For as long as Nasir lived, he would never forget this moment. The way the earth’s exhale ruffled his hair. The way the safin’s eyes fell closed, returned to a love long lost. In a way that Benyamin, the dreamwalker who had given his life for this moment, never would. It was only now that Nasir realized how deeply magic had been ingrained into Arawiyan life.
“So this is what it feels like,” Kifah contemplated, “to see vengeance through.”
“What does it feel like?” he asked. “Freeing.”
A thousand troubles unraveled with the rupture of her laugh, a sound so untethered and unfettered to the world, so perfect for this night, that Altair joined her, and Nasir smiled.
His mother did not look like one who had lost a part of herself. Laa, she had gained something by losing her power, and Nasir knew it was the relief that only someone of si’lah blood could comprehend.
Perhaps more significant than any of it was her: Zafira. The way she alighted in untrammeled joy, the way her head fell back in victory, and still she stopped to look at him. Him of all people.
Had he, too, been a walker of the past, gifted to relive memories, this was where he would return. Zafira, always and always.
