Chaos 19 & 20

[maderr]

Had wanted to have the whole thing finished today but Chaos, like everything else of late, hates me. So next week will wrap everything up.

Argh, I cannot believe it's Monday already.



Nineteen

Stefan groaned and fell to his hands and knees as Teufel released him, images and memories that felt both foreign and familiar still pouring through his mind.

He dug his fingers into the black and white stones beneath him, shivering, so cold.

It wasn’t fair. The thought rang over and over in his head.

Everything began to blur, combine, becoming a swirling confusion of images in his head, until he could not tell where each memory belonged, or to whom. He could not separate his own mind from Teufel’s.

All he felt was cold, like an oppressive weight pressing down upon him, threatening to crush him.

Sasha.

It wasn’t fair.

He blinked to clear the tears from his eyes and looked at the still form of his lover.

His lover.

It had made him so dizzily happy to think that. Not so long ago Sasha had kissed him. Only months ago they’d met, when Sasha had collapsed right in front of him.

He and Killian had dragged him to the Temple of Sunrise, warmed him by the fire. Then Sasha had woken.

Stefan had touched his hair, been awed by the feel of it. Been awed by Sasha’s confidence, his power, how elegant and strong…how handsome and fierce he’d looked.

How brave he must be, to venture into a strange land that had been sealed from the world for more than a thousand years. How much braver he was to take on a god. What strength it must take to do all that while knowing he was going to die, would never see his own home again.

Sasha who had given everything to save a country that was not his, to save people who neither knew he existed nor cared.

Stefan began to shiver with the force of the crushing cold.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t right.

Sasha should be loved and adored by all. He was a prince with hair like fire, with a heart just as fierce for all it was ‘weak.’

Tears streamed down his face as Stefan succumbed to his sobs, to the cold.

He wanted Sasha back. He wanted Sasha to be loved and adored as he deserved. Instead he’d have to bury his lover in a place that wasn’t his home. That wasn’t the Land of Fire but the Land of Shadow he’d tried so hard to save.

"No," Stefan said on a sob. "It’s not fair."

"No, it’s not," Teufel said, crouching down and stroking his hair, touch surprisingly gentle, even soothing. Stefan didn’t resist as he was tugged close, those hands continuing to stroke.

"I want him back."

"I know," Teufel said softly in his cool but not unpleasant voice, fingers stroking his cheek, wiping away his tears. "They’ve all been unfair. Cruel and unfeeling."

Stefan nodded, vaguely noting that Teufel smelled sort of like the flowers Maja liked picking, but sort of too sweet, but the thought slipped away almost immediately as his thoughts surged up again and he did not protest when Teufel’s arms slipped around him, hugged him close.

"It’s not fair…" he said softly, crying softly into Teufel’s shoulder, mind unable to do anything but replay all that he knew of Sasha, the cruel and awful way he’d died, how terrible it was that no one would ever know all the things his fiery prince had done, how they probably wouldn’t even notice.

Nor was anyone sorry to see me surrender the position.

Desperate, I guess, to believe in anything happy.

Perhaps it’s the price I pay…

With every wretched, painful memory the cold grew deeper, the anger stronger, the bitterness sharper.

As though from far away, yet so very close, Stefan saw Sasha’s sad face as he thought of home. As he spoke of the people there. Of being laughed at, rejected.

Then he saw Licht, staring sadly at his people, howling in anguish as his brothers ignored his pleas, as his children continued to harm themselves.

Licht blended into Sasha, brown hair becoming red, then brown again. One tormented face became another, until he could no longer remember which was Licht and which his lover. They were the same. His love. His heart. His Light.

"Yes." The word was whispered softly in his ear, so comforting, reassuring. Someone understood his pain, his rage.

Stefan let it all sink in, let his body and mind absorb it, until there was nothing but the calming dark and he was left feeling frozen, numb all the way through save for his anger and bitterness.

For cold was better than the burning ache that tore him apart from the inside out.

Anger was better than the anguish that wracked his body with sobs.

Bitterness was better than—

Bitter should always be paired with sweet.

