faces.

They realized, startled, that his eyes brimmed with tears. This frightened them more deeply than anything they had ever seen. They knew not if Niko's expression was fear or shock, awe or pride. "If you had not followed Raeldro – if you had given up – we all know what would have happened. The destruction that lingers now is a fragment of what could have been." He motioned to the window and turned his face to the afternoon sun, orange in all its glory. "It is because of you that we are all here today. You are responsible for this, for everything."

Niko turned back to them.  "There are not words to thank you for having made the ultimate sacrifice. You died for your planet, for your love for it. Raeldro may have wanted to make himself a god, an immortal. But his name will be remembered with nothing but hate and scorn. You four, however--" He paused and took a deep breath, sighing in relief.

"You will be more immortal, more gladly remembered for eons to come, than anyone else on this planet. You have made yourselves eternal in name, in legend, in example. That is true immortality." A tear fell, alone at the corner of his nose, still hidden. "You are… beyond words," he said in a rushed whisper.

No one knew what to say.

---

It took many days for them to recover. Their hands, they knew, would be forever scarred by some magic that they did not know. That was alright, though, even though the scars would serve as painful reminders of all that had happened. It was a week before they could walk on their own, two weeks before they felt strong enough to venture out of the house to simply wander through Rosethorn's flourishing garden.

Rosethorn herself came over to give the four salve for their hands; Briar knew, though, that this was only an excuse for her to see her favorite four mages. Lark, feeling drawn to stay in the household, remained for a few weeks in her old home of Discipline, making her old bed warm once again. Frostpine and Kirel came after a few days as well. Frostpine wept and laughed and teased incessantly when Daja and Kirel felt obliged to share a kiss. Sandry watched them, quite happy for their sake.

Raeldro would never come.

The destruction that had been wrought, they came to find, was interminable. The deaths alone in Winding Circle were mind-boggling; there was no toll for the deaths across the planet. The number was too high to count. It seemed that, out of luck and due to the positioning of the earth's tectonic plates, Winding Circle and Emelan had been very lucky in the grand scheme of things. In other places, great chasms had formed in the ground, enveloping entire rural communities in the north. One of the Stepping Stone Islands, a very small one, had completely sunken underwater, killing all of its inhabitants. Daja was relieved to hear, however, that Hajra's doors had managed to hold up.

Several buildings in the temple city had collapsed, set afire, or been otherwise destroyed. The Hub itself looked as though an entire army had ripped through it. The four young mages felt quite sorry for this, but they had to remind themselves that they were not the ones who threw the elixir and caused the explosion. It was comforting to know that someday soon, that grand clock would be rebuilt.

The four knew that it would be years before all that had been lost could be rebuilt; they knew, also, that lives would not ever be replaced. And, regardless of that looming hopelessness that could have taken root in them, they refused to admit defeat. Raeldro had not won. They vowed to start making salves and bandages or do whatever work was needed once they were restored to health once more.

---

It had been a month since the Great Disaster, as it came to be known in later years. Briar was in Rosethorn's workshop, reading labels by candlelight, trying to see what herbs might do best for the salves to be sent to all the hospitals nearby. He sorted them by the ailment they would cure or ease – infection, pain, bleeding. He brought the candle closer to his face; the darkness was stifling almost. On the table there sat also his treasured shakkan, which he had been feeding with special herbs to continue its amazing growth in the past few weeks. He had let it keep one bud – and only one.

"Need help?" asked a voice. Briar jumped, nearly knocking over a jar of rosemary. Tris stood by the doorframe, shadows deep in her sleeping gown, her freckles illuminated. Her glasses gleamed black around her eyes.

"I'm sorry I startled you," she said apologetically, advancing towards him.

"It's not your fault. I'm still jumpy," he told her.

"As am I," Tris replied. She leaned over his shoulder. "Rosemary," she read aloud. "Is that your handwriting on the jar? It's very neat."

"I was taught by the best," responded Briar, flashing her a smile.

Tris gave him a pleased smile in return, half-flattered, half-embarrassed. Her hands wound their way around and over his shoulders. "You've got to be half-insane to be working at this hour," Tris said in mock scorn. "It really can wait until morning – until a far more decent time."

He kissed her fingertip. "I'll get more done this way," Briar retorted. "I won't be offended if you go to sleep, though."

