Q was having a terrible day.
This was not unusual.
The distinction was that this particular terrible day had lasted approximately thirty-four days, involved three assassination attempts, two poisons he considered insultingly unimaginative, one collapsing moon, and a species of parasitic organism that had apparently decided his left boot was an acceptable place to reproduce.
It wasn't.
The boot had been burned.
The parasites had been burned.
A considerable portion of the moon had also been burned.
That part had been less intentional.
Q stepped through the final passage home with dried blood along one side of his coat, a healing cut above his eyebrow, and the immediate intention of finding something edible.
Preferably something Xheavend hadn't stolen.
He had been thinking about that for the final three hours of the return journey.
There had been a pastry in Goro's kitchen.
Honey.
Some kind of purple fruit.
Xheavend hated the fruit.
Excellent.
It might still exist.
Q stepped through.
Stopped.
Smelled blood.
Not unusual in Goro's house.
He continued one step.
Then stopped again.
Too much.
His expression changed.
"Xheavend?"
No answer.
Q looked toward the corridor.
Something had happened here.
People had run through recently.
Furniture disturbed.
One door open.
Wisper's claw marks scored across the floor.
Q's hand lowered toward a weapon.
"Goro?"
Nothing.
He followed the blood.
Outside.
Farther.
The smell grew stronger.
Then—
bodies.
One.
Five.
Twenty.
Q slowed.
Hundreds.
Smooth faces.
Eyes covering flesh.
Armor.
Chains.
Whips.
Weapons.
Blood.
Far too much blood.
Q stared.
"What the hell happened?"
Then he saw the small body near the center.
No.
Not body.
Standing.
Q went still.
For several seconds—
he couldn't understand what he was looking at.
Too many things contradicted one another.
A girl.
A monster.
A child.
Something with stars beneath torn skin.
Something whose flesh died along one side while rebuilding along the other.
Flowers growing around bare feet.
Flowers dying around bare feet.
Bone weapons.
Blood across her mouth.
Pink eye.
Red eye.
Then neither.
Then both.
Q forgot the pastry.
"Xheavend?"
Her head snapped toward him.
Q knew immediately.
Something was wrong.
Not injured wrong.
Not angry.
Not frightened.
Something deeper.
Her gaze moved over him without recognition.
No—
with too much recognition.
As though she were evaluating him.
Weight.
Reach.
Injuries.
Weapon position.
Weakness.
Q's hand moved away from his weapon.
Slowly.
"Hello."
Xheavend stared.
The Books screamed.
A thousand warriors evaluated him.
Powerful.
Injured.
Unknown.
Threat.
Kill.
Survive.
End.
Q took one step.
Xheavend shifted stance.
Not one Goro taught her.
Not one Q taught her.
He stopped.
"All right."
His eyes moved across the battlefield.
Back to her.
"I assume there is an explanation."
Xheavend's mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Q looked at the spinal weapon on the ground.
Then at the blood around her mouth.
Then at the hundreds of corpses.
His expression remained deliberately neutral.
"Preferably one involving someone else being responsible for most of this."
Yzer stood beside Xheavend.
Q couldn't see him.
Xheavend could.
Yzer whispered—
"He left too."
Her face changed.
Q saw that.
Didn't know why.
"Xheavend?"
"He left."
Q frowned.
"What?"
Yzer smiled.
"He came back after you saved yourself."
Xheavend's breathing changed.
Q took another careful step.
"Xheavend."
The name struck something.
Her eyes focused.
For half a second—
"Q?"
Relief hit him.
"Yes."
Then Yzer whispered—
"Too late."
Xheavend flinched.
The Books opened.
Q saw her disappear.
Not physically.
Something behind her eyes vanished beneath something else.
"Xheavend?"
She attacked.
Q barely blocked.
The impact drove him backward.
His boots carved trenches through blood-soaked ground.
He stared at the bone blade pressed against his guard.
Xheavend stared back.
"Well."
She twisted.
Q recognized the maneuver.
No.
He didn't.
That was the problem.
He expected one angle.
She changed halfway through.
The blade curved around his defense.
Q bent backward.
Bone passed over his throat.
He stepped away.
"That's new."
Xheavend lunged.
Q parried.
She changed grip.
Different stance.
Different balance.
Different fighter.
Q's eyes narrowed.
He redirected.
Xheavend used the redirection as momentum.
Spun.
Her heel struck his ribs.
CRACK.
Q flew.
Hit the ground.
Rolled.
Stood.
His hand went to his side.
"Also new."
Xheavend came again.
Q created a darkness blade.
Blocked.
Bone struck darkness.
The impact rippled through both.
Q's eyes widened.
