Oakcrest Castle blurred past as we marched under the Footfield.

We were not moving at anything approaching our usual cruise. Neither Tara nor I were in shape to exert ourselves like that. Nonetheless, simply marching under the field was enough to make us a speeding comet to outside observers.

The landscape folded out before me, familiar and comforting after the dangers we had just left behind us. The familiar fields and roadways of the Boston countryside greeted me. It was with a melancholic feeling that I returned to this. There was solace in being back, solace in understanding that the time of battles and conflict had ended, for now. There was peace in knowing that I would have some agency again. Those things that troubled me, that picked at the corners of my mind, could receive my attention once more. If I let my mind stray to the maelstrom of untied ends in my life, then I would grow dizzy. Castle Bloodsword needed construction, the lands needed attention, Dodge called for me. I wondered if Cassius would be true to his word and his duties. Father's empire was in the hands of Harold. The Jaxwulf clan were possibly camping rough on my property still. Then there were the diaries of John the Dispeller, potential rendezvous to be had with Morningstar and Montagnion, a crazed ex-legendary Griidlord masquerading as the Green Man who wanted me dead, and more and more. Just touching on the thoughts made my heart beat and my head spin.

Returning brought sadness too, though. We returned defeated, the grand dream broken at last. I wouldn't hoist the Griid-Crown in my first season. We might have transformed the fortunes of the city, but there were limitations to the change we had brought. My memory strayed back to Baltazar, standing beside me during our victory parade.

"Three more wins, Tiberius. If you win three more times, we will hold the Griid-Crown. Then our options become truly limitless."

For all his stoicism, even he had been infected by the intoxication of the possibilities we had brought. And now, even he, stony, practical Baltazar, would have to face the same disappointment as any starry-eyed child.

Over it all hung the control Enki had exerted. The depth of the mistake I had made haunted me. I had cost my team, my city, and Chowwick's memory greatly by crossing the entity when I challenged Rosegold. Worse than that, even, was the sense of what I had cost us. The regret I felt, the power of the consequence, worried me. How could I assert myself as an independent partner with the voice if I feared to go against it? It might be my greatest asset, but equally it was the greatest danger. I felt that a road lay ahead of me, a forking road. Down one path lay glory, riches, success, and slavery. The other road led to a far darker and less appealing place, but a place where at least I made my own choices.

Olaf spoke. Perhaps the imminent return to Boston had stirred him to speech. When he did, his voice was uncertain.

"What… what happens now?"

I realized he was speaking to me. Olaf had been granted the suit and joined battle immediately. As much as I felt like I was lead tossed in the winds of fate, Olaf had not even had the scarce time between Choosing and Falling to experience anything. I opened my mouth to answer him and found myself caught for words. I realized I had no better idea of what followed the Falling than he did. My momentary speechlessness passed and was replaced by sudden laughter. Not wild or uncontrolled, but an exhalation of mirth that was fully involuntary.

Olaf said, "What's so funny?"

Still laughing, I said, "I don't know either."

He looked at me, his face a canvas of confusion. Then he was chuckling as well, his broad face flushed with some emotion—amusement or embarrassment, I did not know.

Magneblade, marching behind us, said, "Oh by the Oracle, with everything that's happened, I failed to realize it. Tara, lass, we're half rookies. How the fuck did that come to pass without me noticing?"

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Tara's voice was more uplifting. Assertively, she said, "Because neither of them performed like rookies, Magneblade. We had not one, but two prodigies in our midst to end the season."

I said, "I don't think I'd say prodigy. Not of me at any rate." I could hear the unsummoned bitterness in my own voice, the laughter abruptly fleeing.

Tara's voice creaked as she began to voice what would probably be a protest, but Magneblade spoke over her.

