“Gods [i]damn it all,[/i]” Ember says, staring up at the slate-grey sky. Lightning like lace; the deep roar of thunderbolts falling. The beat of huge wings. She lies in the cold mud of the battlefield; the last redoubt of Ceron falls. Next to her, the Star King groans. The stomach goes tight and tense when facing down an unacceptable outcome. All around her, the scents of chaos and broken retreat are thick clouds.

If she’d just been a moment faster with the Shield. If she’d managed to protect Mosaic. If she’d never insisted on coming down to this terrible planet to… but then wrongdoing would be unmet by champions. But shouldn’t champions get some sort of happy ending? Not like this, waiting for the thunderbolts to fall on the two of them in the slate-grey mud.

“No time for that, soldier,” Ember’s voice says, but not her voice: melodious, set to the tune of an unheard song, and unmistakably divine. A voice like Gemini’s. “Up and at them! Present arms!”

And Ember stands, and presents her arms in the midst of the tumult, and underneath the light of the Lantern the world flattens. The clouds are made of balls of cotton, and the mud strips of felt underneath her feet, and the warring armies little dolls with black button eyes. The Star King makes a noise of nausea on the ground, even as Ember lifts her eyes and sees the trees, growing upside down, their branch-roots shining violet and teal and white. She turns, and sees herself—

But not herself. Taller, lusher, skin shining. She smells of Mosaic’s favorite perfume and Delight and Victory and Olympus. In one hand she holds a wand; over one shoulder of her gleaming breastplate is a lion’s skin. Her ears are set with white jewels; her teeth are like pearls.

“Could have beens, ha!” She waves the wand, and other stages light up for a moment, places where familiar faces stagger under the stage lights, the relentless glow of the crystal trees. “We prefer what [i]can[/i] be, don’t we, Dany? What will be. Me, and Bella, and Alexa and Dyssia and Dolce and Vasilly and Beljani and Epistia and Beautiful and all the rest aboard the dear [i]Plousios[/i], and what’s waiting for you— for us— on Gaia.”

Her tongue is like lead. “I… who are you?” The truth of her is Certainty on the nose.

“Call me the Shepherdess, Ember,” she says, and cups Ember’s chin with kindness, lets the silk pool on her wrist. “I am the future of the Princess Redana Claudius; we had to make sure that you make it, right? But it’s always tricky, doing something like this, and thank goodness we got to— oh, you still call it Portugal, don’t you? It doesn’t get the other name yet. But we got tossed into Time’s loom, here and in this place, and this is where I gave you what you needed.”

She presses her forehead to Ember’s own, and their scent is the same. “You were, and are, and will be again Redana Claudius, Nero’s daughter, Hermes’ daughter, Zeus’s daughter, the lover of Bella Hostilius Meowmeow, First of Her— no, still can’t say that.” Her laugh is Ember’s laugh, but older, gentler, a laugh to fall into. “You have also been Ember of the Silver Divers, just as we have been so many things. Shapeshifters, skinchangers us, always looking for the person we need to be.” Here, she winks.

Then she turns, gestures, and all the possible worlds narrow.

“Go to our Bella, Dany.”

[hr]

A shadow blots out the sun; the new light in her hand seems almost cool in comparison. The Shield is slung on her back, and with the other hand she reaches out, distraught.

“Mosaic! My lady! [i]Bella!![/i] Whoever, whatever you are, just— just don’t—”

The Lantern she ties to her sash, nearly dragging her belt down with its weight. With both hands this small and brave knight lifts the demigod into her arms, and Ceron’s strength fills her.

“We have to find everyone else—“ And she looks around, and it was all just sand on the floor, and toy ships dangling from the branches, and a relentless stage light, wasn’t it? If you blink, Bella, you might just see a familiar savior waving one hand in greeting, in tribute, in promise. But your loyal Ember is already headed onwards, even as the Shepherdess kneels and offers a hand to the Star King.

[hr]

Under the Lantern’s light, the Generous Knight is, at least for a moment, just a model made of clay and metal and paint, frozen in her monstrous apotheosis, and all the ruined fleets just toys. It’s better to think of them that way, isn’t it?

Ember’s hands and chest and, let’s be honest, face are full of a post-sweat, exhausted Mosaic, but her ears are still perky and her tail wagging furiously. “Dyssia! Take the Lantern, would you? Navigating’s… let’s find a way out of here!”

(Here in the dark, contrasted with the roots of Time above. Here in a place that is not a place, made false long enough to leave.)

[hr]

There’s a set of stairs at the end. After the nightmare death worlds, after the party where Gemini was being forced to drink poison, after the place where all the suns were dead, after the place with all the plush animals surrounding Goldie, there’s just a set of stairs that lead down to a door clearly marked Emergency Exit. It has a steady, soothing green glow.

“See you all later,” the Shepherdess says as she opens it, and ushers the Star King out, and all the rest too, and she offers Bella a private wink as Ember bounds through the door, and then she lets the door shut behind her.

Behind them, Time remains.