Xheavend disappeared beneath his guard.
A technique designed for someone much shorter than him.
Her blade opened his shoulder.
Blood sprayed.
Q stepped back.
"Xheavend."
Nothing.
"It's me."
She attacked.
"Q."
The weapon struck.
"You call me Q."
Another strike.
He blocked too slowly.
Bone opened his forearm.
Deep.
White showed beneath red.
Q looked at the exposed bone.
Then at her.
"You complain when I poison myself."
Her blade came toward his throat.
Q ducked.
"You learned my dagger in six minutes."
She changed direction.
Cut across his chest.
Q hissed.
"Which was irritating, by the way."
Nothing.
No smile.
No insult.
No—
It wasn't that difficult.
Nothing.
Q's humor disappeared.
He blocked another strike.
"Who taught you that?"
Xheavend didn't answer.
Because she didn't know.
A warrior who had lived forty thousand years?
A woman not yet born?
A creature with twelve joints in each arm?
A murderer?
A king?
A mother?
Someone.
Everyone.
Nobody.
Q parried.
Xheavend's body changed style again.
Then again.
Again.
Every exchange—
a different opponent.
Q began understanding.
Not what was happening.
Something worse.
The scale.
"How many?"
Xheavend struck.
Q blocked.
"How many people are in there?"
Wrong question.
Her face twisted.
"People?"
Q saw immediate regret in her expression.
Then it vanished.
A blade opened his thigh.
Deep.
His leg buckled.
Q caught himself.
Xheavend attacked the weakness instantly.
Too instantly.
Someone inside those impossible instincts had recognized it.
Q shifted his weight.
Blocked.
She struck the injured side again.
He moved.
Again.
Q understood.
She wasn't merely changing styles.
She was learning him.
No.
Thousands of people were learning him.
Every defense revealed information.
Every attack taught her something.
Every injury became data.
Q exhaled.
"That's inconvenient."
Xheavend swung.
Q stepped inside.
Caught her wrist.
For half a second—
he had her.
He could break the arm.
Dislocate shoulder.
Drive her into the ground.
End the exchange.
His grip loosened.
Because she was twelve.
Because she was Xheavend.
Because she had once sat beside him while he convulsed from poison and calmly informed him he was an idiot.
Because she had learned antidotes she should never have needed to learn.
Because he had left.
And apparently—
something had happened while he was gone.
Xheavend's forehead struck his face.
Q's nose broke.
He released her.
She sliced across his abdomen.
Q stumbled.
Blood poured.
"Yes."
He wiped his mouth.
"That was my mistake."
Xheavend attacked again.
Q didn't attack back.
He defended.
Redirected.
Evaded.
Blocked.
Never struck.
That was why—
he began losing.
Badly.
A weapon opened his back.
Another cut crossed his shoulder.
Her foot broke something in his hand.
Q hissed.
Two fingers hung incorrectly.
Xheavend switched stance.
Q recognized that one.
His eyes widened.
"Wait."
She moved.
Q barely avoided the strike.
"I know that."
Another.
He blocked.
"That's Cino."
Xheavend's expression didn't change.
Then her posture shifted.
Q froze.
"Sra?"
The next movement answered.
Not exactly Sra.
Something adjacent.
Older.
Different.
Then another style.
Unknown.
Another.
Unknown.
Another.
Q's stomach sank.
"Who taught you all of this?"
Xheavend screamed—
"I DON'T KNOW!"
The words broke through.
Q stopped.
So did she.
Her chest heaved.
Tears appeared.
"I don't know."
Q lowered his weapon.
"Okay."
Xheavend grabbed her head.
"I don't know."
"That's okay."
"Stop saying that!"
"All right."
"They won't stop!"
Q stared.
"Who?"
Xheavend laughed.
The sound broke halfway through.
"Everyone."
Then the Books screamed.
Her face emptied.
She attacked again.
Q raised his guard.
And somewhere beside her—
Yzer smiled.
Because Q had finally come home.
And Xheavend was going to make him regret being late.
Yzer smiled.
Because Q had finally come home.
And Xheavend was going to make him regret being late.
The next strike nearly took Q's hand off.
He twisted.
Not fast enough.
The bone blade carved across his palm, through skin, through muscle, and stopped against bone.
Q hissed.
His fingers spasmed.
Xheavend twisted the weapon.
Q caught it with his other hand.
Bad decision.
The segmented edge cut immediately.
Blood ran between his fingers.
Xheavend pulled.
Q didn't let go.
She pulled harder.
The blade sank deeper.
"Xheavend."
Nothing.
Her eyes were wrong again.
Pink.
Red.
Gold.
Black.
