The wind ruffled Jerry’s hair as he lounged on his heavenly soft chair, watching the clouds roll by above. Behind him, the airship was as lively as ever. The Billies climbed up and down the sails, making minute adjustments as Marcus instructed; Laura was performing water shows for Boboar and Foxy, who never got bored of them; Headless and Boney were playing checkers; Axehand sat on the prow, drinking; and finally, Horace stood on the crow’s nest above the hot air balloon, using his sharp eyes to survey the horizon.

As for Jerry, he was simply enjoying the breeze.

Nobody would imagine that this varied, carefree airship crew had recently watched the revival of a God. No, not just watched—they had participated in it, as well as lived to tell the tale. Not many could brag of such a thing.

Only Ozborne was missing from the airship. After Jerry provided him with enough energy to reform his body through a complex spell—that Jerry got a copy of—Ozborne had reappeared as an old man. The top of his head was bald, letting straight white hair drop from his temples to his shoulders. His eyes were blue and his face kind, while he wore a set of purple, intricate robes.

He seemed like a good person, and after a brief conversation, Jerry decided he liked him. Unfortunately, Ozborne still declined to join them, and decided to go to the Wizard Tower of Erland instead, the capital of the Moonlight Kingdom. They’d offered to give him a ride, but he wanted to inspect the broken Curse Core first, so they’d dropped him off at the Prism Dungeon.

He’d make his way to Moonlight by his own means.

Laura and Marcus had both agreed to join Jerry’s Prism crusade. Laura was still driven by revenge against the Wizard Order, and following Jerry was the best way to achieve it—that is, if the Wizard Order still stood after the Desistos calamity, but everyone agreed it would.

Not only had they sensed Desistos’s revival shortly after it happened—as had every necromancer—and so probably run away, but their operations were also spread in various continents. Of the three Archmages that belonged to the Wizard Order, one was in the far-away Jewel Archipelago, and there was no way Desistos could make it there in a matter of hours.

They just hoped he’d kill the Biomancy Archmage before turning into a slave, or at least destroy a good number of wizards and the Order’s foundations.

Anything else was just a pipe dream. Even Gods weren’t omnipotent.

“With a Primordial under their control, the Wizard Order will be able to dominate the world,” Ozborne had explained. “They won’t dare move immediately, especially given what Desistos will do to them before submitting, but it won’t be too long. With a Primordial at the helm, many wizards will convert to the Order, and the Tower and mundane Kingdoms will soon be left defenseless. That’s when they will strike.”

The storm is on the horizon, and our time is running out… thought Jerry, watching the sky meet the earth at the edge of his vision.

Ozborne’s words only stressed the importance of Jerry’s plan succeeding. They needed to find the Prisms, as many as possible, before the war truly began. If the Order won…a new era would begin, the Wizard World, and almost everyone would be killed. Only one out of a thousand people was a wizard.

Jerry didn’t intend to let that happen. He had met many wonderful people with no magic powers; they didn’t deserve to die. In his heart, he was convinced that the Order was wrong.

He turned his gaze northwest, where their next destination lay. Ozborne would contact the Tower, tell them everything they needed to know, and try to delay the Order’s expansion for as long as possible. Meanwhile, Jerry would focus on the Prisms.

The death lake had been absorbed into Desistos, and the Curse had been irreparably broken. The Mists of Death would dissipate with time. The soul fish had been released, finally achieving the eternal rest that had been stolen from them. Shelia’s body had been buried deep in a nameless expanse, ensuring she would never be defiled—they’d only kept her journal, which Laura carried in a pocket.

There was nothing holding them back now. The Cloud Sea awaited.

Well…actually, there was one last thing.

The airship began to lose altitude as they approached a dense forest. “Front right,” said Horace, his sharp eyes making out the forms hiding in the trees. They landed in a clearing, and immediately, a team of warriors jumped out of the nearby bushes.

They held spears, but as soon as they saw who rode the airship, they exclaimed in joy.

“Horace! You’re back!”