She shook her head and sat down next to him. "I'll stay with you," she said. "I'm – glad to be here. You know," she added quietly, giving him a small glance. He shared the look with her. Briar and Tris knew that there was nothing that they could say, nothing that they could do to truly express everything that had happened to them in the past months. There was nothing that could summarize it all.

Tris was not sure if there was a way to express her gratefulness to him. She was so amazed by him. To her, he was the essence of playfulness mixed with strength. He was the other half of her; she saw herself reflected in him. They were alienated once, outcasts; home they had found within the other. How could she express this for real after this time of terror? Why had she not said it before with more than kisses on the thatching? Was there another way that she could show him the way he filled her on so many levels?

Tris rested her head on his shoulder, letting a hand run along the top of his forearm.  "Briar?" she said in a voice that was hardly above a whisper.

"Yes?" He was trying to open the jar of rosemary.

She took it from him, unscrewing it with ease and making a slight popping noise. The tension in her built. "Briar, how can I show – how can I express how good it feels – how good everything is? What do I do with myself now? I feel – a need. I feel a need to spend myself for something – for someone, maybe. Do you know what I'm saying?"

"I don't know if I do," he said, turning to face her, looking into her cloudy eyes.

"I need – I feel, somehow, that everything has changed," she told him. Tris sighed and laced her fingers through his. "It's as though nothing can be trivial anymore. There is not room to pause in a lifetime… what if I had died and stayed that way? What if I never had the chance to really live a full life?" She paused. "What if I lost you?"

"What are you trying to say, Coppercurls?" Briar asked her affectionately.

She looked away, staring into that burning candle flame that flickered as its wick burned, as her own wick burned, as her eyes blazed with inward hurricanes.  "You're one of the most wonderful people," she said quietly. "I just wanted you to know – you mean worlds upon worlds to me. You make a difference to me." She looked up at him. "It's hard to say it all."

Briar nodded and understood, feeling his heart sink back into himself, secured, contented, and somehow fiery. "I know what you mean," he told her. "C'mere." He took her into his arms, kissing her forehead.

He realized that she was crying. "It's just so hard to say," she sobbed into his shirt, her hands spread over the terrain of his back. "What if you never knew how much--" She stifled a sniffle. "Oh, I mean it. I mean it."

Another glow came from the doorframe. Sandry, grasping her light crystal, which happened to be fading, stood there; Daja was cast into relief behind her. "Are you alright?" asked Daja softly.

Tris sat up solemnly, attempting to wipe her eyes. "I've never been better," she responded, cracking a smile. The façade crumbled, though, and she broke down to tears again; three sets of arms folded around her, followed by comforting whispers, followed by jokes to cheer her up.

"Don't cry," Daja assured her. "Merchant girls have stronger chins that that." This, admittedly, did surprise a chuckle from Tris. Daja went on to say, "It's all over, and we're all here now. We're safe now. No one's going anywhere."

Her head was bowed as though in prayer as the bodies covered her in sweet, tender, friendly pats and hugs. Her hair fell into her eyes. Briar was a world all to himself, a world that Tris dwelt in, the sky under which she dreamt, upon which she floated. I love you, she thought to Briar with firmness in her voice. I love you. His green eyes rose to meet hers, and every puzzle piece clicked into place.

---

Sandry, for all the comforting words she gave out, spend a great deal of time alone. She often sat in her room, sewing to keep herself busy, complaining of being too weak to go out still. Granted, she had gone through far worse an ordeal physically – her hands were the worst of all of theirs – but her three best friends began to suspect that she was bailing out on them for a very specific reason.

Sewing did not require her to think of Raeldro. It was so tedious a task that it required a great deal of her concentration, so much that she could not think on him. Of course, then she sometimes ended up thinking about not thinking about him. This frustrated Sandry deeply, and then she would borrow a horse from the stables to go ride to the site of the Unread Script Temple.

As she rode, she often cried. She would sob and let the horse follow the dusty path; it knew the way quite well after so many trips. Sandry would think of the betrayal of Raeldro, of his inconsistency, and also of his sweet manners, his hazel eyes, his persuasive address. She remembered the taste of him, the way his lips had first brushed hers with such faux sweetness. Sandry recalled the sound of his voice, a melody like a siren that had nearly lured her to her death. Still, looking back on everything, she came to the realization that he had never once said he loved her. He had been a very sly fox, indeed. She would credit him with being very good at all he did, whether it be scheming, lying, acting, or going completely insane.