Then an eye belonging to a species Q had never seen opened briefly beneath her brow before Genesis erased it.
"Xheavend."
She snarled.
Q tightened his grip.
"I'm not fighting you."
Xheavend kicked him in the knee.
Something cracked.
Q dropped halfway.
She ripped the weapon free.
His palm opened with it.
Q's blood struck the ground.
Xheavend attacked.
He blocked with darkness.
Bone screamed against Void.
The impact tore through his injured shoulder.
Q's expression tightened.
"I'm staying."
Xheavend stopped.
One heartbeat.
That was all.
Yzer noticed.
His smile vanished.
Q saw something move behind Xheavend's expression.
Didn't understand what.
But he had found something.
So he continued.
"You can cut me."
Her weapon trembled.
"Apparently you're quite committed to that."
Xheavend's breathing hitched.
"You can break things."
Q glanced at his hand.
"Already demonstrated."
Her eyes flickered.
"You can be angry."
Another flicker.
"You're entitled."
Yzer leaned toward her.
He left.
Xheavend's jaw clenched.
Q couldn't hear the words.
But he saw the effect.
Something was speaking to her.
That much he understood now.
Not the Books.
Something else.
Something that knew where to hurt.
Q's gaze sharpened.
"Whatever he's saying—"
Xheavend attacked.
Q barely got his guard up.
"—apparently I was correct."
The blade slid along darkness.
Xheavend changed angle.
Q changed with her.
Too late.
The weapon entered his shoulder.
Deep.
Xheavend drove it farther.
Q grunted.
Bone stopped it.
Xheavend stared.
Blood poured over her fingers.
Q looked down at the weapon buried almost to his shoulder joint.
Then at her.
"Rude."
She ripped it free.
Q staggered.
Xheavend came again.
He stepped back.
His damaged leg gave.
Her weapon struck his ribs.
One opened.
Then another.
Q felt air where air shouldn't have been.
His teeth clenched.
Xheavend spun.
Different fighter.
Different universe.
The next blow struck the same wound from another angle.
Q nearly blacked out.
He moved anyway.
A hand caught his coat.
Xheavend threw him.
He struck the ground hard enough to bounce.
For several seconds—
Q stayed there.
Xheavend approached.
Yzer watched.
There.
Q rolled as the bone weapon came down.
It struck beside his head.
Stone exploded.
Q swept Xheavend's feet.
Not hard.
Just enough.
She fell.
Q immediately regretted it.
Beginning reacted as though he had attempted murder.
Two additional legs started forming.
Q stared.
"...No."
They disappeared.
Xheavend rose.
Q pointed at her.
"Absolutely not."
Her jaw opened.
Too many teeth.
Q's expression flattened.
"Those either."
She screamed and attacked.
Q blocked.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Every strike different.
One came from a species that fought through rotational momentum.
Another used tiny movements designed to exploit joints.
Another treated the weapon like an extension of the spine.
Another style had clearly been developed by something without bones.
Q adapted.
Then Xheavend changed.
He adapted again.
She changed.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Q realized something unpleasant.
He wasn't fighting someone with thousands of techniques.
He was fighting thousands of lifetimes of understanding why those techniques worked.
There was a difference.
A catastrophic one.
Q could copy a movement.
Xheavend inherited the mistakes that created it.
The failed versions.
The corrections.
The instincts.
The decades spent discovering why a foot needed to move three inches rather than two.
The centuries spent learning exactly when to breathe.
He wasn't fighting knowledge.
He was fighting experience.
And she had more of it every second.
The Books opened.
Flip.
Xheavend disappeared.
Q felt pain.
Then saw her.
She stood behind him.
His back opened.
Deep.
Q dropped to one knee.
Blood poured down his coat.
Xheavend raised the weapon.
Q turned.
Caught her wrist.
She changed hands.
He caught that one too.
For a moment they remained locked.
Q looked at her.
Up close—
she looked worse.
Not physically.
Physically she was repairing herself faster than anything had a right to.
It was her eyes.
There was almost nobody behind them.
Then—
someone.
Then someone else.
Then hundreds.
Q tightened his grip.
"Where are you?"
Xheavend snarled.
"No."
"Not an answer."
"I'M HERE!"
"Then look at me."
She headbutted him.
Q's vision flashed.
He didn't release her.
"Look at me."
"LET GO!"
"No."
She bit his forearm.
Q stared.
"...Seriously?"
Famine tore.
Q grunted.
Xheavend froze with his blood in her mouth.
Something flickered.
Goro.
Her face changed.
She remembered biting Goro.
Vomiting.
Crying.
I ate you!
Partially.
Her teeth released Q.
