(Dylan)

  Dylan turned toward the voice to find a wide-eyed, easygoing elf staring at him.

  “Quinten…?”

  The easygoing elf continued to stare, gobsmacked and slack jawed. He ran a hand through his seafoam hair and asked, “Uh… Whatcha doing down here, mate?”

  Dylan turned to look to his right, left, and then back at Quinten. “Were you expecting someone else?”

  “Nah, mate.” He shook his head slowly. “We weren’t expecting anyone…”

  Dylan scratched the side of his head. “Then why are you down here?”

  Quinten pointed to the top of Dylan’s head. His eyes followed the gesture, noticing the brim for the first time in a while. He still wore the captain’s hat. Ducking toward his good arm, he snatched it off his head, sending piled ashes floating to the ground.

  “Wait… You came back for the stupid hat”—he held up the ash covered feathered tricorn—“and not for me?!”

  Quinten’s mouth moved to speak, but he paused, rubbing the back of his neck as he considered how to answer. “We watched you blow yourself up, mate.” He raised an eyebrow. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

  Dylan didn’t understand. “But… Why come back just for a hat?” Still clutching the bundle to his chest, he stared at the hat in hand. It was a fine hat, sure, a bit garish for his tastes. But he guessed that’s what added to its charm.

  “Ship won’t leave without it. Soon as she got too far, she did a U-ey”—his finger mimicked the maneuver—“and came straight here,” he said, pointing to his feet.

  “So, I was saved… by a hat?” Dylan asked with raised brows.

  Quinten pointed to him. “You were found by a hat. But saved by a Quinten.” He flashed a grin. “Make sure they get that part of the story right. It’s always”—he adopted a mocking tone—“Lo’kai did this, and Lo’kai survived that.” He cleared his throat, resuming his normal voice. “They never mention the blokes who helped.”

  Dylan bowed to flop the hat on top of his head again. “What do you mean, story?”

  “The bonkers tale about what you’ve done on this quest, mate,” Quinten said, shaking his head. “Unbelievable…” Then he sighed. “Bugger about the book though… Would’ve been drizzle on the roll. But,” he shrugged, “can’t win em all.” Then he pointed to the bundle Dylan clutched to his chest. “What have you got there?”

  Dylan shifted the cloaked bundle in his arm as his ribs grew sore from the hard edges pressing against them.

  “Runemist said not to touch it.”

  Quinten stared intensely at the soiled orange package under Dylan’s arm. “That’s not the…” His eyes widened as he took a step toward Dylan. “There’s no bloody way that’s…”

  “It is.” Dylan nodded.

  “Legend…” Quinten said in awe. A broad smile grew across his face. “Hey,” he said, tossing a nod at Dylan. “Pretty abysmal down here, yeah? You wanna…?” He hooked a thumb to the door behind him.

  “Fuck yes,” Dylan said, absolutely ready to get the hell out of there.

  Quinten’s door shimmered and disappeared. “Give us a sec, mate. Gotta see the looks on their faces when you board that boat.” He continued to stare and smile at Dylan while they waited for his cooldown.

  Dylan narrowed his eyes at him and asked, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  Quinten shook his head, still smiling. “I’m staring right at ya, and I still can’t believe it. You’re actually alive, mate!” He started bopping his head and tapping his foot to a beat only he seemed to hear. “So, you’re about to make a grand return from the land of the dead…”

  For the past half hour… hour? Dylan couldn’t really tell. All sense of time went out the window after jumping off the ship. Since then, his world had been lonely, dark, filthy, and sweltering. It felt like some silent plane of existence—purgatory—insulating him from the living.

  “Any idea on what you’ll say?” Quinten took a stand next to Dylan.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Reckon it’d be a good time to drop a ripper for yer yarn. Something iconic… Maybe a tagline, yeah?”

  “Like what?” Dylan asked, wondering what his tagline would be.

  “I dunno, I’m not the nutcase who chucked himself outta an airship to scrap with a kaiju, mate.” He summoned another door and opened it. Then he hesitated, holding the door open as his carefree demeanor faded. “Listen, mate, you might wanna duck when you get back, yeah?” That’s all he said before he stepped through the portal and disappeared.