Stefan jerked, and for a moment saw not his memories of Licht and Sasha, but the black and white floor beneath him. But the heat burned and he didn’t want it, he wanted the cold back. He moaned low and ignored the warm voice, wanting only the comfort of the cold dark, closing his eyes to let it wash over him.

We will remake the world, my shadow, my heart. Make it right, the way it should have been. Then no one will suffer, because they will not be given a chance to make such awful, terrible decisions. No more hate, no more foolishness.

Yes…no more cruelty. Stefan nodded, letting it surge through him, and when he opened his eyes this time he saw not black and white, but the delicate, moon-silver of the threads of fate. They shivered at his touch, and more images flashed through his mind.

What would happen to a child about to be born, the way an old woman would die, how that death would be responsible for making a man a healer, how he would someday marry the newborn babe.

A thousand intertwined fates played out before him, as carefully and delicately spun as silken thread.

Yes.

So much better than the hideous chaos which flashed and sparkled in dizzying fashion between the beautiful threads. The whirling colors gave him a headache, made his eyes burn. Hateful. Detestable.

Chaos had taken away that which he most loved. It would be destroyed, and happiness would return when Order controlled everything.

He glared hatefully at the glittering shards of chaos. They looked like a—

Shattered mirror… Pieces scattered everywhere, each one reflecting something different.

"No!" Stefan snarled, hugging himself, keeping the cold in, refusing to let in any more of the terrible light and heat. The darkness was safer, more welcoming. Anger and bitterness were better than pain and misery. They were. He would be the darkness and protect the world from itself. Sasha would never suffer. Licht would never suffer.

If you seek the warmth of the fire, you must be willing to accept those flames can burn you.

He didn’t want the warmth. He didn’t want the fire. He wanted the cold.

It looks as though it should be hot…but it’s not.

Stefan moaned, and it turned into a strangled sob. "Stop it, no. I don’t want this. Leave me alone." The image of threads and shattered light faded from his sight and he snarled angrily, looking up from the black and white floor to stare at the unmoving figure across the room.

Hair like the deepest red at the heart of a fire. Skin so pale and fine next to it. Eyes that had once burned the most beautiful deep, orange-yellow gold.

"I don’t want to feel like that again," Stefan whispered. "It hurts too much. It’s not fair. Sasha shouldn’t—"

All that matters now is that you not fall into anger and bitterness when I am gone. Promise me you won’t."

"I do not like it, but I promise, Sasha."

"No!" Stefan howled, but it was too late.

He heard a protest deep inside him, a furious scream from the deep, thick darkness that was Teufel…that had come so close to taking him over…no…

Stefan sobbed.

It hadn’t come close.

It had succeeded.

He could feel the threads of fate. He could sense the chaos around which they were wrapped.

His own memories were irrevocably intertwined with Teufel’s. Thoughts of Sasha melded with thoughts of Licht.

Fresh tears spilled down his cheeks, and Stefan wiped them angrily away, recalling suddenly that he was still smeared with Sasha’s blood.

The darkness clawed at him, begged him, but he fought it back with every bit of strength he had, focusing only on the soft feel of Sasha’s hair, the warmth of his smile, the way his touch burned.

He let out a hoarse cry as his chest ached, throbbed.

Screamed as cold ripped through his body, as though it were filled with shards of ice.

Unfair. The world betrayed him. Me. Betrayed Sasha.

"No," Stefan whispered.

The darkness is safe, steady.

"Stop it!" Stefan bellowed. "I don’t want the dark! Why do you do this! I am not Teufel!"

But he was, and he knew he was. Killian – Teufel – had claimed him. He was Teufel now. The shadow of Licht.

Licht who died and left me alone, did not even tell me farewell or leave me a memory.

Stefan sniffled and wiped his bloody hands on his pants, wiped his eyes with the back of his hands. He stopped as he recalled something Sasha had said.

"When the Basilisk killed Licht, all but a single piece of Licht was completely destroyed. Such is the power of the Eyes of the Basilisk when used to their full strength. No one knows where that single piece went, though. Teufel might know, perhaps, but even if he did he would not tell us. That one piece is the heart of Licht, and with it this country can be restored."

"Where is the heart of Licht?" Stefan asked aloud, realizing even as he asked that he didn’t know. He, Teufel, did not know.