Always, when she arrived at the site, she was amazed. Somehow, after all that had happened, the Unread Script Temple had collapsed. No one knew why, and it would probably remain a secret forever. There were two monuments there; one was a beautiful sculpture of a young girl. It resembled the girl in all aspects. The sculpture had been recently dedicated to Lilith, daughter of Woodberry, a victim, exonerated by the gods. Next to that monument stood another, black and marble stone, nothing more than a straight, stocky pillar with no decoration. It read:

Here lies Raeldro Earthkin,

Charged with genocide and

Conspiracy, insanity and inhumanity.

May his name be remembered forever,

Not as one to be glorified,

But as one to be defamed.

There was nothing more than that; not his age, or his appearance, or even any details of his crime. Sandry thought it ironic that he would achieve his immortality through a black pillar on the ruins on an ancient temple. Whenever she looked at the pillar that stood, it made her forget the look of his face a little more, distracting her with the concept of shadows and that thick, dark robe he had worn at the end of it all. His features blurred in her mind.

Every time Sandry went, she lit a candle for him at the base of that pillar. Then she would ride home.

It was one of those afternoons, with the sun shining and darkness still lingering like alcohol in her blood. Sandry prepared to go for another one of these excursions. She put a black veil over her head, letting it fall into her eyes. She turned towards the door and saw Daja leaning there with sadness in her eyes.

"Going again?" Daja asked quietly.

Sandry nodded. "I won't be long," she said in an assuring manner. She advanced towards the doorframe.

Daja placed a hand on her shoulder. "Don't go," she whispered. "It's only making it harder for you. Can't you see that?"

Sandry's eyes fell heavily to the floor. "You don't understand, Daja," she said. "I wouldn't want you to understand, simply so you don't have to know such – defeat. I loved him. I loved him so much. I can't just get over that so easily. How can I learn to love again, to trust again? Maybe it's not doing me any good to go there, to see that black pillar rising up from the rubble. But I feel like I need to go."

Daja watched her talk and stood a moment in silence. "I never would take you away from your mourning, saati. I wouldn't dare to," she replied with a steady face. "But why must you run from the people that love you in order to heal your pain? Tris, Briar, myself – we are not the Raeldros of the world. We will not betray your confidence. We cannot bring him back or make him love you, but we can love you still, in our own way."

Sandry gave a quivering nod. She held up her wrist, looking at the charm that dangled there. "I can't let go, still, even with you," Sandry told her in a warning sort of way. "You can't make me forget."

"No," Daja said. "We cannot forget. If we forget, what will we have to learn from? You can grieve still." She held up her left hand; around her wrist, she wore a red band, the Trader sign for death and mourning. "I'll support you in that," she added. "But, come, my Duchess. Take off your black headdress, and put away your black gloves. Remember the past when you dive into the future, which you have made yourself."

Sandry sighed deeply. She was somewhat frustrated. "Just give me time, Daja. Please." Her voice was on the verge of begging.

The Trader girl, unable to understand fully, yet accepting of her friend's wishes, nodded. "I'll be outside," she said. "It really is a lovely day, though, to stand in the sun without your face hidden." With that, she departed.

Sandry continued through her room, gathering a few things to put into a black silk pouch – the thread-circle, her fading light crystal, a smaller pouch with a needle and thread, smelling salts, a small kerchief, and a small candle with a match. For Raeldro, she thought. She sat on her bed, holding that small silken pouch in her shaking hands, and burst into tears.

What am I doing? Sandry asked herself, dumping out everything onto her covers and snatching at the kerchief hurriedly. She dabbed her eyes. Why do I feel cold, like the inside of the shell, as though I'm in the dark all over again? Why do I refuse to leave my inner place?

She left the pouch and climbed the stairs to the roof. As her head peeked out of the house, a wind teased at her veil, and her tears felt a great deal drier. The sun was hot and yellow on the crisp thatching, and she seated herself on it with grace and elegance in the usual Sandry fashion.

Out in the distance, she saw houses ravaged and demolished, the sick and injured being taken away on cots, and the hole ripped through the top of the Hub. It made her shudder to see that. All she could remember was the disgusted look on Raeldro's face when he threw down that elixir, the sound of glass shattering – had he seen her last? In whatever afterlife there was for him, would he remember her, loving him and bringing him to his knees?

