Nothing

They returned to Oxland without anyone trying to kill them.

Fendor complained about this on the second day.

“Something feels wrong.”

Kaylor looked over from the saddle.

“What?”

“We've gone nearly forty-eight hours without being attacked.”

Hexen walked beside his horse rather than riding it. He had abandoned the saddle sometime after breakfast and apparently decided the horse deserved a walkabout of its own.

“You could ask someone to attack you.”

“That would defeat the purpose.”

“What purpose?”

Fendor considered.

“I don't know.”

Isamu rode ahead of them.

Nethnarel had a book open.

Kaylor had stopped asking how she managed to read while riding. The answer would either annoy him or involve magic, and neither possibility seemed worth pursuing.

They passed through country recovering from the shadow.

Fields remained scarred in places. Trees stood dead along low ridges where corruption had lingered longest. There were villages still replacing roofs and bridges. There were graves.

Nothing they had done at Mahi Esri erased what had happened.

That mattered.

The world had not reset itself because the heroes finally understood the right answer.

People still carried losses.

Land still required healing.

Some things would take years.

Some would never return.

But the wrongness was gone.

Hexen felt it everywhere they traveled.

Water stayed where water belonged.

Wind came from somewhere.

Fire warmed.

Earth rested beneath their feet without dreaming of becoming something else.

Nothing extraordinary happened.

Hexen found that extraordinarily reassuring.

On the third day, Kaylor stopped beside a field.

The others continued several paces before noticing.

A farmer was working near the far fence.

Rows of new growth covered land that had been blackened weeks earlier.

Small plants.

Three leaves here.

Four there.

Kaylor smiled.

Fendor turned his horse.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Fendor followed his gaze.

“Those are plants.”

“Yes.”

“Remarkable observation.”

Kaylor started walking again.

Fendor watched him.

“You became strange on your walkabout.”

“More strange?”

“Different strange.”

Kaylor thought about that.

“I can live with that.”

They continued south.

Oxland appeared late in the afternoon.

Kaylor saw the rooftops first.

Then the towers.

Then smoke rising from chimneys in a dozen ordinary gray lines.

The city did not know they had saved anything.

Not yet.

Word from Mahi Esri would eventually travel.

Stories always did.

By the time Fendor finished helping them, the Crystal of Chaos would probably become the size of a castle and his final shot would have passed through a hole too small for light.

That could wait.

For now, wagons stood in line at the gate.

A merchant argued about tariffs.

Someone had lost a goat.

Two guards were discussing dinner.

Kaylor slowed.

Isamu noticed.

“Again?”

Kaylor looked at him.

“What?”

“You stopped outside the gate last time too.”

“I know.”

“Why?”

Kaylor looked toward Oxland.

He had no dramatic answer.

“I like seeing it from here.”

Isamu nodded.

He understood.

Behind them, Fendor called, “Are we having a spiritual experience or going inside?”

Kaylor turned.

“Inside.”

“Good.”

They entered Oxland.

The Manticore’s Tail was busy.

That pleased Fendor.

A quiet tavern was either failing or about to become the location of something terrible.

He opened the door first.

Conversation continued for perhaps three seconds.

Then stopped.

Someone recognized them.

A chair scraped.

A mug hit the floor.

The room erupted.

Kaylor winced.

Fendor raised both arms.

“Yes. We survived.”

The cheering became louder.

Nethnarel moved behind Kaylor as though a dragonborn in heavy armor might somehow conceal a tiefling with pale hair and horns.

It did not work.

Questions came immediately.

What happened?

Was Mahi Esri safe?

Where was the Crystal?

Was the Eternal Dragon truly dead?

Had Fendor really fired an arrow through five dimensions?

Fendor opened his mouth.

Nethnarel grabbed his shoulder.

“No.”

“I was asked.”

“You were preparing to lie.”

“I was preparing to simplify.”

Hexen disappeared toward the kitchen.

No one attempted to stop him.

Isamu was surrounded by people who had not seen him in weeks.

Kaylor stood inside the noise and felt something settle in him.