He did not give it to me. He called me his shadow, his heart, and yet when he died it went to another!

The pain and rage in that reply made Stefan tremble so hard he bent over with his forehead touching the cool stone floor. He took slow, deep breaths, trying to think, trying to be Stefan even as he was forced to admit he was now Teufel.

There was no answer though. No solution, no escape from the pain. He fought back the clawing despair.

He couldn’t do this.

He didn’t want to do this.

He wasn’t Teufel, he didn’t want to be the shadow of Licht.

Darkness is soothing. It makes sense. Schatten is a world of darkness, kept safely bound in Order.

Stefan snarled and sat up, growing angry – at himself. At the voice that was both him and not.

Without Licht, we are only darkness. To have shadows, there must be light. There is no shadow of Licht without Licht.

The voice was sinuous, silky, so very smooth. Lulling, like a softly hummed lullabye. So easy to listen…to be lost in it…almost as easy as getting lost in Sasha’s kisses.

His eyes fluttered open again, and he absorbed the sight of his dead lover.

That is what happened to Licht, and the same cruel fate befell him. It is the way the world always treats the shadows.

Stefan caught himself nodding, then shook his head furiously. "No!"

He screamed in pain as the ice shot through him again, clawing wildly at his skin to get the cold out. It hurt though not nearly as bad as losing Sasha.

Sobbing, curling around himself as the pain torn him apart, Stefan gasped for breath, never taking his eyes off his lover. "I don’t want to be the shadow of Licht. I’m not the shadow of Licht. I’m a stupid farm boy. I live in the village of Oak Hill. I’m in love with a prince from the Land of Fire." He cried harder, focusing hard on all his memories of Sasha.

His eyes were gold. The strangest gold Stefan had ever seen – a rich, dark yellow that almost seemed to have hints of orange in it. And his hair…it truly was red, rich and dark and glistening where the snow had melted into it. It clung to his cheeks and neck.

You have nothing to fear, Stefan. Not even a god will harm you so long as I breathe.

Whatever happens in life, Stefan, never doubt that I love you.

Bitterness should always be paired with something sweet.

Stefan closed his eyes, then slowly opened them again. "I see the sun in the sky and bow my head to the ground. The rocks and the trees and the beasts have shadows, and those shadows are proof the sun shines down upon us. My own shadow I do not see…for I am a child of Licht…the greatest proof that He exists, and shines down upon us all." He shook his head slowly. "Except I’m not the shadow of Licht, nor do I ever want to be." He looked at his hands, clasped so tightly in his lap they shook, the knuckles white. Tears streamed down his face, though he didn’t know how he had the energy to continue crying.

"I live for Sasha," he whispered, wishing there was someone to hear him, knowing there was not. Drache and Fritz were likely dead by this point, for the lack of moonlight upon the floor told him that hours had passed in the time since Teufel had taken him over. All too soon it would be morning. "I want to be no shadow but Sasha’s. He is my light, my reason for breathing, and if I cannot be his shadow then I would rather die."

The steady, throbbing, burning pain in his chest flared hotter and more painful than ever, leaving him gasping, clawing wildly at the floor in futile escape from the agony. It burned to the point his vision went white, and Stefan threw his head back and screamed until his voice was hoarse, his throat raw.

He collapsed.

What seemed like ages and a moment later, the fact that there was brilliant light shining down upon him slowly registered. Stefan slowly pulled himself into a sitting position, wiping away the tears that still blurred his vision.

He stared.

Ever so faintly, the image as solid and colorless as mist, was the image of a man with shoulder length hair, dressed in simple clothes and smiling gently.

Almost immediately the image faded, bit by bit, like petals falling from a tree.

All that remained was a small bit of glowing light. Stefan had no words to describe it. Like a piece of moonlight, but golden.

The burning ache in his chest had eased, and as he realized that it suddenly became clear the glowing piece of light had been the source. "That…"

The heart of Licht.

Stefan jumped, for the voice now in his head…was distinctly female. He looked anxiously around, gaze landing on Sasha.

His hand glowed – no. The ring. That strange ring he wore was glowing. It flashed suddenly in a brilliant shower of rainbows. When it faded, Stefan could only stare.