Horace jumped down from the crow’s nest and landed before them. He spread his arms out. “I have returned, everyone!” he yelled, a big, forced smile on his face. The Akshik tribespeople rushed at him, but suddenly, they stopped.

One after another, whispers ran through them as they gazed at Horace weirdly.

“Hmm?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

They did not reply immediately. A series of complicated stares fell on him, and in the end, the villagers did not approach. His spread arms found no one to hug.

Horace’s face went dark as everyone on the ship looked at each other with puzzlement. Only Marcus seemed to understand what was going on, and he did not withdraw his gaze from the Akshik.

“Come with us, Horace,” they said. “The tribe must speak to you.”

“Is something wrong?”

“It is not our place to tell you. Follow us. Your companions can come, too.”

Horace was clearly worried, but he complied. They crossed a forest of dead trees and wilted bushes, met groups of docile undead animals. This place was very different to the swamp, the Akshik tribe’s previous place of residence. It felt safe. Here, there were no crocodiles trying to eat them, no treacherous fauna hiding in low branches.

The forest opened up into another clearing, hidden under thick branches and remnants of foliage, where the new Akshik tribe stood. They were already constructing their huts and setting up their circles, preparing themselves for the long, peaceful, never-changing years that would follow.

Only a single hut was already constructed, and its windows were covered in wooden planks.

As soon as Horace arrived, whispers spread through the village like wildfire. Everyone looked at him with emotions that were hard to decipher, even with his sharp eyes, and black snakes wrapped around his heart. What was going on?

“Horace.” His name traveled from lip to lip as the complicated gazes moved from him to the single complete hut. Right then, the hut’s entrance flap was pulled open, and a woman older than death stood on the threshold, only a line of shadow protecting her from the weak sunlight that was enough to harm her.

“Granny…” said Horace, and his breath caught on his throat. Even she looked at him oddly. He gulped. “What the hell is going on!?” he asked abruptly, too influenced by the tribe’s stares. This was wrong. Everything was wrong. Why were they looking at him like that?

“Hello, Horace,” said Granny. “What happened outside?”

Horace’s frown deepened. “We won,” he replied. “We killed Arakataron, threw the Wizard Order into enough disarray that they won’t have time to trouble us, and even broke the Curse. There are some new complications, but nothing that we need to worry about. The outside world will deal with it.”

Relief washed through the black eyes of the tribespeople, some even breaking into tears at the good news. However, everyone still held themselves back, even the tearful ones. They didn’t show Horace the gratitude and warmth he expected.

“Granny,” he said, his voice harsh, “what is going on?”

“The tribe discussed this at length, Horace…and we came to a decision. You abandoned us, letting us walk alone through danger. Nobody died, but that was only due to our bravery—we do not need your protection. Therefore, the Akshik tribe has decided. You are stripped of your duty as the tribe’s guardian and exiled.”

Her words fell like an anvil. Horace’s eyes widened. Behind him, Laura and all the undead stared in shock.

Exiled?

“Exiled!?” Horace boomed. “Stripped of my duties? I abandoned you? Bullshit. Are you all mind-controlled by the Wizard Order?”

“It is our decision, Horace. Unanimously.” Granny hammered the nail in.

“Unanimously?”

He looked around. Rage and incomprehension were mounting in his heart, but when he saw the eyes of the tribespeople, he froze. They were hard. Resolute. Horace struggled to comprehend and found himself unable to.

“You can’t do this to me,” he muttered. “It has to be a lie. This makes no sense. You told me to go!”

“You no longer belong to the Akshik tribe, Horace,” Granny said sternly, ignoring his words, and her eyes were hard. “Leave immediately.”

“Wha—No! You can’t do this to me! What the hell is happening? Did you all go insane!?”

His agitation was evident. He felt lost, confused, cheated. He balled his fists and glared around. Some of the villagers stared at him sternly, but most were turned the other way. Horace caught a woman’s gaze breaking before she turned away, her strictness faltering as she bit her lips. She trembled in her husband’s arms.

“Leave, Horace,” he said. “You have no place here anymore.”

“You are no longer our guardian.”

“We don’t need you.”

“Just go.”

