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Adwapa does not reply, but she’s blinking rapidly now.
“Wha’s wrong with ye?” the little girl named Asha asks. “Got something in yer eye?”
Adwapa gives her a watery grin. “Just remembering…. I had a twin once too. Long ago.”
“Wha happened to ’im?”
“Her. She died during the War of the Pantheons.”
“That was nearly ten years ago,” her mother whispers to her. “Same year you were born.”
Asha’s eyes go wide. “Ye were in a war?”
“We all were,” Britta corrects.
“Kill anybody?”
“I can tell you that later, if you’re ever in Hemaira,” Adwapa says. “I run a school there. A school for warriors. Perhaps one day you can apply.”
“Wha’s it called?”
“The Warthu Bera.”
And as Asha’s mother carries her away, I turn to my companions, heart brimming with that emotion I remember was called happiness. “We were successful, were we not?”
“More than, my universe,” Keita says, intertwining his fingers with mine.
“Look at her,” White Hands says, smiling down at the girl. “She can be whoever she wants to be. They all can.”
No more prescribed roles. No false holy books. No more following arcane rules, simply because you appear a certain way. Now everyone in Otera can be who they wish. Who they are inside. And that’s all I’ve ever asked for.
“Let us return to our abode,” I say to Keita.
“Yes, my universe,” he replies.
But White Hands remains behind. “I will walk a little longer,” she says, heading toward the horizon.
And as she and the equus continue on, silhouettes on the horizon, I put my hand in Keita’s. Together, walking alongside our mortal friends while we can, we head into eternity.
