Still Standing

Still Standing
Allison

I wake up the following morning feeling like I got hit by a truck. Not literally, obviously, but my body disagrees with that technicality. Everything aches. My throat feels like I swallowed sandpaper, my arms feel heavy, and my head is pounding in a dull, persistent way that tells me I pushed myself too far and my magic hasn’t forgiven me yet. Christopher is still asleep beside me, and I don’t move right away. I just lie there and soak in the fact that this is real now. I breathe in and out. My chest works. My throat burns, but it works. That feels like a victory in itself. The room is quiet in that early-morning way where the world hasn’t decided what it’s doing yet. Low light leaks in through the tall windows. Somewhere outside, something metallic clanks, followed by voices. I sit up slowly and immediately regret it. My head spins for half a second before settling, and Christopher wakes the moment the mattress shifts. He’s on me in an instant, hand at my back, steady and warm.
“Hey,” he murmurs. “Easy.”
“I’m fine,” I croak out, waving my hand and holding my head with the other. He doesn’t argue with the obvious; he just stays there until the room stops tilting. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and take a look at my throat in the mirror across the room. The burn from the collar is still there. Angry and red, wrapped around my neck like a reminder I didn’t ask for. It’ll fade eventually.
Someone knocks once on the door before it creaks open.
Cassian’s voice follows. “You alive?”
“Barely,” I call back.
Evander slides into the room, already guiding me toward the washroom. He turns on the water, checks the temperature with his wrist, and steadies me as the steam hits my face. He washes my hair carefully, fingers gentle at my scalp, avoiding my throat without being told. I let my head tip back against his shoulder and close my eyes. The ache eases a little. Kael is waiting when I come out, towel wrapped around me, hair damp and loose. He drops into a chair and pulls me straight onto his lap before I can protest. He picks up a bowl from the table beside me and holds out a spoonful of warm oatmeal.
“Eat,” he says.
He feeds me slowly, one bite at a time. My fierce hellhound is adorable like this.
Cassian checks me while I eat. His magic brushes through me with quiet precision, pausing at my throat, my chest, my core. He frowns every time like he expects to find something new wrong. Rhaziel handles the clothes. He picks soft fabric with no seams near my neck. He adjusts every layer himself, precise and careful. Christopher doesn’t interfere. He stays at my side the whole time, silent, present, his hand brushing mine whenever I drift. When it’s done, Rhaziel takes my hand.
“It’s time to face the world again, “Hummingbird,” he says softly.
I squeeze his fingers and answer without thinking. We shadow travel a few minutes later.

When the world settles again, we’re standing in front of the old Council building. Except it isn’t really the Council building anymore. The first thing I notice is the noise of hammers and voices. The scrape of ladders being moved. The second thing I notice is the smell of fresh paint, cut stone and clean air. The third thing is the sign. The old one is gone, ripped down completely. In its place, there’s a new slab of pale stone being lifted into position by two very annoyed-looking shifters and a demon who keeps telling them they’re holding it wrong. The letters are already carved.
FACTIONS OF THE WORLD. UNITY HALL
“Well,” Kael says. “That was fast.”
There are people everywhere, magicals of all kinds. Someone is arguing about paint colours near the steps. Someone else is handing out cups of something hot that smells like coffee. No one looks afraid; they're simply building a new world together. Vale steps out of the building while I’m still taking it in. She’s not dressed like a ruler, just boots, trousers, and a jacket she’s rolled the sleeves of because she’s clearly already been helping with something. She smiles when she sees me.
“You did this,” she says, gesturing widely.
I snort quietly. “No, I didn’t.”
She raises an eyebrow.
“I didn’t do it alone,” I add. “You know that.”
She nods. “No one ever does.”
The other faction leaders drift over, one by one. There’s no formal lineup, no dramatic entrance. They just… join the group. Conversations overlap, someone cracks a joke, someone else claps Cassian on the shoulder hard enough that he winces. Then a bell rings clear and loud, and people start to gather. Workers pause, conversations quiet, everyone turns toward the steps, and Vale looks at me.
“Come on,” she says. “You should say it.”
“I hate speaking in front of people,” I tell her.
“I know,” she replies, and smiles anyway.
We step up onto the top stair together. My mates spread out naturally, like they’re forming a line without meaning to. I clear my throat and immediately regret it, but Vale rests a hand on my shoulder, and I feel her magic brush against me, magnifying my soft, yet scratchy voice.
“Okay,” I say. “Hi.”
A few people laugh... That helps... Kind of.
“The Council is gone,” I say plainly. “We’re not standing here to tell you exactly how this is going to work,” I continue. “We’re not here to hand you another set of rules written by people you didn’t choose.” I pause, scanning the faces in front of me. So many kinds of magic. So many lives. I swallow down my nerves and simply say what my mates spoke about last night. What Rhaziel had already checked would work with the faction leaders. “Each faction gets to choose who represents them,” I say. “Each species, each community. There are no lifetime seats and no closed doors. If someone fails you, you replace them.” A murmur moves through the crowd. “This only works if we do it together,” I add. “So that’s what we’re doing. We're going to work together.”
Vale steps forward and rests a hand on the railing. “You heard her,” she says. “This isn’t the end. It’s the work.”
The crowd starts moving again, talking, arguing, planning life. I step back and let it happen.

Later, when the noise fades and the day settles into something manageable, I sit on the steps with Christopher and lean against him.
“I want to go back to Thornhill,” I say.
He doesn’t hesitate. “Okay.”
“I miss my attic,” I add. “And my best friend is having homework instead of… all of this.”
He huffs a quiet laugh. “Normal sounds good.”
I look at the building one last time. At the paint, the sign, the people making something new out of something broken.
“Let’s go home,” I say.