Jaxy smiled, leaning into her, holding to her arm. “Ranette. That was almostkind.”
“I mean it. I miss him.” She smiled. “Wasn’t ever a person I’ve known who was more fun to shoot.”
MELAAN
NINETEEN MONTHS AFTER DETONATION
The messenger flitted off across the dark ocean of Shadesmar, glowing faintly.
MeLaan sat in a boat kept afloat by some kind of glowing substance on the hull. The blackness beneath was like a liquid, more viscous than water. It was supposed to be perfectly transparent—if a person slipped into it and sank, you were said to be able to watch them fall, and fall, and fall.
“Do you know,” MeLaan said, “what those messengers evenare?”
“An Invested entity,” her guide said, “which can read Connection to find anyone, anywhere.”
“That’s… kind of unnerving.”
Her guide—Jan Ven—shrugged. She was a creature with four arms, chalk-white skin, and large almost reptilian eyes. Her white hair was wide, like blades of grass. Sho Del were apparently rare out here, but made excellent guides. Something about having a direct line to their gods.
The envelope was stamped with the wordsSILVERLIGHT MERCANTILE. Inside she found a note from Harmony. Short, to the point, empathetic. Wayne had stopped the attack on the city. And had died in the process.
Her breath caught. She found herself trembling.
Rusts. She was supposed to be better than this. Immortal. Stoic. Why couldn’t she be like the others?
She’dknown she wouldn’t see him again. But this? She’dwanted him to find someone else. For his own good. And if she was being honest, for her own good. Because he made her forget what she was. Because with him the world was too interesting, and that made her forget what was smart.
Dead? He…
It was supposed to have been a mere fling. She was just too damn awful at being immortal. She folded the letter, then placed it carefully into her jacket.
“Bad news?” Jan Ven asked, paddling them softly across the infinite black expanse.
“Yes,” MeLaan whispered.
“Do you want to put off the landing?”
MeLaan turned. There waslandahead. And lights that seemed too alive for the cold fire of this strange place. People crowded around, hundreds of them, with strange outfits, many with odd red hair. Lost.
This was her task. To save those people.
“No,” MeLaan said, standing. “I have a duty here.”
After all, she could remake, rebuild, and regenerate her heart. That was what her kind did.
WAXILLIUM
TWO YEARS AFTER DETONATION
The most difficult thing about commissioning Wayne’s statue had been deciding which hat it should be wearing. In the end, the answer had been obvious. They had to make it changeable.
So it was that Wax and Steris stood before a remarkably accurate bronze depiction of Wayne wearing a removable bronze version of his lucky hat. He was larger than life-size, smiling slyly, with an outstretched hand. Likely so that he could pick your pocket with the other, but most people would think he was offering help.
They figured they’dreplace the hat once a year. Keep things fresh, interesting. It wasn’t the official unveiling yet, but the artist had let Wax and Steris come to see it. Fences kept others away as they promenaded along the Field of Rebirth at the very hub of Elendel. The knoll where people had first emerged after the remaking of the world.
The statues of the Ascendant Warrior and the Last Emperor were just far enough away that if Wayne’s had been alive, he could have hit them on the backs of their heads with an occasional thrown pebble. That seemed appropriate.
Steris knelt down to read the inscription.