He had expected returning home to feel like an ending.

It did not.

It felt like returning home.

That was better.

Eventually the questions slowed.

Drinks appeared.

Food arrived without anyone ordering it.

Stories began replacing interrogations.

Fendor corrected three people whose versions of the battle were insufficiently flattering.

Nethnarel corrected Fendor.

Hexen emerged with a plate large enough for several people and ate most of it himself.

Isamu found someone from his monastery and disappeared into a quiet conversation near the wall.

Kaylor sat.

That was when he noticed the table.

Six chairs.

There was nothing unusual about that.

The table had room for six.

Many tables did.

Five of the chairs were occupied.

One was not.

Fendor noticed second.

Then Nethnarel.

Isamu returned and stopped.

Hexen came from the bar carrying another cup.

A server approached.

She looked at the empty chair.

“You only need five, right?”

She reached for it.

Hexen said, “Leave it.”

The server stopped.

No explanation followed.

None was necessary.

She nodded.

The chair remained.

Kaylor looked at it.

There was no armor draped across the back.

No hammer leaning beside it.

No shield.

No cleric complaining about whatever Fendor had just said.

Nothing supernatural disturbed the air.

Grazim did not appear.

For the first time, Kaylor realized he no longer wanted him to.

That realization hurt.

It also felt like love.

Grazim had already given everything he had to give.

His life.

His faith.

His friendship.

His final battles.

His final goodbye.

Dragging him back again would not honor that.

Remembering him would.

Fendor stared at the empty chair for a long moment.

Then he raised his cup.

“To the one who should be complaining about this.”

Hexen smiled.

Nethnarel lifted hers.

Isamu did the same.

Kaylor raised his last.

“To Grazim.”

They drank.

Nobody made a speech.

They had already said goodbye.

The conversation continued.

The chair remained.

Fendor lost money at cards.

He denied this.

The coins visibly crossed the table.

He still denied it.

“The rules changed.”

“They did not,” Isamu said.

“You weren't watching.”

“I was sitting here.”

“Exactly. Bad angle.”

Nethnarel did not look up from her book.

“You had three kings.”

Fendor pointed at her.

“You said you weren't playing.”

“I wasn't.”

“You were reading.”

“Yes.”

“And tracking my hand?”

“You are not subtle.”

Hexen leaned toward Fendor.

“She knew mine too.”

“You were eating your cards.”

“One.”

Kaylor looked over.

Hexen shrugged.

“It had sauce.”

Fendor stared.

“This is what passes for heroism now.”

Kaylor took a drink.

“Seems better.”

Outside, someone shouted.

All five looked toward the door.

Old reflex.

The shout was followed by laughter.

Nothing else.

Fendor slowly returned to his cards.

“Good.”

Nethnarel turned a page.

Kaylor noticed that.

A week earlier all of them would have been standing.

Weapons ready.

Magic gathering.

Waiting for the next thing.

Now nobody moved.

The world was allowed to make noise without becoming their responsibility.

That felt like learning a new language.

Later, Nethnarel carried three books downstairs.

Fendor groaned.

“No.”

“I am not asking you to read them.”

“Then why bring them?”

“Because I am reading them.”

“You were already reading one.”

“I finished it.”

Fendor looked toward Kaylor.

“She destroyed the Crystal of Chaos and learned nothing.”

Nethnarel sat.

“I did not destroy it.”

“It ceased to exist.”

“That is not necessarily destruction.”

“It is a strong indicator.”

Hexen looked over.

“Do you miss it?”

Nethnarel did not answer immediately.

“Yes.”

Fendor's expression softened.

She saw it and pointed at him.

“Don't.”

“I didn't say anything.”

“You were about to.”

“I was going to say that was surprisingly healthy.”

“That was exactly what I meant.”

Hexen smiled.

Nethnarel opened the first book.

“I miss what I might have learned.”

Kaylor looked at her.

“But?”

She glanced toward him.

“But there are other things to learn.”

Fendor leaned back.

“Books?”

“Among other things.”

“Disappointing.”

Nethnarel looked down at the page.