Horace was trapped in a nightmare. All around him, the people he’d lived with for half a century were abandoning him. He wanted to jump at them and tear them apart.

“Master…” Boney whispered at the back, his voice trembling. “Should we…”

“No.” Jerry shook his head. His eyes had tears, but a hint of sweetness too. “Don’t you see what they are doing, Boney? They are not abandoning him. They’re setting him free.”

Suddenly, Boney was stunned. He understood. He grabbed Laura’s shivering arm and signaled her to wait.

“Fuck you all!” Horace exploded. “Is this how you repay me for everything I’ve done for you? Fifty years down the drain? Was everything a lie? Was our relationship this fragile? Are you stupid?”

More people were turning away with time, unable to look at him anymore, but those who remained were resolute.

“Leave, Horace,” said a man—the lead painter.

“I considered you my closest friend, Eredon. I cared for you when you were sick. I saved your wife’s life. Is this how it all ends?”

“Just leave.”

Horace looked at his best friend and found no compassion, no solace. He clenched his fists so hard that his nails dug into his palms. His eyes misted over.

“Fine!” he shouted, turning away. “Have it your way, you pathetic clump of losers. I don’t need you either. I can live just fine without you, more than fine!” He walked towards Jerry’s group, eyes straight ahead. However, when he looked at Jerry, he saw that his eyes were strange too. Horace froze.

Oh.

All the tension in his body evaporating, he turned around to find a group of people glaring at him. However, the moment they saw he understood, their features were filled with relief, and their faces were full of tears and smiles.

“Everyone…” Horace muttered, eyes wide. “You…”

“We have been keeping you hostage, Horace… We are deeply sorry. You deserve better than this.”

“It is time, Horace,” said Granny from behind, her voice shaky. Her stony face melted into tenderness. “Time for you to leave and spread your wings. We will be fine. We all know how much you wanted to leave this place, how trapped you felt, and how heavy that duty was for you… Now, your duty as guardian is gone. You are exiled. We are no longer holding you back. Just go.”

“Granny… That’s just stupid. You think I’ll just abandon you all and go have fun?”

“You don’t have a choice. You are exiled. If you stay, none of us will ever talk to you again.”

“Are you serious?”

He looked deep into their black eyes, hardened by the Curse and softened by fifty years of peace, and saw that they were serious. They meant it. They weren’t giving him a choice.

“Do you really want to stay?” Granny asked back.

Horace looked back at Jerry and the rest, who all smiled and nodded. “You have a good family, Horace…” said Jerry. Axehand grunted and raised his flask. Laura failed to hold back her tears. Marcus smiled widely.

Horace realized this was happening. It already had. It was over.

Against himself, his heart was filled with immeasurable relief and happiness. He loved his people but dreaded every step that brought him back to this prison. In the brief time he adventured with Jerry’s group, he enjoyed every single moment so, so much. He hated to be back, but he would never shy away from his duty. He owed it to them, and he loved them.

For them, he was willing to sacrifice himself. And, apparently…so were they.

His heart felt lighter than ever. Tears burst out of his eyes as his legs gave way.

“THANK YOU!” he shouted with all the power in his lungs, banging his forehead on the ground. “THANK YOU! THANK YOU FOR ACCEPTING ME! THANK YOU FOR FORGIVING ME! THANK YOU FOR EVERYTHING! I… IWILL NEVER FORGET YOU!”

His black tears dyed the ground below, and so did the tribe’s. Every single one of them was crying.

“We should be the ones thanking you. Live a happy life, Horace…” Granny said between smiling sobs. “If you ever come by this area again”—her voice broke—“pay us a visit. Okay?”

“THANK YOU!” Horace yelled again, and he cried for the fifty years he’d bottled up, for all the nights he’d spent looking at the horizon and stars, at the open sky. For the fifty years he’d spent forcing himself into a life he hated, because duty was above all.

Granny looked at Jerry. “Take good care of him,” she said.

Jerry smiled back. “He can take care of himself, but we’ll be there for him. This, I swear.” Everyone smiled too.

And just like that, Horace joined the group. Their next destination…the Cloud Sea!