The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen held Sasha in her arms. Her hair was long and fair, tucked neatly behind delicately pointed ears. A diadem sparkled on her forehead, and she smiled so very much like Maja when she looked at Stefan with mismatched eyes – one blue, one green.

On her back was a set of butterfly-shaped wings, and they shimmered with every color of the rainbow. In the dim room, she was a beautiful, perfect piece of light.

She was also…transparent. Stefan could see right through her. He tried to speak, but found he couldn’t.

In final atonement for my sins, I give the last of my power and essence over to the land of Schatten.

She lifted her hands and gently cupped the bit of light as it came at her unvoiced bidding. Then she reached out and slid the ring from Sasha’s fingers, and closed her hands around both objects.

To the land of Schatten, I give new Light.

Stefan had to look away from the blinding, white-hot light that suddenly flared, and where before he’d felt cold now he felt only far too hot, as if left to soak in boiling water.

A moment later the sanctuary was once more cool.

Slowly, fearfully, Stefan looked up.

He looked at Sasha, who remained motionless on the floor.

Then his fingers twitched, and a low groan shattered the awful silence of the sanctuary.




Twenty

Sasha groaned and slowly sat up, bracing himself with his hands when the world failed to hold completely still.

He felt strange.

Groaning again, he held the tips of his fingers to his forehead in a vain attempt to make it stop aching as he tried to put together what had happened. Had he used magic and fallen unconscious…

No.

He was dead.

A moment too late he’d heard someone come up behind him, he’d seen the blade through his chest—

He looked down to stare uncomprehendingly at the tear in his shirt, the raw pink scar beneath. "What the scorch is going on?" Slowly he looked up, and his eyes widened in horror at the sight before him.

Fritz was sickly pale – too pale, too still – and cruelly pinned with a sword to Drache’s foreleg. The Holy Sentinel was just as still, a strange lack of luster to his dark scales.

Cold fear lanced down his spine, even as something told him there was nothing to fear. "Stefan?"

A rough, choking sob brought his head snapping around and again he was left staring.

"What…" Stefan’s shoulder length hair was dark violet, his eyes the color of amethysts in sunlight. The alteration was strange, but beautiful.

"S-Sasha," Stefan said, choking the words out, face streaked with tears and blood, so very much the image of absolute misery. "You were dead."

"I rather suspected that," Sasha said, and looked around the sanctuary. "What happened, sweet?" He started to approach Stefan, needing and wanting to take his lover in his arms, when he was struck by a sudden realization.

Sunlight.

There was sunlight upon the floor, growing ever stronger. It was the hazy, orange-gold of early morning sunlight. Sunrise. Sasha tilted his head up to look, and realized with equal wonder that the sky was utterly, perfectly clear.

Just as abruptly he realized he’d known the sky would be clear, just as he knew that it would be clear and cloudless for several days, until the need for rain could not be ignored. His children were sorely in need of light.

Wait. His what?

And now he realized he also knew where in the world the sun shone bright, where it was hidden by clouds…where it was rising, where it was setting…

Sasha gasped, entire body rippling with shock as realization finally struck him. He dropped his head and turned to face Stefan. "Sweet – what have you done?"

"It—I’m sorry, Sasha. I was weak, I let Teufel…" Stefan looked at him miserably. "The—the Faerie Queen did it. All I did was f-find the heart." His hands balled into fists at his sides. "You look good in the sunlight."

It finally struck Sasha why he felt so strange.

His chest didn’t hurt.

For the first time that he could remember, there was not a single ache or tightness in his chest. He felt…healthy. Whole.

Gasping, so very close to crying with the wonder and fear of it, Sasha closed the space between them and swept Stefan up, kissing him deeply, holding him tight. "Ah, sweet. I think you and the Faerie Queen made a poor choice." He let Stefan go long enough to pull off his gloves and toss them aside, then sank his hand into Stefan’s hair and kissed him again, absorbing the taste of his lover…his shadow. "I am not fit to be a god, sweet."

"Y-you’re my light," Stefan said. "And I’m Teufel, which means you have to be Licht."

Tenderly Sasha began to wipe Stefan’s face clean with the end of his own shirt, hating the smears of dried blood, the tears. "Ah, sweet. I am not fit to be the God of Light."

