The beach on Oreca’s Fall had been transformed in the afternoon light.

When Alex was last there, the sand was thick with the dead: most were demons, but the rest were his comrades from the Grand Battle. Generasian wizards and other competitors had stood shoulder to shoulder, fighting those demons with many paying a price that was too high to bear. Scavenging seabirds had been circling the beach after the battle, and the smell of death had hung in the air mingling with the cries of survivors.

Today, an ocean breeze replaced that smell with the scent of sea salt and the inviting aroma of scores of delectable dishes.

Towering in the sunlight where there was once only death, a monument had been raised to the triumphant fallen.

An enormous stone statue stood where a competition had turned into a deadly battle: it was carved in the likeness of a dozen young wizards and warriors joined together in a stand against the threat of a hideous demon posed in submission. Around the statue, long tables were set up, each assigned a number corresponding with one assigned to the party who had reserved it. In front of the statue was a single extended platform piled with steaming dishes provided by the Watchers.

“See that?” Thundar nodded to the platform. “The Watchers sent folk out to every family who lost loved ones to find out what their favourite dishes had been. And that’s the spread they put together for everyone to share: survivors and guests.”

“To honour the dead,” Theresa said quietly. “And it looks like there’ll be plenty of people to share with.”

The tables around Alex’s group were filled with familiar faces: teams from the Grand Battle who were there for the Festival of Ghosts in respect of their fellow competitors. Not everyone had returned, but Alex recognised quite a few: Hanuman—the life enforcement practitioner—was with his team from the Grand Battle; together, they formed a circle around their table, hands linked and heads bowed in a quiet prayer. Their masks were intricate and varied, but each was colourless: Alex wondered if the lack of colour was in deference to the dead.

Tyris’ group was there as well, at a table at the edge of the event. Alex exchanged a solemn nod with her as they passed. Her expression was covered by a dragon mask, but the usual cocky demeanour and boisterous body language was gone, replaced by a quiet sombreness and a touch of haunted memories playing through her.

She wasn’t alone in that sombreness: some folk were quiet as they set up, but others chatted to each other with big smiles on their faces as they remembered their fallen comrades. Some raised toasts; it was obvious they weren’t their first tributes of the afternoon, and after each sip, they spilled some on the sand in memory of a teammate.

There was sadness and nostalgia, but there was also…relief that wasn’t there during Alex’s first Festival of Ghosts. Last year tension loomed over the celebration from the demon summoner threat. He remembered how folk eyed one another with suspicion and fear, and how the city had been on high alert, prepared for an attack.

Now, that threat was dead along with its instigator, Leopold.

Ezaliel’s cult was still out in the world, but they hadn’t been bold enough to show their faces in the wizard city; folk were still cautious, but the sharp-edge of most anxiety had dulled.

And what that left was an opportunity for people to be together and catch up; young wizards who’d not seen each other since that difficult time in the summer came together as old friends. Some reminisced. Some hugged each other like they couldn’t let go. Some cried. And some laughed and raised a glass or two.

Their mood was bittersweet, and memories of lives faded also gave Alex and those with him that bittersweet feeling, yet for him and his good friends, there was also a deep feeling of gratitude because they would all be there, together.

The cabal, Hogarth, Svenia, Selina, Brutus, Claygon, Theresa and her friend, Shishi, were there of course, with immense baskets and pots of the foods most special to their loved ones. Alex had made his father’s stew and his mother’s cookie recipe again this year, along with dishes he and Thundar had prepared. The minotaur’s special apple pies would soon be on the table, while Isolde and Khalik had bought the finest foods on campus. Grimloch had his own dishes in four oversized baskets, enough to feed a small army.

New faces were joining them for the Festival this year with new dishes to add to the feast. Sinope strolled arm and arm with Prince Khalik, and both looked regal enough to command empires. On her other arm, she carried a basket of wild fruits soaked in sweet tree syrup and a dryad liquor.

Nua-Oge followed her baby brother, reminding him to mind his manners at the table, while carrying a basket of steamed shellfish. Soon, Shiani, Rhea and Malcolm would be joining them with their own dishes, and Kybas was on his way. Alex was excited about seeing everybody: it had been too long since he’d been with most of his old friends—Thundar had a point—better to catch up with friends now, than regret not doing so later...if you’re even around for regret.

“Number twelve!” Thundar announced, pointing to a nearby table with his horns. “That’s us!”

“This is a good table, Thundar,” Isolde approved, looking at the statue of the fallen.

“Yep, right close to the central table,” the minotaur nodded his head in respect.

“Good,” Selina took in the central table. “I’m glad we’re so close to the food everyone who died liked. I didn’t know them, but…maybe this’ll help me know some of them.” She looked at her brother. “Do you think Shiani will be here soon?”

“I think so.” Alex glanced at his little sister. It’d been a while since the young girl had mentioned their fire-wielding friend. He wondered if her question had anything to do with what she’d asked him about putting out the windmill fire. “I don’t think she’ll be late for such an important celebration and miss out on honouring the folks who fought beside us, Selina.”

“Good. I just hope we celebrate the demons being dead too,” she said. “They deserved it.”

