Book Two Epilogue: Of New Beginnings

  The next few days were unsettlingly quiet. The aftermath hung like a shadow over the academy, thick and heavy. The losses were more than Jace could bear—each absence a jagged edge, cutting deep. Most students recovered, though they carried the trauma with them, haunted by the memories, whether they’d been possessed or had only watched, powerless. But those who’d been possessed for too long… they did not return. Three hundred and sixty-eight souls—students and faculty alike—gone. The line between saving them and losing them had been too thin, and they’d crossed it.

  Jace did what he could, alongside his friends and the others who had survived. But there were limits to what any of them could do.

  Something within him had shifted since learning the second Word of Power. Everything felt sharper, more real. His senses seemed to reach beyond the physical—his mind clearer, his perception more attuned to the truth that rippled beneath the surface of things. He could feel the world breathing around him, every small motion, every fragment of reality alive in a way that it hadn’t been before.

  It was mid-afternoon in the Fields Below when an unexpected visitor arrived. Jace was bent over his brewing station, his hands moving with practiced ease, combining ingredients for potions meant to heal—not just any wound, but the traces of demonic possession that lingered within the soul. He was working tirelessly, hoping to distribute these potions, to let others know their purpose. Soon, he believed, there’d be no place for demons to hide in the city.

  He felt it before he heard it—something behind him, a presence pressing in like a shadow against his back. The voice came next, quiet and weighty.

  “How are you holding up?” Hades asked.

  Jace turned, his gaze steady, appraising the god who stood before him. Hades had never visited him here before—in the Fields Below, the place where light hardly reached.

  “You could have told me,” Jace said, the words simple but carrying the sting of betrayal.

  Hades gave a small, weary sigh, a hint of regret flickering behind his dark eyes. “Balance, Jason. If I’d told you, another god would have the right to share equal knowledge with their followers. I knew you’d find it, if that’s any comfort. I did what I could to protect you, to guide you toward it.”

  Jace stared at him for a moment, and then turned away, his jaw tight. He said nothing.

  “I am sorry,” Hades offered, and there was something unpracticed about the apology, like words he was unused to saying, words that didn’t quite fit.

  A long silence settled between them, neither moving to fill it. Finally, Jace spoke, his voice quieter, more vulnerable. “I don’t blame you for what happened with my parents.” The word felt strange on his tongue—parents. He had rarely spoken of them, and less often had he thought of them in such terms. They were more a concept than people to him—something abstract, something lost.

  Hades didn’t respond, his face an unreadable mask.

  “This world, whatever it is… it isn’t what any of us thought, is it?” Jace continued. “Not even John Rearden truly knows what it is, does he?”

  Hades remained silent, but the weight of his silence was an answer in itself.

  Jace looked at him, his eyes narrowing, the pieces falling together. “The devices on Earth. They’re not… they’re not just Earth technology, are they?”

  Hades met his gaze, but said nothing, neither confirming nor denying. Jace shook his head. “I don’t expect an answer. I’ll find the truth soon enough.” He paused, then added, his voice hardening, “I don’t blame you for what happened to my father. But what you allowed him to become, what you let him do to others—that, I do blame you for.”

  Hades’ expression softened, a flicker of something that could have been regret. “I couldn’t… I didn’t have the heart to stop him when I should have.”

  Jace nodded, as if that was answer enough.

  “Will you stay my Chosen?” Hades asked after a moment, his voice careful, uncertain.

  Jace thought it over, his eyes distant, before giving a nod. “I’m done with lies,” he said, flatly but without bitterness. “If you want me as your Chosen, you won’t toy with me. You won’t use me as a pawn in whatever game you’re playing against Henry.”

  Hades met his eyes, the solemnity there uncharacteristic. “I will always tell you what I can.”

  It wasn’t enough—not really. But Jace nodded anyway. People couldn’t always be what you needed them to be, but sometimes they could be better than they were. And that was something worth hoping for, something worth working toward.

  “I was born here,” Jace said, his voice quiet, his eyes distant. “In this world. Does Henry—the Dark One—know who I am? Tell me that much.”