"No, Tara, don't indulge. Our glorious leader must learn that defeat is inevitable. I hunger for the fight, always. It keeps me awake at night like another man might be rendered sleepless with lust for women. I crave the victories. But it's reconstructing yourself after the worst losses that is the greatest challenge. If you want to win, if you want to make yourself master of the challenge, then this might be the greatest one. The swifter you can gather yourself after a conclusive loss, the more quickly you can dust it off and look to the future, the stronger you are. We want you to be strong, our glorious Sword. Show us some of that now, why don't you?"

I wanted to retort. I felt a bite from his words. A reaction bubbled up within me. But then, just as suddenly as it erupted, I felt the energy dissipate. Instead I found myself humbled by the words. I felt them penetrate me and a vague calm spread through me.

He was right, of course.

Tara said, "Time to shed the Field."

Quite without realizing it, we had arrived at the walls of Boston. We were too close to responsibly continue under the field. I held the reins of our fields, binding them together into a unified whole. I let the tethers slip and felt the power snaking its way back to each of the Griidlords in the party, the shimmering haze of the field melting and fragmenting around us.

As always, it was like awakening from a dream. The detachment from the world around us faded. The deprivation of the Footfield was replaced with a surging return of the sensory expressions of the world. I could smell the winter's mud of the road more clearly. I could feel the cold ocean wind suddenly biting at my face. I could hear the sounds of the world once more.

But those sounds were wrong.

In the first instant I was confused by the onslaught of sound. It startled me enough to send my hand reaching for my sword. It was an explosion, an attack. But as that first reaction passed, I recognized the sound. As with the last time we had returned from the field, the sound that reached my ears was the roar of thousands of voices vibrating as one.

I darted my eyes to Olaf in confusion, then back to the huge open gates. A collage of humans filled the gate. Beyond them, an ocean of shoulders and heads. The din was no less exuberant than the cheers that had greeted us when we returned with the Flows of a locked Orb.

I heard my confused voice, "They… they can see none of us is glowing with Flows, right? They understand we failed?"

Magneblade paced up to walk alongside me. His heavy gauntlet found its way to my shoulder. He said, "You have it wrong. We didn't fail. We were beaten, aye, that's true enough. We were beaten. But we didn't fail. If the object of the mission was to make things better here, then we landed a long way off from failure."

As we neared the gate, I could see Baltazar himself standing at the forefront of the crowd. Soldiers flanked him, restraining the crowd. In some ways, it was an artificial sight. The crowd cheered with excitement and celebration, lauding us. But with the force of the arms of his soldiers, Baltazar made himself the center of the tableau. Thousands waited to greet us, but he assured the first greeting would be his, and that the moment would be entirely as he wanted it.

My heart beat faster as I strode toward him. I could hear their voices. Blood Prince! Blood Prince! There were still cries of Butcher, but the new moniker seemed to be taking root. I reached Baltazar, and he held a hand out to me. I was aware of the countless eyes watching. I was aware of the ownership he was taking of our return. The ownership he was taking of me. I remembered Lauren's words, words that seemed centuries old now.

"Magneblade is Baltazar's creature. Chowwick was too."

Was he claiming me as his creature too, before the masses of the people? Was I his creature? Why did we have to live in a world where anyone had to be anyone's creature?

I took his hand and shook it. It was stronger than I could have imagined. I could feel the grip even through the immense, unhuman power of my own gauntlet.

I said, "We… we don't… not we. I don't deserve this. I failed."

Baltazar shook his head. He fixed me with those stony eyes. I felt a strange excitement boiling up inside of me. There was affection there. I tried to press down the excitement I felt. I tried to deflect the pleasure that bloomed in me as I saw something in his face that I had never seen in my own father's eyes.

There was approval there.

I tied a knot around my emotions. He was not my father. I could not let myself let him take his place. I took firm control of my feelings and presented the face of a stoic lord.

Then he said, "I'm so proud of you, Tiberius."

It might have been for just a moment, but nonetheless, for a moment my lip quivered, and an exultant tear sprang to the corner of my eye.

Only for the briefest moment.

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