Q saw it.
There.
Xheavend.
"Good."
Yzer's expression darkened.
Q slowly loosened his grip.
"Stay there."
Xheavend stared at the wound she'd made.
Her lips trembled.
"Q?"
"Unfortunately."
Her eyes lifted.
For several seconds—
recognition.
Real recognition.
Q exhaled.
"There you are."
Then the library screamed.
Xheavend's entire body jerked.
Her pupils fractured.
"NO!"
She shoved Q away.
Hard.
He flew.
Hit the ground.
Xheavend grabbed her skull.
"Stopstopstopstop—"
Books.
Too many.
Not warriors anymore.
Everyone.
A surgeon's hands.
A baker measuring flour.
A child hiding beneath a table.
A woman giving birth.
A miner listening for cracks in stone.
A murderer cleaning blood from a blade.
A gardener knowing exactly where to cut a dying plant.
A sailor reading stars.
A creature building a nest.
A mathematician seeing patterns.
A father tying his daughter's shoe.
A queen signing an execution.
A healer setting bone.
A thief measuring distance.
A sculptor understanding pressure.
A musician hearing rhythm in Q's breathing.
A butcher recognizing joints.
A dancer understanding balance.
A hunter reading blood trails.
A terrified child knowing which spaces were small enough to hide inside.
None of them useless.
None of them irrelevant.
Because they had lived.
And living taught things.
Xheavend screamed.
Q pushed himself upright.
"Xheavend."
She looked at him.
The musician heard his breathing.
The healer saw his injuries.
The mathematician calculated how long his damaged leg could support him.
The hunter saw the blood.
The butcher saw joints.
The surgeon knew where every important structure probably sat.
The murderer—
wanted to know if the assumptions were correct.
Xheavend attacked.
Q's expression fell.
"Oh, hell."
Her bone weapon struck.
Q blocked.
Xheavend abandoned it.
Her hands became worse.
One finger drove into the wound already opened along his ribs.
Q gasped.
Xheavend twisted.
He threw her away instinctively.
Too hard.
She struck a corpse.
Her neck snapped.
Q froze.
"No—"
Begin.
Her head turned back.
Bone corrected.
Xheavend stood.
Q stared.
"Right."
A pause.
"Apparently I need to revise several instincts."
Xheavend charged.
Q formed darkness beneath his feet.
Moved.
She followed.
Too fast.
War fed on every exchange.
Q stopped attacking entirely.
That weakened War slightly.
Not enough.
There was still conflict.
Still hostility.
Still six hundred deaths staining the ground.
War had eaten well.
Xheavend caught him.
Her fist entered his stomach.
Not through.
Almost.
Q folded.
She grabbed his hair.
Knee to face.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Q caught the fourth.
Xheavend's heel came instead.
His jaw cracked.
He rolled.
She followed.
Bone blade.
Q caught it.
Blood ran between his fingers.
"I'm not fighting you."
Xheavend pushed.
The edge sank deeper.
"I'm staying."
Her eyes twitched.
Yzer whispered—
He says that now.
Q's hand shook.
Xheavend pressed harder.
Where was he yesterday?
The blade touched bone.
Where was he when they chained you?
Q's fingers began failing.
Where was he when they drank from you?
Xheavend's expression twisted.
"Stop."
Q heard her.
"I'm not saying anything."
"STOP!"
"Still not me."
Yzer smiled.
Where was he when your arm came off?
Xheavend screamed.
The weapon tore through Q's hand.
He lost two fingers.
They hit the ground.
Q stared at them.
Then at Xheavend.
"Those were useful."
Xheavend kicked him across the battlefield.
He hit a pile of corpses.
Didn't move.
Yzer stepped beside her.
"See?"
Xheavend stared at Q.
Blood everywhere.
He wasn't getting up.
Something inside her panicked.
Then another voice said—
Threat eliminated.
Not End.
A warrior.
Someone dead.
Someone who had killed thousands.
Xheavend relaxed.
That frightened the part of her still capable of being frightened.
"Q?"
Nothing.
Yzer's smile widened.
"Perhaps you finally learned."
Q's hand moved.
Xheavend froze.
He planted it against the ground.
Pushed.
Collapsed.
Tried again.
One knee beneath him.
Blood poured from his ribs.
Shoulder.
Hand.
Back.
Thigh.
Mouth.
He stood.
Barely.
Xheavend stared.
"Why?"
Q spat blood.
"Why what?"
"Why do you keep getting up?"
Q looked at her.
For once—
no joke.
"Because you're still here."
Her mouth trembled.
"So am I."
Yzer's face hardened.
Xheavend stared at Q.
He swayed.