  Hades looked at him for a long moment before he spoke, his voice heavy, resigned. “There is a cost to every truth. But this one, I will bear for you.” He paused, and Jace could see the hesitation before he added, “The Dark One does not know you. Though he senses something familiar, something he cannot place. You are bound by your Word of Power—Soul. It is a word that has enabled the Dark One to do terrible things, powerful things, things that reshaped worlds—but vicious, cruel.”

  He paused, and his gaze softened. “But Henry? Henry isn’t the same. He’s too far gone to see much of anything now. Perhaps, somewhere deep in his heart, he remembers you were born—but the truth, whatever part of him might know it, is buried far beneath.”

  Jace turned back to his work, his face unreadable as he resumed brewing. “I will show him,” he said softly. “Or I will end him.”

  Hades regarded him, his gaze solemn. “And you will have my power behind you, whichever path you choose.”

  Jace hesitated for a moment, then spoke, his voice low, almost as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer. “Was there another way? To stop the possessions?”

  Hades looked at him, his eyes darker now, considering. He didn’t avoid the question, didn’t try to spin the truth into something comforting. Instead, he answered with the gravity that only gods and the deeply weary share.

  “There are always multiple paths to the same place,” Hades said, his voice carrying a weight that settled between them. “But every moment that passed brought each soul a step closer to the edge—beyond the brink. Time was our enemy, Jason. And every second spent hesitating was another nail in their coffins. Your solution, though imperfect, was the most expedient route.”

  Jace looked down, his jaw tightening, his brow furrowing in thought. “Expedient,” he repeated, the word rolling off his tongue like it tasted bitter.

  Hades inclined his head slightly. “Perhaps messy,” he continued, “but speed was what mattered. I have lived long enough to know that the clean solution is rarely the available one. There was too much at stake. There were paths where fewer were hurt, where fewer were lost, but they were long, winding... and the enemy wouldn’t have waited for you to take them.”

  Jace swallowed, the words settling heavily on his shoulders. “So, it’s on me,” he said softly. “I chose the path that cost lives.”

  “No,” Hades corrected, his gaze sharp. “You chose the path that saved them. Every choice costs, Jason. You paid with one hand to save with the other. There are no victories in this game—only the lesser defeats. You walked into darkness, knowing the price, knowing what it would take. You saved who could be saved. The rest…” He paused, his eyes distant, as if watching a far-off past. “The rest were already slipping beyond reach.”

  Jace nodded, the conflict still burning in his chest, but there was a strange sense of release, too—an understanding that maybe, just maybe, he had done what had to be done. He looked up at Hades, a question still in his eyes. “And if I have to do it again?”

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  Hades met his gaze evenly. “Then you will. And you will carry that weight again, and again, until the fight is over. But know this: you are not alone in it. We bear these burdens together. You, me, and every person who chooses to stand against the darkness.”

  A silence stretched between them. Jace focused on his potion, not looking at Hades.

  The god’s words hung in the air for a moment, and then, without another sound, Hades was gone—vanishing into the shadows as if he had never been there at all. Jace did not look to see him leave.

  Jace sat alone in the quiet expanse of the Fields Below, the stillness around him almost unsettling. The last few days had been a blur—a chaos of power, loss, and revelations. He was ranked up now—Silver One. He had gained strength -had faced something dark and terrifying, but the triumph felt hollow here, in the silence of the aftermath.

  His rank, his new status, wasn’t what he thought it would be. There was no pride, no triumphant sense of accomplishment. Instead, there was the weight of what had come with it. The two Words he now commanded, Soul and Truth, thrummed beneath his skin, each one feeling strange, unfamiliar. They were powerful, but they were also different in a way that left him feeling raw -exposed.

  Soul had felt like an extension of himself, a deep part of his being that was as natural as breathing. But Truth—it was something else entirely. Sharp, precise, like a blade that could cut through the fog of uncertainty. It brought clarity, a new lens through which he could see the world. And yet, neither could be wielded alone anymore; they were intertwined, inseparable. He had to learn to use them as one, to find balance between them—light and shadow, empathy and clarity.