  Dylan knew the door had one charge left, and it was for him. Quinten’s warning stuck with him as he tried to process its meaning. Obviously, it was a warning—but about what?

  What happened with the beetle? How did they escape? Was it still chasing them? Dylan’s frustration with himself for not asking Quinten when he had the chance only grew. Now he worried what condition the ship was in. All he could remember was passing out after the explosion and waking up to gliding in an ash cloud.

  He clenched his jaw and readied himself for whatever destruction awaited him on the other side of that door. An intrusive thought struck from within, halting him just before the threshold of the portal.

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  ‘What if some of them didn’t make it?’ That thought rocked him. A ship could be replaced, but people couldn’t. He reset himself so none of them had to die. That was the whole point! He wasn’t ready to live in a world without his friends. His eyes shut and he focused on recalling their faces, putting them to memory.

  After a time, he forced them open again, realizing he’d done all he could. His ability only went back about five minutes, from what he could tell. Not knowing for certain was the price of skipping System prompts.

  Shaking himself off, ash fell from his hat and shoulders as he worked up the courage to go through the portal.

  As he stepped through and appeared on the other side, a cool breeze hit his face, and Runemist’s voice carried on as she scolded Quinten.

  “Stop messing around. The hat’s not just going to walk through the portal,” she said, gesturing at the previously unoccupied space and proving herself wrong.

  “Well, about bloody time,” Quinten said with a hand on his hip, casually ignoring Runemist. “Did a whole song and dance about a ‘surprise.’ Then you didn’t show. Made me think I dreamt you up down there, mate.”

  Dylan cautiously glanced around the ship. It appeared exactly as he left it—intact.

  He dared not get his hopes up yet, still scanning the faces on the deck. Panic tightened in his chest when he couldn’t find Ostello, but then he remembered leaving the intense elf passed out, just outside Quinten’s cabin. He was probably still sleeping it off.

  They were all alive, and Dylan could finally breathe again. Quinten’s warning really had him worried. He was glad it was just a joke.

  “Holy shit…” Dylan said in relief, still clutching the book tightly to his chest.

  “Sacred excrement?” Quinten repeated, sounding unsure. He shrugged and said, “Not what I would’ve picked.”

  The rest of them noticed the blackened figure standing in the middle of the deck. A thick layer of black soil covered him, hat to boot. A light dusting of ash collected in his hat, shoulders, and the bundle held to his chest. Only the whites of his eyes and teeth remained untouched, creating a jarring sight when he smiled.

  His right arm remained dislocated, and his torso resembled a proper charred barbecue. Most of his skin was dry, cracked, and split, especially his lips, but nothing could keep him from smiling.

  “Huh, pup made it after all,” Athrax said, leaning a hip against the railing with his arms crossed

  W’itney and Hay’len were the closest to him. Both twins rushed him before he could react, hugging him tightly in a three-way embrace. He got dirt and grime all over them, but they didn’t seem to mind. It wasn’t until they were so close that Dylan realized just how small he was compared to the draconi.

  “You smell terrible,” Hay’len said.

  “I know.” Dylan chuckled, but his pain turned it into more of a moan. They continued to squeeze his charred chest, and he was pretty sure he was bleeding on them.

  “You’ve gotten so thin,” W’itney said, backing away just enough to look him up and down.

  “Thanks.”

  “That’s not a compliment.” They shook their head with a concerned look. “I’m worried you’re not eating enough…”

  Dylan didn’t want them to worry about him, so he didn’t reply, instead shifting his weight uncomfortably.

  “Stop talking, W’itney,” Hay’len said.

  “Understood,” they replied, rejoining their hug.

  Dylan shivered; the warmth of the two siblings wasn’t enough to regulate his dropping core temperature.

  “Dylan?” a soft voice asked.

  He had to turn all three of them to see who it was. First, he noticed Wedge down on one knee, a large stony hand on Eury’s shoulder. She’d never looked this small before, not even when they pulled her unconscious body from the cavern. Her red nose and puffy eyes made it clear she’d been crying.

