In the days to follow, life on the island changed in ways both small and large.

The Chantry was no more. Their leadership was dead, their Chosen One had been vanquished, their Well had been destroyed, and the foundation upon which their religion was built had been demolished. The organization dissolved, and it was up to us to pick up the pieces.

The Chantry had caused our world great harm, but most of the people working for it had just wanted to help. Chantry warriors had kept people safe from raiders, after all. That had nothing to do with prophecy. So Gavin and Merill rounded up everyone who was willing to set aside the past and created a new order. Guardians dedicated to serving the people, bound to no higher authority than community and conscience.

They invited me to join, and Mal, but we declined.

The capital city was now free of ghosts, and Mal could still open the portal to it, but we left it alone. It was a relic from a different time, one that didn’t need to be revived. We had the island. The capital had been built for an empire, and the day of empire was past.

In our own halls, the Ossuary was now gray and empty. The ancestors, gone. The Council they elected, gone. For the first time, we had to face the prospect of true self-governance: not guided by ghosts, but by our own moral compasses and the beliefs of the living. It wouldn’t be easy, but we were adaptable. We could create a democracy that would last, one that might learn from the mistakes of empires and republics past.

Mal and Sam returned to life as it was before: a quaint cottage, a quiet existence, finding satisfaction in the little things. With time, the scars of battle would heal, and they could let fade the trauma they’d suffered at Gwyn’s hands. We could all let it fade, though I resolved to never forget.

As for me?

I went on a date.