  The Fields Below felt emptier now without Shadow. There was no denying it. The absence was like a hole in the fabric of his world, and he couldn’t shake the emptiness that lingered. He found himself reaching for the coin she had left him, holding it in his palm, feeling its warmth and the slight weight. He looked at it often, as if it held answers, or maybe just a piece of her—a reminder of what she’d seen in him, of the hope she’d left behind.

  He lay in the catacombs looking up at the illusion sky.

  The wind blew softly across the grass, rustling the leaves of the few scattered trees, the sound whispering through the silence. He closed his eyes, letting the quiet settle around him, letting himself feel everything without pushing it away—grief, exhaustion, hope, and the raw, aching uncertainty that seemed to live within him now.

  Later that night, Jace’s solitude was interrupted by a soft, familiar voice, barely a whisper against the silence. “Mind if I join you?”

  He looked up, blinking against the dim light, and found Alice standing there. Her eyes were tired, shadows lingering beneath them, but they held a warmth that wrapped around him like a familiar embrace. Without waiting for an answer, she moved closer and lay down beside him, her head resting against his shoulder. They stared up at the sky together, the stars flickering in the darkness above, as if they were the only witnesses to this quiet moment.

  She spoke, her voice soft, the words drifting between them. “She was lucky to have you, you know.”

  Jace swallowed, his eyes still on the sky, his chest tightening. “I was the lucky one,” he said, his voice almost breaking, barely more than a whisper. There was a dissonance to the words, the truth clashing with the pain of loss, but it was real.

  They lay there together, in silence, until footsteps echoed through the Fields Below—soft, hesitant, then more confident. Jace looked up to see Dex approaching, his usual swagger subdued. Behind him, Ell followed with Molly, and then Marcus, his face still ashen, but with something softer, hopeful, in his eyes. One by one, they joined him and Alice, forming a quiet circle in the darkness, their presence like a balm for wounds still too raw to touch.

  They didn’t need to say anything; words felt unnecessary. The silence was enough—a shared understanding, a bond that had been forged in fire, unbroken by the battles they had faced. They spent the time together, sometimes exchanging glances, sometimes catching the ghost of a smile, a laugh that echoed with nostalgia. They remembered and spoke of times before everything had changed -before their world had shifted into something darker, something harder. The moments of levity were fleeting, but they were enough, each one a tiny light breaking through the night.

  As the hours drifted by, the night deepened, Jace felt it—something shifting in the air, something warm despite the chill that hung around them. And he realized, for the first time in days, that it didn’t feel empty anymore. Not with them here.

  Eventually, one by one, they stood to leave, tired but with a sense of something more—a quiet peace. Just before they all left, Molly pulled Jace aside, her expression thoughtful, almost hesitant.

  “Jace,” she started, her voice barely above a whisper. “Can I ask you something?”

  He nodded, curiosity and exhaustion mingling in his gaze as he sat up, giving her his full attention. He recalled how she had wanted to speak with him after the Midnight Festival—something important, something she’d never quite gotten the chance to say.

  “I’ve spoken with Hecate,” she said, her eyes holding his, something vulnerable beneath her steady gaze. “And… we’d like to move under the banner of Hades.”

  Jace blinked, the surprise evident on his face. He hadn’t expected this. “Is that even possible?” he asked.

  Molly smiled, the corners of her lips lifting in a way that was both determined and hopeful. “It is. It’s rare, but it has happened. And Hermes has already given his approval, with permission from the Society President.”

  Before Jace could respond, a prompt appeared before his eyes, the letters glowing softly in the night.

  Society Quest

  Acquire New Members

  Molly, Chosen of Hecate, has come as a representative of her god. They have requested permission to transfer into the society of Hades. Hermes has approved this with permission from the Society President of Hades.

  Accept | Reject

  Jace looked at the prompt for a long moment, his gaze shifting back to Molly. She met his eyes, her expression open, vulnerable in a way he rarely saw. It wasn’t just about transferring societies; this was trust, a faith she was placing in him, in what they were building together.

