Page 92 of Storm of Stars
“Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me!” she screamed as the guards seized her arms. Her movements were frantic, animalistic, her grandeur crumbling.
I didn’t look back. I didn’t need to. She was no longer worth the effort.
A hand brushed the small of my back. I turned, and there was Briar. Her eyes burned with light and something gentler, deeper. She kissed me like she’d been waiting her whole life for it, like it was the last kiss either of us might ever get.
Then Thorne was there, folding me into his arms. His hands slid up my spine, grounding me. Anchoring me. Home.
And then…a single gunshot.
Sharp and final.
Silence swept through the room like wind through ash.
The Archon was dead.
And Praxis?
Praxis had finally fallen.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
Thorne
The next threedays were some of the hardest we’d ever lived through. We had won but the silence that followed victory wasn’t what I’d call peaceful. It was hollow and heavy. There was damage to assess, lives to mourn, entire systems to unravel and rebuild. And time, as always, was working against us. For three long, tense days, Nexum had no governing body. No leader. And without leadership, especially with a population fueled by years of grief and injustice, chaos was waiting at the door.
It was Edgar Soonwater who finally stepped forward, calm and measured, and suggested that a temporary governing council be formed. A body made up of former Challengers, those who had fought, survived, and earned the people's trust. People who had lived in the Collectives, not above them. People who knew what it meant to hunger, to hurt, to hope.
The Wildguard hadn’t planned to be part of that. None of us wanted power. After all we’d fought to tear down, the idea of standing on a pedestal felt wrong. But there was a responsibility in victory, and we owed it to the people who had followed us,believed in us. We agreed to serve, only until a new system could be voted on.
No one ever really talks about what comes after the rebellion. The war stories always end with the villain’s fall. But the truth is, the hardest part is what follows. What do you do when the goal you spent your entire life chasing has finally been reached? When there’s no more fight, only the fragile pieces of what’s left?
So we made decisions.
There will be an election. A fair one. For the first time, every Collective will have a voice in who leads them next. My guess is it’ll be Edgar. He’s good. Not perfect, but he acknowledges those flaws. He’s kind. He listens. And maybe he’ll call himself Archon. Or President. Or something entirely new.
Praxis will be renamed too. The word alone makes people flinch, and we want a future unburdened by that fear. A new name. A clean beginning. One step at a time.
And as for us…we’ve taken up residence in the Archon’s old house for the time being. That grand white building with its sweeping pillars and polished marble halls. The one where I once stood, trembling in a borrowed suit, and looked up to see the person who would change my life forever.
So when I walked back into that place, into those echoing halls, once thick with the weight of Veritas’ rule, I didn’t feel fear. Or resentment. I smiled. Because I didn’t see tyranny. I didn’t see Praxis.
I saw Bex.
I stood on the balcony, arms resting against the railing, watching the city below exhale. The streets, once patrolled and silenced, now hummed with cautious movement. People were out, talking, rebuilding.
The sun was dipping low, casting the whole city in soft gold. It was beautiful in a way I wasn’t ready for. Beautiful andoverwhelming. My breath caught, and I closed my eyes against the sting in them.
I heard the footsteps before I felt her, light, steady, familiar. I didn’t turn. I didn’t have to. I knew my sister’s presence anywhere.
“Ma would be really proud of you,” Briar said softly, slipping her arm through mine. Her head found its place on my shoulder..
Her words cracked something open in me. I nodded, jaw tight, the lump in my throat too thick to speak around.
“We finished what she started,” she murmured, her voice like a balm over a long-aching wound. “We were her legacy.”
A broken breath escaped me. “I wish she could have seen it,” I said, my voice fragile. “I wish she could have known it wasn’t all for nothing.”