"What about Fritz and Drache?" Stefan asked softly.

"Hmm…" Sasha turned back to face the gruesome sight of Fritz pinned to Drache with a sword, anger rippling through him at all the cruelty which his Priest of Day and Night had been made to suffer. He moved to stand over the unmoving figures, then reached out to lightly touch his fingers to the sword.

It began to shimmer, then glow – then vanished.

Sasha knelt and pressed his hand to the wound, willing it to heal, forcing strength and life back into the body of his near-dead friend. It would, perhaps, be easier simply to ensure their souls found happiness in the next life…

But Fritz and Drache had finally come together again in this life, and it would be unfair to take that reunion from them – it would also be easier for the two of them to mold back into souls that could someday be rejoined.

When Fritz’s skin was flushed with health, the beat of his heart steady and sure, Sasha shifted his attention to Drache, pain slicing through him to see all that his shadow had done since his fall.

"I’m sorry," Stefan said softly.

"It wasn’t you, Stefan," Sasha said with gentle reassurance. "You are no more the same Teufel as I am not the same Licht. We carry their lingering memories, nothing more." He laid his hands flat down upon the Holy Sentinel’s snout, willing in the same healing warmth and will to live he’d used on Fritz.

A few minutes later, both man and Sent stirred.

"Killian!" Fritz gasped out, jerking up – only to collapse with a groan a moment later, holding a hand to his head. "Did I drink too much again?"

Sasha laughed. "No, my friend. You were merely very close to dead."

"Oh, is that all?" Fritz groused, slowly looking up. His eyes went wide. "You—how—what did I miss?"

Lord Licht.

Sasha smiled and stroked his fingers over the soft, dark scales of his Holy Sentinel, his Priest. "Yes," he said softly. "It would seem I am Licht."

Fritz stood up, this time with care. His eyes strayed to Stefan. "Mercy of the Light! What happened while I was unconscious?" He bit his lip. "You were dead," he said to Sasha. "Stabbed right through the heart. By Killian."

"I should have known that brat was even more trouble than we suspected…" Sasha murmured, kissing Stefan’s brow as his shadow hugged him tight. "I think only Stefan knows the full of it."

Stefan burrowed into his chest, and Sasha closed his eyes briefly as memories were shared with him, all that had transpired spilling into his mind. "Oh, sweet…I am sorry you suffered so."

"No!" Stefan said, hands fisting in his shirt. "I—I broke my promise. I got angry and bitter, that’s why Teufel was able to take me over."

Sasha gently tilted his face up and kissed the tears on his cheeks, then his mouth. "You remembered before real harm came to anyone, sweet. The promise was kept, and because of that you have saved everyone."

He laid his hand flat on Stefan’s chest, right over his heart. "A thousand years ago Licht was slain by the Basilisk…all that remained was his heart…"

"Teufel had it the whole time," Stefan said sadly, "but was too angry to see."

"You were not though." Sasha smiled softly and stroked his cheek.

Licht returned, and as he was in the oldest of days. I am happy to see you again, my Lord, and with a smile upon your face. My Lord Teufel, I am glad to see you as well.

Drache lowered his head to the ground in a bow.

"I think I’ll just stand for now," Fritz replied, eyeing the Sentinel. He hesitated, looked at Sasha, then simply remained silent, shoulders slumping slightly. "What do we do now? I admit I always wondered if we would actually manage to kill a near-god…though I guess we more just replaced him…"

Sasha closed his eyes, feeling the power that thrummed through him, let it tell him how to make proper use of it, drawing upon the memories of his predecessor, examining Teufel’s on how the original tearing had been done.

He opened his eyes again slowly, and knew from the way the others stared that they were glowing or shining or something. Fire and ash, how did he get himself into these things?

Drawing a deep breath, he stepped forward and rested his hands on Drache. "One soul torn asunder has now become two, though those two will never forget that they began as one." He stroked Drache’s scales. "I cannot put you back together without destroying much of what makes you each the persons you are, that which your souls have become."

"You can only fix us by breaking us more, and by the end we would yet again be something else entirely," Fritz said tightly, miserably. "There is no going back to what we were."