One leg barely supported him.
Two fingers missing.
One hand cut almost to bone.
Shoulder open.
Ribs visible beneath torn clothing.
And still—
standing.
He had come back.
He had come back.
He had—
Too late.
Xheavend flinched.
Yzer leaned beside her.
Too late.
She looked around.
Six hundred bodies.
Blood.
Chains.
Her old severed arm somewhere beneath the dead.
Hair torn from her scalp.
Whips.
Teeth.
Laughter.
Q hadn't been there.
Too late.
Xheavend's face emptied.
Q saw it happen.
"No."
She attacked.
The next several minutes stopped resembling a fight.
They became an execution that refused to finish.
Q defended.
Xheavend dismantled.
His darkness blade broke.
She opened his shoulder farther.
He made another.
She cut his thigh.
Deep.
The muscle separated.
His leg collapsed.
Q caught himself on one hand.
Xheavend's weapon struck that hand.
Another finger broke.
Q rolled.
Her heel hit his ribs.
One broke.
Another.
He coughed blood.
Xheavend grabbed him.
Threw him.
He struck the ground.
She was on him immediately.
Blade down.
Q caught it between both palms.
Blood poured.
The point hovered above his eye.
"Xheavend."
She pushed.
His arms shook.
"Xheavend."
Closer.
"You're twelve."
Her expression flickered.
"Which means I'm going to be extremely annoyed if a twelve-year-old kills me."
The blade stopped.
Q smiled weakly.
"There."
Xheavend's lip trembled.
"That's insulting."
"Good."
The voice sounded like hers.
Actually hers.
Q's smile widened.
"You're back."
Yzer whispered—
He thinks anger is enough to make you a child again.
Her face changed.
The blade descended.
Q jerked sideways.
It entered beside his head.
Xheavend punched him.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Q's face became blood.
He caught her wrist.
Didn't squeeze.
Didn't break.
Just held.
"Stop."
She hit him with the other hand.
"Stop."
Again.
"Stop."
Again.
"Stop."
Again.
His grip loosened.
Xheavend pulled free.
Q lay there.
Barely conscious.
Yzer watched.
The Books screamed.
Xheavend raised her hand.
Something formed around it.
A weapon Genesis invented because every weapon before it had failed to make Q stop getting back up.
Q saw it.
He didn't understand what it was.
That concerned him.
Then—
the library changed.
One book opened louder than all the others.
THOOM.
Xheavend froze.
The battlefield vanished.
The library.
Again.
Shelves beyond distance.
Lives beyond counting.
Books opening.
Closing.
Writing themselves.
Waiting.
Xheavend stood among them.
Blood covered her.
Not all hers.
She heard something.
A page.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Turn.
Not flip.
Turn.
Xheavend looked toward it.
A book sat alone.
Black.
Not darkness.
Something deeper.
Its edges seemed to consume the light around them.
The cover bore a name.
Xheavend stopped breathing.
Q.
"No."
The book opened.
Xheavend stepped backward.
"No."
Pages turned.
A beginning.
She saw—
No.
Not enough.
Fragments.
A child.
Darkness.
Pain.
Things Q had never told her.
Things she had never asked.
Training.
Blood.
Loneliness.
Rage.
Masters.
Failure.
Getting up.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Q poisoning himself.
Not the funny version.
The reason.
The calculation.
The fear.
The need to survive what might eventually come.
Xheavend's eyes filled.
"Stop."
Pages continued.
Q meeting her.
Watching her copy his dagger in six minutes.
His genuine irritation.
Xheavend almost laughed.
Then—
something else.
Concern.
He had hidden it beneath sarcasm.
Every time she waited for him after poison.
Every antidote.
Every argument.
Every time she appeared somewhere she wasn't supposed to.
Every time he returned from a mission and noticed her before pretending he hadn't.
Xheavend touched the page.
"Q."
The next page was being written.
Now.
Q lying beneath her.
Blood filling his mouth.
Pain.
A broken hand.
Exposed bone.
His thoughts—
not hatred.
Not fear of her.
Fear for her.
Xheavend recoiled.
"No."
She turned the page.
Blank.
Another.
Blank.
Another.
Blank.
Hundreds.
Thousands.
Blank.
Xheavend stared.
"Why?"
Beginning stood behind her.
End somewhere ahead.
"Why can't I see?"
No answer.
"He's alive."
Yes.
"So show me."
Beginning answered.
I can show where he began.
Xheavend looked toward End.
"And you?"
I can see endings.
"Then show me which one."
Silence.
"Show me!"
End did not.
Xheavend screamed.
"WHY?!"
The blank pages moved.
Not writing.
Waiting.
