Chapter 161: Aftermath - Xiao Qi
The death toll is lower than I expected.
I'm running the numbers while everyone in the castle sleeps. Seventeen dead—refugees who didn't make it out before the first explosion. Forty-three injured, mostly from falling debris. Two Night Walkers gone, their golden scales scattered across the courtyard like autumn leaves.
The Forge is destroyed. Completely destroyed. Not dormant. Not waiting. It was consumed by its own hunger, devoured by the very connection it tried to absorb.
I'm sitting in the command room, surrounded by screens showing the damage. Xiao Ba is asleep on a cot nearby, exhausted from using her fragment sensitivity to help locate survivors.
The twins saved us.
Not with power. Not with violence. With song. With connection. With the simple yet profound truth that love is stronger than hunger.
I should be celebrating.
But I keep thinking about what it cost.
Leah almost died. Kael actually did die—for a moment, before the twins' energy restarted his heart. Dr. Chen 2.0 sacrificed his second body. The refugees lost their homes. Again.
I pour some whiskey—Side B's best, salvaged from a cellar—into a cracked glass.
"To imperfection."
I drink.
The door opens. Kiran walks in, limping, his left arm in a sling. He sits down across from me and pours himself a drink.
"You're brooding," he says.
"I'm analyzing."
"For you, same thing."
I almost smile. "How's Avi?"
"Taking care of the wounded. Won't sleep until everyone's stable." He takes a drink. "How's Xiao Ba?"
"Sleeping. Finally."
We sit in silence. The whiskey burns going down. I don't mind.
"We won," Kiran says after a while.
"We survived."
"Same thing."
I look at him. This man who used to be my enemy. Who tried to kill me. Who became an ally. A friend. Family.
"Is it?" I ask.
He looks back at me. "Winning means destroying your enemy. Surviving means building something after. We're building. The tree is growing. The green visitors are coming back. Dr. Chen 2.0's gardens are producing food."
"Seventeen people died."
"Three thousand would have died if we'd lost."
I pour another drink. "You're annoyingly optimistic."
"You're annoyingly pessimistic. Good balance."
This time I actually smile.
We drink together. Two old soldiers. Two broken people. Two parts of a family neither of us expected to have.
Outside, the sun is coming up. The tree's leaves catch the light, throwing green-gold shadows across the courtyard where people are starting to rebuild.
Imperfect.
But it's enough.