"No," Sasha said quietly. "The best I can do is bind you forever, and give you time to mold your souls into a shape that will let you recombine in a way of your choosing. Let you pick the form of your new, one soul."

Lord Licht…

"What does that mean, exactly?" Fritz frowned. "Is there some rule that you have to speak in riddles now you’ve become a god?"

Sasha laughed. "No. I am sorry. I mean I can do this, and let the two of you work out the rest." As he spoke, light began to shine beneath his hands, spreading out to encompass Drache from claws to wingtips.

The light filled the sanctuary, as blinding as the sunlight growing ever stronger high above.

Slowly it began to recede, dim, and as the light shrank so did the massive form of the Great Sentinel.

When it vanished altogether, in place of the Holy Sentinel stood a man who was both familiar and strange.

He was built like a laborer, with strong shoulders and a broad chest, muscles obvious even beneath his pale violet robes. His face was finely shaped, intense and charismatic, the type of face to which people were drawn without ever fully understanding why. Pale lavender eyes were wide as they stared in disbelief. More eye-catching than his striking features was his honey-gold hair, falling in a long braid over one shoulder, just reaching his stomach.

Fritz let out a choked, disbelieving sound. "It can’t…Drache?"

Drache stared back, hands trembling visibly. He tried to smile, the expression shaky, wobbly, but unmistakably a smile. "Fritz."

Shouting in joy and disbelief, Fritz threw himself into Drache’s arms, sending them both crashing to the ground in an undignified heap. Their laugher filled the sanctuary, stopping only when they kissed.

"That is that, I guess," Sasha said, smiling fondly at his priests.

A hand slid into his, and he squeezed it gently, smiling softly at his lover, his shadow.

"So what’s next, Sasha?" Stefan asked.

"We fix Schatten, of course," Sasha said, reaching out to tug at a stray lock of hair. Instead his finger lingered in it, combed through it. "Pretty, pretty," Sasha murmured. "I liked your black hair…but the violet…"

Stefan flushed and ducked his head. "I didn’t mean to become Teufel. I just…couldn’t bear you were dead, and had died so unfairly."

"All is well now, sweet. That is what counts." Sasha chuckled softly and tilted his head back up. "We weren’t talking about that anyway. I was admiring your hair. It’s quite lovely. Far more interesting than red."

"That’s impossible," Stefan said, returning the smile. "No one could have hair finer than yours."

Shaking his head, Sasha stole a quick, soft kiss, then took Stefan’s hand and led the way to the back of the sanctuary, to the stairs beyond, climbing swiftly.

A quarter of the way up, they heard the sound of feet pounding on stone. Sasha paused, and a few minutes later they were joined by Drache and Fritz. "Here I was giving you some time in the sanctuary."

Drache smiled. "We would rather stand with our Lords and see the Light restored to Schatten." His smile turned into a smirk. "We’ll have plenty of time to ourselves later."

Fritz rolled his eyes. "I think you’ve gotten worse, not better." He looked at Sasha, a puzzled expression overtaking his face. "Why can we still communicate…the way we used to?"

"Why can you still hear voices?" Sasha asked with a laugh. "You are one soul, albeit in two distinct pieces now. You will always hear each other in such a way, because you should be one."

Drache smiled and draped himself over Fritz. "You’ll never get any peace and quiet now."

"Don’t I know it," Fritz groused, but the happiness in his eyes was impossible to miss.

"Come along," Sasha said, and turned to resume his climb up the steps of the immense Citadel.

The tower of the Citadel climbed several stories, hosting dozens upon dozens of prayer rooms, bedchambers, and everything else required by those who had and someday soon would again inhabit the Citadel.

Up and up he went, bypassing even those rooms which belonged to him, Teufel, and his priests, climbing until he stood on the very top of his Citadel.

He crossed the roof to the far edge, looking down upon the whole of Verlorengehen, the ugly, twisting thorns and purple roses which contaminated it. This high up, the wind was sharp and cold, enough to tangle his hair, snatch the ribbon from it. He caught the ribbon before it could fly away, holding it loosely in one hand.

High above the sun shone in a flawlessly blue sky. Miles away he could see his children pointing, staring.

