The Ballad Ends…
CHAPTER 16
Deadrock glittered with celebration.
Polished gray stone, radiant orange lanterns, tinsel-wrapped towers, and freshly painted statues watched over the three-day dance. Homemade bread, sweet pastries, and an assortment of food adorned enough tables to sink a battleship.
Cage enjoyed himself.
Smoke did not.
His sister scowled at joy as if it were the plague. Infectious. Contagious. A disgusting rash of happiness and delight. She had not forgiven the gods for dooming them to fate, had not forgiven Fei for forcing them to kill, had not forgiven herself for forgetting what and why and how.
Cage did forgive. The gods, Fei, himself—it was the only way. He would not fester with doubt and hate. Where Smoke burned, he flowed like a river: bendable, adaptable, washing away grief with good people and good food. His chains were cracked, his prison shattered. He was no longer the cowering, terrified child hiding in the storm. He was the storm. He was the rain. He was the thunder and lightning and darkness and pain.
But he was also the sun peeking through clouds, the wet shimmer of rainbow on pavement. The hope at the end of a tear-streaked day, the light at the death of a sob-ridden night. He had forged himself anew, had shaped himself from dreams and joy instead of nightmares and regret.
So he turned to his sister, a smirk on his cheeks, his smile iridescent with a smattering of scrunched freckles, and laughed. “We’re free,” he said, his joy a physical thing, black curls bouncing, steel eyes sparkling. “We’re free, Smoke. We’re free.” Confidence grew inside him like a tree. Resilient. Resolute. Immovable, despite weather. He knew in his bones, in his holy bones, that he had the power to confront the future.
Cage was a demon, a curse, because he had believed himself to be. Same as Smoke was death, a ghost.
And belief was the key to everything.
“We’re free,” Smoke echoed, “for as long as freedom lasts, and freedom never lasts for long.”
Years ago, those words would have crushed Cage. But he was older now, and stronger, and kinder. Smoke needed different words—needed his words—and so he planted them in the soil of neglected hope.
A hope he should have watered long, long ago.
“True,” Cage said, snagging a muffin off a plate, “but when freedom ends, we’ll be ready. When freedom ends, the fight begins. We’ve survived before, and we’ll survive again.”
Smoke slid her midnight gaze toward him. Around them, the song faded into a fuzzy caress. The Guardians—Fei in their midst—vanished in a swish of satin robes, their blue-fire eyes flickering as they melted from this world and into another far beyond the scope of humans. They had gifted the inseparable siblings the treasured luxury of a quiet, boring life—until their final call, if a final call there’d be.
His sister sighed. She used to trust no one but Cage. Now, she trusted a scarce few more, a handful of goodness she held at arm’s-length till they proved themselves safe for her heart. But she did let things go—most things—without threatening murder, and she held onto less, only the best slices of revenge.
Smoke faced him and nodded. “You’re right. We’ll survive.”
They were ready, waiting, for whatever came next.
And something always came next.
THE END.
all of the kudos, all of the YES. this is needs to be everywhere for everyone. truly brilliant. well done halo! ♥️💥