  She looked at him like an apparition sent to taunt her. But when she was sure he was real, her parted lips stopped quivering. Narrowing her eyes on him, she swiped her cheeks dry with the palm of a hand. Wedge helped her to her feet and froze, staring at the burned, husky man.

  Eury didn’t look away, her eyes transfixed on his. She sniffled one final time before running her sleeve under her nose. Leaving Wedge behind, she marched toward him, her shoulders squared with determination. Dylan didn’t know when it happened, but she didn’t look small anymore.

  “Uh oh,” Dylan said.

  “Captain—” the first mate started, but Eury stepped forward and shoved him aside with surprising force, cutting him off.

  She stopped, planting both feet right in front of their hug. Her eyes remained locked on him. “Both of you. Step away,” she said with a tone of authority he’d never heard from her before.

  Dylan was pretty sure he’d finally met Princess Eury. The temperature continued to drop as both siblings released him into the chilly ambient air. Hay’len hesitated, a concerned look on their face, but W’itney convinced them by tugging their arm.

  “Heal him,” she ordered. Her eyes never left his.

  Runemist snapped out of her stupor and rushed to Dylan, placing a clawed hand on his grime-covered back to heal him. The ambient temperature returned to normal as his injuries mended.

  The pain went away just in time for Eury to deck him with a crack across his cheek. He stumbled back as the blow threw off his balance, forcing him to a knee. The ship spun as “up” kept changing directions.

  “Ooo,” Quinten winced and looked away.

  “Eury, stop,” Runemist said, placing her hand on the princess’s arm.

  She yanked her arm back, demanding, “Heal him again.”

  “Don’t heal him again!” Dylan countered. He shook his head and blinked, trying to stop his world from spinning.

  Eury dropped to a knee beside him and slapped him with a smack across his other cheek. It had almost as much force as the punch. He lost the rest of his balance, along with his grip on the cloak. Both of them dropped to the deck with a thud.

  Runemist caught Eury’s arm before she could strike again. Eury turned her attention to Runemist and glowered. The leader of Tome & Key raised an eyebrow and shot back a glare of her own.

  “He—”

  Tears welled in Eury’s eyes as grief choked her words, threatening to overwhelm her again.

  “I know…” Runemist said softly, slowly releasing her grip on the determined elf.

  “Infernal Mother, Dylan. Of all the stupid things…” Eury said, her hands still in the shape of fists.

  He looked up from the deck and saw the fire in her eyes for what it was—a defense mechanism. She raged to distract herself from the grief that ran deep into her core, lashing out to retaliate against the source of her pain.

  They all thought he had died, and Dylan was just beginning to understand what that truly meant. The last thing they saw was a shirtless man throwing himself at a kaiju sized bug just before blowing himself up.

  “I get it,” Dylan said, his gaze dropping to the floor as he exhaled.

  “No!” she snapped, jabbing a finger at him. Her arm trembled with barely contained fury. “You don’t,” she said, shaking her head. The ire in her eyes smoldered as she clenched her jaw and glared at him.

  Dylan watched her glance away, as if looking for an exit. Just as fast, her focus returned to him and he flinched as her arm came for him again. But the punch never came. Tentatively, he opened an eye to see her beside him on one knee, waiting for him to accept her outstretched hand.

  He searched her amethyst eyes, but her anger had vanished, and vulnerability was all that remained.

  Dylan took hold of her hand, and she pulled them both to their feet. Standing in front of her now, matched eye to eye, he finally realized what was different about her. All the other elves towered over him, but not Eury. She was the only one who didn’t make him feel small.

  But once they were both on their feet, inches from each other, she pulled him in. Eury embraced him with a mighty hug, squeezing as tight as both twins combined. They exchanged no words as she held on to him, leaning her head into his.

  “What’s that?” Runemist asked.

  Eury had to let him go so they could see what she was asking about. The mender’s clawed finger pointed down at the soiled orange bundle laying on the deck.