And Xheavend understood.
Q had a Beginning.
Q would have an End.
But between them—
Q was still choosing.
Every blank page was not ignorance.
It was possibility.
Things not decided.
Words not spoken.
People not met.
Choices not made.
Mistakes not committed.
Forgiveness not offered.
Wars not fought.
Lives not saved.
People not lost.
Q had boundaries.
But Q was not his boundaries.
He was everything he did between them.
Xheavend's breathing stopped.
The library couldn't reduce him to an ending.
Neither could she.
Not while he was still living the middle.
She touched the blank page.
"Q."
The battlefield returned.
Q lay beneath her.
Xheavend stood over him.
Her weapon was raised.
She stared.
Actually stared.
Q.
Not threat.
Not opponent.
Not anatomy.
Not weakness.
Q.
The idiot who poisoned himself.
The man who had taught her darkness.
The person who complained she learned too quickly.
The one who left.
The one who—
came back.
Xheavend's weapon lowered.
"Q?"
His eyes opened slightly.
"Still..."
He coughed.
"...unfortunately."
Xheavend made a broken sound.
The weapon disappeared.
She dropped to her knees.
"Oh."
She looked at him.
Really looked.
What she had done.
Shoulder.
Hand.
Ribs.
Thigh.
Face.
Blood.
Too much blood.
"I..."
Q breathed carefully.
"Yes."
"I did that."
"Mostly."
Her face crumpled.
"Mostly?"
"Some was mission-related."
A pause.
"Wouldn't want you taking credit for other people's work."
Xheavend laughed.
Once.
Tiny.
Broken.
Then sobbed.
Q closed his eyes.
Relief.
There.
She was there.
He had her.
Almost.
Xheavend reached toward him.
Stopped before touching.
Her hands were covered in blood.
His.
Theirs.
Everyone's.
"Q..."
Yzer watched.
And understood.
The book had done what he could not allow.
It had reminded Xheavend that Q was not simply another person who left.
So Yzer leaned down.
And whispered—
"Too late."
Xheavend froze.
Q's eyes opened.
"No."
He didn't know what had been said.
But he saw her face.
"No, no, no. Stay here."
Yzer's mouth hovered near her ear.
"Where was he when they were drinking from you?"
Xheavend's hand stopped.
"Don't."
Q tried sitting up.
"Xheavend."
"Where was he when they tore your scalp?"
"Stop."
"Where was he when they laughed?"
"Stop."
"Where was he when your arm landed on the ground?"
"STOP."
Q reached for her.
Yzer whispered—
"Too late."
Xheavend looked around.
Six hundred bodies.
Blood.
Rhaeven.
Kharovel.
Salketh.
Her old arm.
Chains.
Whips.
The place where she had begged.
Make them stop.
Q wasn't there.
Goro wasn't there.
Her brothers weren't there.
Her parents weren't there.
Nobody.
She had been alone.
She had saved herself.
And now—
now—
Q was here.
Too late.
The Books began screaming again.
Q saw her pupils fracture.
"Xheavend."
She stood.
"No."
Q forced himself onto one elbow.
"Don't listen."
She looked at him.
"To what?"
Q stopped.
He didn't know.
Xheavend laughed.
Not kindly.
"Exactly."
She attacked.
Q didn't get his guard up.
The weapon entered his side.
His body jerked.
Xheavend pulled it free.
Q collapsed.
She kicked him onto his back.
He tried rising.
Couldn't.
Tried again.
Xheavend stepped on his chest.
Q coughed blood.
The Books evaluated.
Heart.
Throat.
Brain.
Soul.
Void.
Endings.
Too many.
Xheavend lifted a weapon.
Q looked up.
No fear.
That made her angrier.
"Why aren't you scared?"
Q breathed.
"Busy."
"Doing what?"
"Trying not to die."
A wet cough.
"Requires concentration."
Xheavend's weapon shook.
Yzer whispered—
Finish it.
End screamed.
Xheavend.
Beginning burned.
Choose.
War demanded.
Enemy.
Famine smelled blood.
Feed.
Conquest demanded submission.
Down.
Death waited.
End.
The Books screamed.
Kill.
Protect.
Run.
Stay.
Threat.
Brother.
Enemy.
Q.
Abandonment.
Home.
Late.
Back.
Gone.
Here.
Xheavend screamed.
Q looked up at her.
And said—
"You waited for me."
Everything stopped.
Not literally.
But inside Xheavend—
something heard him.
Q swallowed blood.
"You waited."
Her weapon lowered an inch.
Q's voice was barely audible.
"I know."
Xheavend's mouth trembled.
"Thirty-four days."
Q blinked.