There were still unanswered questions in the world.

That no longer felt like failure.

It felt like tomorrow.

Isamu stayed in Oxland longer than anyone expected.

Nobody asked when he planned to return to the monastery.

Eventually Kaylor did.

They were standing outside the Manticore’s Tail the following morning.

Isamu watched people move through the street.

“I'll go back.”

“When?”

“I don't know.”

Kaylor smiled.

“Good answer.”

Isamu looked at him.

“You've become irritating.”

“I learned from experts.”

Fendor's voice came through an open window.

“I heard that.”

Isamu shook his head.

Then looked toward the road out of the city.

“The monastery doesn't need me every day.”

Kaylor understood.

“Neither does the world.”

“No.”

They stood quietly.

A wagon passed.

The driver waved.

Kaylor waved back.

“Does that bother you?”

Isamu asked.

Kaylor knew what he meant.

Once, perhaps.

Now?

“No.”

“Good.”

Kaylor looked at him.

“Does it bother you?”

Isamu thought.

“No.”

They went back inside.

Hexen spent the afternoon planting something behind the tavern.

Nobody knew what.

When asked, he said, “You'll see.”

Fendor immediately assumed this meant danger.

Nethnarel assumed it meant a plant.

Isamu assumed both could be true.

Kaylor helped dig.

It was strange work for the Hammer of Thunderbolts.

He used a shovel.

Fendor came outside and stared at him.

“You own a magical hammer capable of doing extraordinary things.”

“Yes.”

“And you're digging.”

“Yes.”

“With a shovel.”

“Yes.”

Fendor watched for several seconds.

“Walkabout ruined you.”

Kaylor pushed the shovel into the soil.

“Probably.”

Fendor left.

Hexen handed Kaylor a small tree.

“What is it?”

“Tree.”

“I can see that.”

“Then why ask?”

Kaylor looked at him.

“You and Isamu have been talking.”

Hexen smiled.

They planted it behind the Manticore's Tail.

No plaque.

No magical inscription.

No dedication.

Just a tree.

Perhaps someday someone would decide what it meant.

For now, it grew.

Evening came.

The tavern filled again.

Not because the Heroes of the New Beginning were there.

Because it was evening.

That distinction pleased Kaylor.

People came to drink.

Eat.

Argue.

Meet friends.

Forget work.

Remember things.

Tell stories badly.

The heroes occupied one table among many.

Six chairs.

Five people.

Nethnarel had books stacked beside her.

Isamu drank slowly.

Hexen had brought something green in a cup that no one else was willing to try.

Fendor was explaining the final shot again.

“It was perhaps this wide.”

His fingers were nearly touching.

Kaylor shook his head.

“It was bigger.”

“You were not looking.”

“I was there.”

“You were busy being earth.”

Nethnarel looked up.

“We agreed those positions were not symbolic.”

Fendor sighed.

“You are still saying that?”

“Yes.”

“Years from now, songs will call me Chaos.”

“Then the songs will be wrong.”

“Songs are allowed.”

“They are not.”

Isamu looked toward Kaylor.

“Do you want to tell them?”

“Tell us what?” Fendor asked.

Kaylor leaned back.

The noise of the Manticore’s Tail moved around them.

He thought of the first time they had stood together beneath stone statues.

Six figures carved in the likeness of people they did not remember being.

They had known their names.

Not much else.

Kaylor.

Grazim.

Hexen.

Fendor.

Nethnarel.

Isamu.

Heroes before memory.

Strangers to themselves.

For years, they had searched backward for an answer.

Who had they been?

What had they done?

Which gods had they served?

What mistakes had they made?

What had been taken from them?

Eventually they found many of those answers.

Some were good.

Some terrible.

None told them who they had to become.

That part they had done themselves.

The statues had never mattered as much as they thought.

Kaylor looked around the table.

Nethnarel.

Curious enough to reach toward impossible knowledge, wise enough at last to let some of it go.

Isamu.

Strong enough to hurt almost anything, disciplined enough to know that strength was not the first answer.

Hexen.