And, yet, within the glorious city of Winding Circle, she saw life coming back. Houses were being reconstructed. People were getting better. The earth itself was as vibrant as Sandry had ever seen it, and people's spirits seemed to be lifted simply with the knowledge of that fact. The sky seemed to stretch beyond infinity, everlasting, without an end. Even in the midst of chaos, of pain, of disaster such as this, there was hope. There was joy. There was a sense of faith in the ability of mankind to renew itself as the planet itself had.

Could Sandry, then, reconstruct her own self?

In the yard, she saw Tris, Briar and Daja. Tris and Briar were sweetly holding hands, periodically letting go so that Briar could bend down and sift through the dirt of the garden. Daja smiled, rolled up her sleeves, spread her dark smith arms to the sun. Tris kicked dirt around, fanned herself, fidgeted with her hair, laughed with a happiness that she did not often exhibit.

Sandry watched them and smiled. There was, in truth, nothing better to see them like that, even after the events of the last few months. Like everything around them, the circle of the four was growing anew. In the midst of the crumbling of the world, or at least its near-crumbling, they had remained steadfast, true to one another. The circle was stronger than ever before, and they would continue to strengthen for years and years to come. They would always be there for her, for each other. And Sandry knew she would gladly return the favor.

Sandry knew, with sudden clarity, that the only thing that would endure would be solidarity, a sense of brotherhood. The planet itself could prove itself of undergoing particularly nasty changes. Opinions could change. Age, time, popularity, wealth, nationality – these things were immaterial. Even romance does shift its tendencies. Sandry knew, though, that a sense of humanity, of family with each other, was something that was inherited, something instinctual.

Perhaps it would not be so with the four of them; eventually, they would die, as all people do. But Sandry knew someone would carry it on. Someone had to carry it on. Every person would someday feel a sense of belonging, a sense of connection. It was in a person's blood to feel that way.

Sandry knew that things would get accomplished through the bonds of friendship, the bonds of companionship. It was foolish to place her trust in the memories of the past, in the dead romances with dead sorcerers; Tris, Briar, and Daja were the important people she had in her life. They had already done a great deal with that friendship; so much more could be accomplished that way.

Slowly, Sandry lifted the veil from her eyes and let the sun directly hit her face. It felt warm, soft. That garment came off quickly, shed onto the thatching, which poked her encouragingly. The gloves she tucked into her corset, and she undid her hair from its proper bun with the undoing of a single pin. It swung around her shoulder blades, wild. She would be free of him; she did not say that she would not hurt again, but she would be free. Sandry would learn to love again, and she would start the best way that she knew how.

She jumped like a bird down off of the roof via the top of Rosethorn's workshop; her skirts billowed around her like a great black umbrella. Sandry, smiling contentedly, approached her friends, who watched her and smirked at her disarrayed state.

"I always hated veils," she told them.

Tris grinned approvingly and threw two arms around their Duchess. "So you took off the veil and let the sun kiss you again," she remarked. "I'm glad. It's such a bright day."

Sandry grinned back. "I told you – all that fancy clothing is completely pointless," Briar added.

Daja gave a cheerful smile as well, remarking, "The pigtails will always suit you far better." Briar teased and tugged at her hair, taking her hand in his own, while Daja smothered the light-haired mage in another massive hug.

Under the sunlight, the circle of young, lively mages laughed as they wobbled in their pile of affection. Indeed, it was a beautiful day, as the clouds parted to let the closest star of all shine on the children of the earth, the protectors of the planet, the youngest, greatest mages of all. For long, long minutes, the circle did not break apart, simply holding to each other. In fact, holding was the thing they did best.

Where shall I go but here?

Whom else to keep so near?

I keep at my side

Four lumps all tied

And I have naught to fear.

End.

AN: Thanks a million for your support on this. I loved all the reviews I got and I hoped that it was satisfactory in the end to all. I would like to say that I have a separate story to add in a few weeks which will be a sort of epilogue to this; it continues to summarize their lives, but it really fit to end the story here, and the epilogue was just sort of awkward. So, it'll be a completely different piece! Keep your eyes open for it, because I'm quite obsessed with the ideas I have for it thus far.

Again, thanks a million for the support and for putting up with my laziness. :)