  He smiled, a small, wry smile as he nodded, the decision already made in his heart. “Of course,” he said, his voice soft, filled with a warmth that hadn’t been there earlier. “We’d be fortunate to have you.”

  Molly let out a breath, her shoulders relaxing, a genuine smile breaking across her face. “Thank you, Jace.”

  He tapped the prompt, selecting Accept, and it vanished with a soft glow, as if acknowledging something significant—a step forward in a world that felt, finally, a little less bleak.

  Molly gave him a quick, almost impulsive hug before she stepped back, her eyes bright. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

  Jace nodded, watching her go, her figure blending into the night. He turned back to the Fields Below, the soft rustle of leaves, the quiet hum of the wind around him. He looked down at the coin Shadow had left him, feeling the weight of it, the promise it held.

  And as he sat there, the night slowly giving way to dawn, the first hint of light creeping over the horizon, he wondered if perhaps, despite everything, despite the losses and the pain, they had done the right thing. Maybe there had been no perfect choices—maybe there never were. But he knew this: they had fought, they had stood together, and they had survived.

  Her society would move in the following week.

  Jace leaned back into his chair, his eyes scanning the glowing character sheet hovering in front of him. Gains upon gains—skills ranked up, attributes boosted, a new Word of Power gleaming among the stats. He’d grown, more than he’d expected, more than he’d hoped. But what stood out more than his growth were the Society Points—the culmination of everything they had fought for. He’d spent many, investing them back into the society, inching it ever closer to the Silver Rank. They were on the cusp, and the thought made his heart swell with pride. They were no longer just surviving; they were building, they were becoming something more.

  Reginald had taken to his new role with enthusiasm—managing the spirit crew, keeping the place in shape and well-ordered. The chaos of their daily lives had found some semblance of balance with Reginald at the helm, and the Fields Below seemed less like a forgotten wasteland and more like a place to belong.

  With a tired sigh, Jace stood and stretched, his muscles aching pleasantly from the day’s exertions. The night felt heavy, but not in the usual sense. It wasn’t the kind of weight that pressed down on him—it was different, a sense of completion, a feeling of something finally unshackled. He felt resolved, like he was beginning to understand where he fit, where he could make a difference.

  As he moved around his dorm, preparing to settle in for the night, his eyes caught the old mirror hanging on the wall—just a simple, tarnished frame, something almost forgotten among all the magic and chaos that had surrounded his life lately. He paused, a frown touching his lips. Something about his reflection felt… off. A step behind, like it lagged slightly. He looked closer, narrowing his eyes.

  He reached out tentatively, his affinity for Truth and Soul activating instinctively, almost like his senses were reacting on their own, tuning into something just beneath the surface.

  And then he saw it—his reflection wasn’t just lagging. It was different. It moved on its own, its eyes wide with something like terror. Jace’s heart and mind each other raced for answers.

  The reflection’s mouth opened, words spilling out silently, its face contorted in anguish, its eyes locking onto Jace’s. The mouth formed a word—a single word. Jace couldn’t so much hear it as feel it, resonating deep within his bones.

  “Jason.”

  Jace blinked, his brow furrowing. The voice—that face. “Alex?” he whispered, his voice shaky, barely audible.

  In the mirror, his reflection nodded, its expression shifting—hope, fear, desperation flickering across its features. Slowly, the reflection raised a hand, pressing it against the glass. The gesture was simple, pleading, reaching for him.

  Jace hesitated only a moment before he mirrored the movement, placing his hand on the cool surface of the mirror.

  The glass felt like ice, then warmth, then something not quite real at all. It shimmered beneath his palm, rippling like water disturbed by a stone. And before he could pull back, before he could think or even understand, he was falling forward—falling through.

  The dorm room remained, empty and silent, nothing moving except for the faint flicker of candlelight. There was no one left to hear, no one to see. Only the mirror, now dark and still, reflecting an empty room.

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