Chapter 78 Afterward

Chapter 78 Afterward

In the medical bay, Heinrich walked up to Cole, holding a hard drive. "This is the data we recovered from Odin's Raven's Nest..."

Cole took it and flipped through it briefly. "Anything worth paying attention to?"

Heinrich nodded, his expression grave. "I did find some things. Odin has been the Wolf Tribe's High Priest for decades — his roots inside the tribe run deep. Pulling them out won't be easy. The man is dead, but this is far from over."

Cole nodded.

But he wasn't afraid. Not even a little.

Odin couldn't touch him when he was alive. Why would Cole fear him now that he was dead?

Please.

Cole looked out the window.

On the water, the last remnants of the Raven's Nest sank into the magma. The volcano was still erupting, but losing strength. The mushroom cloud drifted apart in the fierce winds high above the Arctic.

……

The lights in the medical bay stayed on all night.

Ingrid lost count of how many times she ran between the critical care pods.

There were just too many wounded. She'd barely finished stitching up Cole before someone called her over to change Gunnar's bandages.

Cole lasted less than four hours in bed before he woke up.

The pain pulled him out of sleep. The puncture wound in his left chest was healing — the torn intercostal muscle fibers knitting back together one by one. The Wolf Tribe's regenerative ability was speeding up the process, but it kept every nerve ending firing the whole time.

Marcus was sitting in a folding chair out in the hallway, back against the wall, his broad-bladed combat knife resting across his knees. His one arm lay over the handle, his shoulder on the amputated side leaning against the wall. Eyes closed, breathing shallow.

When Marcus heard the ward door open, he cracked one eye. He looked at Cole. "You should still be in bed."

"I've been in bed long enough."

Cole walked down the hallway. "I want to check on Sophia."

Marcus let out a slow breath.

But he didn't try to stop him.

At the end of the hallway was the critical care pod. A red light glowed above the door — red meant the patient's vitals were unstable.

Cole stopped outside.

Ingrid came from the other end of the hall carrying a stainless steel tray. She saw Cole but didn't send him back.

Through the glass, Cole could see Sophia lying inside.

Her white hair spread across the pillow. Her lips had no color. Her chest rose and fell in the faintest, slowest rhythm.

The heart monitor beside her showed her pulse — thirty-two beats per minute. A normal resting heart rate is sixty to a hundred.

"Her Phoenix core is almost completely depleted," Ingrid said quietly. "On the altar she burned through a third of it purifying Kyle for you, then used the last of it to hold the barrier open. The Phoenix core is the foundation of Sophia's life. Once it's gone, whether she wakes up — medicine can't answer that. It's up to her."

Ingrid picked up her tray and walked away. The hallway went quiet, just Cole and the red light still glowing above the door.

Marcus came down the hall holding a cup of hot water.

Cole took it but didn't drink.

His face was heavy.

Sophia...

When would she wake up?

They had given up so much on this mission.

If something happened to Sophia too...

He didn't know what he'd do.

Sophia, please. You have to wake up.

Marcus leaned against the wall across from the pod. After a moment of silence, he said, "Old Eric told me two things in that tent in Tromsø. First, be your right hand. Second, make sure you don't get stuck in your own head."

"Cole, you really do get stuck in your own head sometimes."

One look at Cole and Marcus knew — he was blaming himself.

The casualties on this mission had been heavy. No question about that.

But it wasn't Cole's fault.

It was Odin. That madman.

Without Odin's obsession with becoming a god, without all his insane scheming, none of them would have had to travel to the ends of the earth and fight like this.

Cole looked down and said nothing.

Marcus kept going. "Cole. When Old Eric stepped in front of that blade for you, he wasn't doing it so you'd go home and grieve for him."

"They didn't die for you. They died so you could lead everyone to win."

Cole held the cup. The warmth from the sides spread through his palm and into his cold fingertips.

He looked at Sophia through the glass and was quiet for a long time. "I know. They chose me. I know."

Then, from the other end of the hallway, came the sound of wheels rolling.

A nurse was pushing Gunnar in a wheelchair. He'd been moved off the stretcher. His left arm and left leg were wrapped in thick bandages at the amputation sites, but his eyes were bright in a way that didn't match someone who had just lost two limbs.

"Hey, guys, cheer up. We won, at least!" Gunnar waved his empty left sleeve and grinned. "And that old bastard Odin is dead. When we get back to Tromsø, drinks are on me — best whiskey in the place. That bar by the docks, the owner owes me a favor. We can run a tab."

He laughed loud when he said it.

Cole reached out and put a hand on Gunnar's right shoulder, and gave a single nod.

Gunnar dropped the grin, looked up at Cole, and nodded back.

The nurse wheeled him back to his room. The hallway was quiet again — just Cole and Marcus.

Cole walked back to the glass.

"Sophia," he said softly. "You promised me we'd go home together."

Then Sophia's fingers moved. Just barely — her right index finger curled, just once. Then her lashes trembled, and her eyes slowly opened.

They were dark brown, the same as always.

She looked at him through the glass. Her lips moved. Almost no sound came out, but Cole read every word.

"I knew... we'd make it back together."

Cole shoved the pod door open.

He crossed to her bed and dropped to his knees, pulling her into his arms.

"You're back." Sophia pressed her face into the curve of his shoulder, her voice muffled.

"I'm back," Cole held her tight. "I'm back."

The evening sun came through the small porthole of the critical care pod and stretched their shadows long across the floor.

Marcus eased the pod door shut behind him. Ingrid glanced over from the end of the hallway, then turned and went back to her rounds.

Out on the deck, someone was playing a Norwegian folk song on a harmonica — a slow melody, breaking apart and coming back together in the sea wind.

The waves beat a steady rhythm against the hull below, and the setting sun turned the water gold and red.