Something caught his eye and he snapped his arm out, snatching up the small, dark speck in one fist.

He opened his hand to stare at the dark purple petal lying in his palm, perfectly still despite the strong wind. "Verlorengehen," he said quietly, and once again closed his fist. Slowly he opened it again, stretching his arm out so that the wind snatched away the cream-gold petal he now held. "Sonnenstrahl."

Far below, the black began to turn to green, to white, then vanished almost entirely, only a few jewel-green bushes and climbing walls of vines remaining, flush with cream-gold blossoms.

Before anyone could speak, he held his hand up with the palm out, eyes flashing like sunlight on water for a single, blinding moment. Off in the distance, slowly at first but with increasing speed, the Great Wall began to break, crumble, and eventually shatter into dust that shimmered and glinted as it was carried away by the wind.

The wind snatched the ribbon from his hand as he spread his arms wide. Sasha cursed silently, longing for a haircut – but knowing he would never cut it now, because Stefan adored it as it was.

Focusing on the task at hand, wishing he was not wretchedly new to this even as he knew he was not, Sasha closed his eyes to gather his power and strength, make it go where he wanted. When he opened his eyes again, they were as bright and hard to look upon as the midday sun. "Dark creatures born of hate and grief…rest now, or take a form that pleases. Torment my children and yourselves no more."

All of Schatten briefly filled with the sad but grateful cries of the Sentinels as they died or changed, ringing out for what seemed like ages but was truly no more than a matter of minutes.

When at last the sounds faded, only the taint of the barrier sealing Schatten from the world remained.

"It will be some time before people return to Sonnenstrahl…" Drache said, cautiously drawing close to join them on the edge, Fritz at his side. "Light, it will be years before we can even make it habitable again."

Sasha smiled. "You underestimate your power, my priest. Go to Gold Rock, to Raven Knoll. Before long people will follow you here, and they will reshape Sonnenstrahl as they see fit." He looked out over Schatten, smile widening, looking away only when anxiety not his own nipped at the edge of his mind.

"You’re not a fire child anymore," Stefan said sadly. "You wanted to go home, now…you can’t…not like before."

"Oh, sweet, you of all people should know I feel no dissatisfaction." He laughed and rubbed their noses together. "Do I feel unhappy to you, sweet shadow?"

"No," Stefan said quietly, amethyst eyes intense as they stared into his.

Sasha kissed him, long and slow and sweet. "I am home, Stefan, though I think I’m not the only one who will think that making me the new Licht was a bad idea." He frowned pensively, turning to contemplate the distant horizon, turning slowly in a full circle. "No…they will not approve at all…"

He made a face.

"What is wrong, my lord?" Drache asked.

"Nothing I can’t handle," Sasha said with a sigh.

Fritz quirked a brow. "I know technically I’m your subordinate now, Lord Licht, but I find it mildly insulting that you’re trying to solve this problem alone."

Sasha blinked – then rolled his eyes. "Subordinate, nothing. We said we were friends. I would like to think we still are, and ever will be." Being a god did not, it seem, get rid of uncertainty.

"Of course," Fritz said, smiling, rubbing his smooth head as if to brush away his own awkward feelings. "So knock it off and tell us what is wrong."

"Nothing, really," Sasha murmured, taking a deep steadying breath.

Stefan leaned up to kiss the corner of his mouth.

Sasha turned his head to catch those lips he never tired of with his own, taking a deeper kiss, reassured by everything that was his shadow, his Stefan.

Then he broke away and turned back to the ledge, feeling the wind in his hair, tearing at his clothes, cold and sharp but so very welcome.

After one last, deep breath he stretched out his hand and then pulled, as though grabbing a fistful of fabric, then yanked hard, hissing as he did it, roaring when the thousand year old barriers resisted him – but ultimately they bent to his will, and bit by crumbling bit, he felt the spells give way.

With the barriers gone, he could feel the protective seals erected by others…and one by one he felt them fade away.

Far away in the distance came the rumbling, crashing sound of thunder. At the edge of Schatten he could see storm clouds gathering, drawing ever closer.

"A storm is coming?" Fritz asked, puzzled.

"Yes," Sasha said dryly. "Though the more accurate term would be to call it a family reunion."