Of all things—
that was what she said.
"You counted?"
"Thirty-four."
He closed his eyes briefly.
"Of course you counted."
Her weapon shook.
"You said thirty."
"I know."
"You said around thirty."
"I know."
"You were late."
Q looked at her.
No joke now.
"I'm sorry."
Xheavend's face broke.
Q breathed.
"I'm sorry it took so long."
A tear fell.
Then another.
The weapon lowered.
"Why?"
"Mission went wrong."
"No."
Her voice cracked.
"Why did you come back?"
Q stared at her.
As though the question itself made no sense.
"Because I live here."
Xheavend stopped.
Q breathed again.
"And so do you."
The weapon dropped another inch.
Yzer's face changed.
Xheavend looked down at Q.
He came back.
Not because she became interesting.
Not because she killed six hundred soldiers.
Not because she was powerful.
He didn't even know any of this had happened.
He had walked through the door thinking about food.
He had come home because—
it was home.
And she was there.
Xheavend's fingers loosened.
The weapon almost fell.
Yzer whispered—
"Finish it."
Her fingers tightened.
"No."
Yzer went still.
Xheavend shook her head.
"No."
Q exhaled.
Yzer's expression hardened.
"Finish it."
"I said no."
War stirred.
Famine screamed.
The Books opened.
Yzer leaned closer.
"He will leave again."
Xheavend's hand shook.
"He always will."
"No."
"Everyone does."
"No."
"Finish it before he gets the chance."
Xheavend raised the weapon.
Q saw it.
He didn't move.
Couldn't.
Maybe wouldn't.
"Xheavend."
Tears poured down her face.
"I don't know which thoughts are mine."
Q's expression changed.
That hurt more than anything she had done to him.
He whispered—
"Then don't make a permanent decision with any of them."
Xheavend sobbed.
The weapon remained raised.
Yzer whispered—
"Do it."
End screamed—
NO.
Beginning burned—
CHOOSE.
The Books roared.
Xheavend's hands came down.
And—
stopped.
A hand had closed around the weapon.
Just one.
No explosion.
No cosmic shockwave.
No dramatic arrival.
A hand.
Large.
Steady.
Completely unmoving.
Xheavend stared at it.
Then slowly—
looked up.
Goro stood between her and Q.
Blood stained his clothing from earlier.
The bite she'd taken from him had not completely healed.
His ancient eyes moved over Xheavend.
Once.
Then past her.
Across the battlefield.
Six hundred bodies.
Opened armor.
Missing hearts.
Broken skulls.
Bone weapons.
Flowers.
Ash.
Things Genesis had created that had already died.
Things that had never existed before and would never exist again.
Her discarded limbs.
New limbs.
Blood.
So much blood.
Then Goro looked down.
At Q.
There was a long silence.
"You look terrible."
Q stared up at him.
Half his face was swollen.
Blood coated his teeth.
Two fingers were missing.
His shoulder was open nearly to bone.
Several ribs were visible.
One leg barely resembled something intended to support a person.
He considered Goro's observation.
"She cheats."
Goro looked at Xheavend.
"Yes."
A pause.
"I noticed."
Q coughed.
It might have been a laugh.
Xheavend stared at them.
Something inside her remembered dinner.
Arguments.
Books on stairs.
Poison.
Goro's ridiculous house.
Home.
Then—
Flip.
Goro's eyes moved.
Not toward a sound.
Toward her.
Flip.
Another book.
His expression changed.
Barely.
But Q saw it.
"What?"
Goro didn't answer.
Flip.
Flip.
Flip.
He looked at the dead.
Then back at Xheavend.
The battle was over.
The soldiers were dead.
And yet—
her body remained ready.
War still burned.
Famine still starved.
Conquest still pressed against everything living nearby.
Death still watched.
Genesis still created.
Her anatomy still shifted.
The Books—
were accelerating.
Goro understood.
Q had been trying to survive Xheavend.
That wasn't the actual problem anymore.
The problem was that Xheavend's power had learned it didn't require an external battle to continue searching for answers.
It had six hundred deaths.
Two thousand universes.
Countless lives.
And one exhausted child's mind attempting to decide which instincts belonged to her.
Goro looked at her.
"Xheavend."
She flinched.
"Put it down."
Her hand tightened around the weapon.
Goro still held the other end.
"Apparently repetition has become necessary."
Xheavend pulled.
The weapon didn't move.
"Put it down."
"I can't."
That stopped him.
Not—
I won't.
I can't.
Goro looked at her fingers.
They were trembling.
Muscle memory that wasn't hers kept tightening them.
Conquest refused surrender.
War interpreted his grip as opposition.