Always changing shape, yet somehow more certain than any of them about the balance beneath all those forms.

Fendor.

A killer when killing was necessary. A friend even when he pretended the word embarrassed him. A man capable of seeing an opening smaller than hope and deciding it was enough.

Then the empty chair.

Grazim.

Gone.

Still theirs.

Finally Kaylor considered himself.

There were many versions.

Paladin.

Oathbreaker.

Champion.

Failure.

Savior.

Fool.

Dead man.

Returned man.

The one who freed Thorax.

The one who killed him.

The man who had spent most of his life believing he could become good enough to keep everyone.

He could not.

He knew that now.

And somehow knowing it had not made him care less.

It had made the people still beside him more precious.

Fendor snapped his fingers.

“Kaylor.”

Kaylor blinked.

“What?”

“You disappeared.”

“I was thinking.”

“That never ends well.”

Kaylor smiled.

“I've heard.”

Fendor leaned forward.

“Isamu asked whether you wanted to tell us something.”

“No.”

“Then why was everyone looking at you?”

Kaylor looked around.

They were.

He lifted his cup.

“To the Heroes of the New Beginning.”

Fendor raised his.

“That sounds dangerously sentimental.”

“Drink.”

Fendor did.

The others joined.

Five cups.

The sixth place remained empty.

Much later, when most of the tavern had cleared, they stayed.

The fire burned lower.

Chairs were turned onto tables around them.

Someone swept the floor.

Nobody asked the heroes to leave.

Perhaps that was respect.

Perhaps nobody wanted to tell Hexen.

Outside, Oxland settled toward sleep.

The sound changed gradually.

Fewer carts.

Fewer voices.

More doors closing.

Kaylor watched the fire.

Fendor rested his boots on another chair.

Nethnarel had finally stopped reading.

Isamu sat with his hands around an empty cup.

Hexen stared toward the window.

Fendor spoke first.

“So.”

Nobody answered.

He tried again.

“What now?”

Nethnarel looked at him.

“You're asking us?”

“Yes.”

“That seems dangerous.”

“I am temporarily out of ideas.”

Hexen frowned.

“Are you sick?”

Fendor ignored him.

“I mean it.”

The question stayed on the table.

What now?

For most of their lives, that question had been answered before they asked it.

Another door.

Another enemy.

Another god.

Another terrible object no sensible person should touch.

Another ruined city.

Another dragon.

Another death.

Another return.

Now there was nothing.

Kaylor looked toward Nethnarel.

She shrugged.

“I have books.”

Fendor looked toward Isamu.

“The monastery.”

Hexen?

“A tree.”

Fendor stared.

“You planted one tree.”

“Yes.”

“And that's your plan?”

“For tomorrow.”

Fendor considered.

“That is disturbingly reasonable.”

They looked at Kaylor.

He knew it was his turn.

A week earlier he might have said another walkabout.

Another road.

Somewhere beyond Oxland there would always be trouble.

That remained true.

The world had not become perfect.

People would still suffer.

Creatures would still threaten villages.

Wars would happen.

Dragons would remain dragons.

Someday, perhaps, the Heroes of the New Beginning would be needed again.

But not tonight.

Kaylor looked at the empty chair.

Then at his friends.

“I think we stay.”

Fendor waited.

“For how long?”

Kaylor smiled.

“Until we don't.”

Isamu nodded.

Hexen accepted this immediately.

Nethnarel looked almost relieved.

Fendor leaned back.

“I suppose I can tolerate that.”

No messenger burst through the door.

No bell sounded.

No god spoke.

No portal opened in the floor.

The fire simply burned.

Outside, a merchant argued over the price of wool before finally giving up and going home.

Someone laughed in the street.

A door closed.

Somewhere nearby, a dog barked at nothing worth killing.

Inside the Manticore's Tail, five people remained around a table built for six.

Once they had awakened beneath statues of themselves and gone looking for the people they had been.

They had found something better.

They had found one another.

And somewhere along the way, without noticing exactly when it happened, they had found home.

The world did not need saving that night.

So, for once, the heroes stayed.