“Well, Roal’s statue is looking over all of us.” Theresa nodded to the statue honouring the fallen wizards. “And the Watchers are running this event: trust me, they’ll focus on our triumph just as much as on honouring our fallen.”

“Good,” was all she said as the others put their dishes on the table.

There was a hard edge to that word.

Alex looked at her for a moment with a mix of pride and concern. Concern about the hardening he was noticing in his sister. The scared, but brave little girl who had walked into the Cave of the Traveller with him was transforming. What that meant…it was too early to know. Part of him wanted to preserve the sweet innocence in her.

‘But she’s growing up,’ he thought, looking back to the statue of fallen wizards. ‘And for a wizard, sweet innocence serves a hell of a lot less well than a strong strength of will. If she channels it right, she’ll be okay. ’

His eyes drifted over the stone faces of the fallen, recognising some of them now that he was closer.

The figure in the middle of the group was no young wizard from the Grand Battle. It was Roal herself, standing behind the others: not in an exalted place of glory, but one of support. She was not the hero of this image, instead, she was the ancestor who’d helped the young wizards face their monstrous foes.

As the group laid out their dishes and other friends arrived, Alex found himself turning again and again to the stone face of Roal. He studied it. Turned it over in his mind. Compared it to the faces of the statues of wizards around her and his own friends.

“She was young,” Alex muttered.

“Who?” Theresa placed a ladle in Thundar’s stew.

“Roal.” He nodded to the statue. “Look at her. She’s maybe five years older than us. Maybe a little older. I would have thought that someone who’d killed a demigod would be older. More experienced.”

Theresa followed his gaze. “Huh. You know, I never thought of that. I guess Roal was young. Or maybe she just looked young. Wizards can be a lot older than they look.”

“True,” Alex said.

Still, if she was around their age when she’d slain Oreca…

‘She killed a demigod, right in front of his followers, then fought them as they threw miracles at her,’ he thought. ‘And he was a demigod who ruled the seas around here. I wonder what that was like for her, if it was tough, mentally?’

He considered what he and his friends might have to do. What if the church was corrupt and needed to be dismantled. It was a uniting force in Thameland, but—more than that—it did a lot of good for the people. Their church schools were responsible for the fact that nearly every citizen in Uldar’s kingdom could read, write, and knew a bit of science, and history.

Even serfs were better educated than merchants in other realms because of that. What happens if it all goes away? Living in Generasi had given Alex an idea of what it takes to run a massive system of learning.

The university needs a small army of clerks, teaching staff and associates to keep it running, and they’ve had centuries to make it work.

If some archwizard snapped their fingers and made every professor and all the auxiliary staff disappear, it wasn’t like someone else could just pick up the torch and keep things going. It’d all fall apart.

And Generasi was only one institution.

Uldar only knew how many church schools there were across the entire realm. If the church has to be removed from Thameland—if it turns out they’re corrupt—what happens to all the knowledge the kingdom’s children receive? Who would take up teaching them? Who would organise what they learn and how it’s taught? Who would pay for it all?

Then there were all the other services the priests provide: healing in emergency times, officiating at marriages, laying people to rest, baptisms and births; emotional help for folk who needed support, folk who couldn’t share their secrets with friends and family for fear of shaming or harm.

He remembered a young priest from Alric who had spirited away a family who for years, lived in terror from violence at the hands of their kinfolk. He’d kept them safe, and probably saved their lives. And his wasn’t the only story like that.

What would happen if all of that just…evaporated one day?

And that was if the church was the root of the problem, and not Uldar.

‘If we had enough scholars, they might be able to take over the schools,’ Alex thought. ‘And maybe we could find other trained folk to fill other roles the priests have…but how long would that take? Meanwhile, how much would we lose? And if it turns out that Uldar is the problem like Oreca was, and if we do manage to reject him…’

He glanced at Isolde as the young woman took a seat near Svenia and Hogarth. ‘She’d said that not everyone in the Rhinean Empire supported people from Thameland. What would happen if our realm was suddenly weakened, with no protection from gods or churches. We have the Heroes and a strong army…but the Rhineans have elemental knights, way more wizards than we do and a much bigger army. Jeez, they probably wouldn’t be the only ones looking to conquer us if our kingdom looked like it was failing. The only thing we could do is use dungeon core remains as a weapon to keep conquerors away…then again, what if our own citizens start in-fighting over those very weapons?’

He shook his head. ‘Fighting a deity and his church isn’t like getting rid of a powerful demon or some monster. If Uldar’s church is the problem…that’ll leave a massive hole when they’re gone. And—if—the Ravener’s still around, that’ll be an even bigger problem since the priests organise the fight against it, and they'll be gone. Telling people that followers of Uldar can control dungeon cores would give us weapons against the Ravener and other attackers, but Thameland’s not exactly overrun with folk who could even use them.’

He blew out a breath. ‘Complications, complications, complications,’ he thought, his mind swirling. ‘But…enough of that for now. Handle it when—’

“Kybas!” Theresa waved. “Over here! We’re over here!”

Alex turned, excited to see the little goblin.

Then he whistled with awe.

Kybas was grinning and waving at everyone at the table, and beside him strode Harmless, who was not so little anymore.