Famine smelled his blood.
Death saw endings.
Genesis searched for ways around his hand.
Goro's eyes narrowed.
"Ah."
Q coughed.
"What?"
"She's no longer sustaining all of it deliberately."
Xheavend's eyes filled.
"I told you."
Goro looked at her.
"You did."
"I can't make them stop."
"I believe you."
"You didn't before."
"I lacked sufficient evidence."
Q made a noise from the ground.
Goro glanced down.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Your face suggests otherwise."
"My face has been hit repeatedly."
"Yes. It has become difficult to interpret."
Despite everything—
Xheavend almost laughed.
Almost.
Then Famine noticed Goro's old wound.
Blood.
Ancient.
Powerful.
Familiar.
Her stomach twisted.
Her pupils widened.
Goro saw it.
"Don't."
Xheavend's teeth changed.
"Move."
"No."
"Goro."
"No."
"Move!"
"You already ate me."
His grip tightened around the weapon.
"The novelty has passed."
Xheavend screamed.
She attacked.
Goro moved.
Fast.
Faster than Q had.
His hand released the weapon.
Caught Xheavend's wrist.
Turned.
Not gently.
Her shoulder dislocated.
Xheavend gasped.
Goro swept her legs.
She hit the ground.
Before she landed—
Genesis reset the shoulder.
Xheavend twisted in midair.
A fighting style from a winged species changed her balance despite the absence of wings.
She landed on one hand.
Kicked.
Goro blocked.
The impact moved him half a step.
He looked down at his foot.
Then at her.
"Interesting."
Xheavend attacked again.
Goro blocked.
She changed style.
He blocked.
Another.
Blocked.
Another.
His forearm caught her wrist.
Another hand caught her throat.
He didn't squeeze.
Just stopped momentum.
Xheavend snarled.
Extra joints began forming in her arm to escape the hold.
Goro saw them.
"Also interesting."
Xheavend headbutted him.
He didn't move.
She bit him.
Goro sighed.
"Predictable."
He threw her.
Not softly.
Xheavend flew through three corpses.
Hit the ground.
Rolled.
Stopped.
Q tried standing.
Goro spoke without looking at him.
"Q."
Q got one knee beneath himself.
"Don't."
Q looked up.
Goro's attention remained completely on Xheavend.
"She's—"
"I know."
"Don't hurt her."
Goro's expression didn't change.
"I am going to hurt her."
Q's eyes hardened.
Goro continued.
"Because she is currently attempting to kill us."
"She doesn't know what she's doing."
"I am aware."
"Then—"
"Q."
Something in Goro's voice stopped him.
Not anger.
Precision.
"She has regenerated a severed head, created organs I have never seen, consumed enough biological material to concern even me, accessed combat knowledge from sources I cannot presently identify, and is displaying at least six overlapping manifestations of power while suffering severe cognitive fragmentation."
A pause.
"She is also twelve."
Goro looked at Xheavend.
"Those facts do not become less dangerous when placed beside one another."
Q tried standing anyway.
His leg collapsed.
Goro didn't look.
"You had your turn."
Q glared.
"I wasn't fighting her."
"I noticed."
Goro's eyes remained on Xheavend.
"That is why you now resemble an educational diagram of internal anatomy."
Q looked down at himself.
"...Fair."
Xheavend rose.
Slowly.
The battlefield changed around her.
Flowers opened.
Died.
Opened again.
Stars moved beneath her skin.
The left side of her face decayed.
Genesis rebuilt it.
One hand formed six fingers.
Corrected.
Her spine lengthened.
Corrected.
Her jaw split slightly.
Corrected.
The Books turned.
Flip.
Flip.
Flip.
Faster.
Goro watched.
Xheavend's eyes settled on him.
Not Goro.
Opponent.
Threat.
Ancient.
Powerful.
Unknown limits.
The library reacted.
Books opened.
War leaned forward.
Famine salivated.
Death searched.
Conquest pressed.
Beginning began inventing.
End screamed from somewhere beneath all of them—
XHEAVEND.
She didn't hear.
Or couldn't.
Goro lowered his center of gravity.
Q saw it.
His expression changed.
Because he knew Goro.
Knew enough.
That stance wasn't defensive.
"Goro."
No response.
"Goro."
Xheavend took one step.
Goro's eyes narrowed.
Q forced himself upright against a corpse.
"Don't kill her."
Goro finally glanced at him.
"I have no intention of killing her."
Q exhaled.
Then Goro added—
"I do, however, intend to make remaining conscious considerably more difficult."
Q stared.
"That sounds suspiciously like—"
Xheavend lunged.
Goro met her.
And the battlefield—
began again.