Blackridge Institute (wlw) - DA 1

Epilogue

Rook was all red when she woke up, but in a crusty kind of way. Solomon opened her eyes further, which took monumental effort, because it felt like her eyelids were stapled shut.

It was dried blood all over Rook, in her hair, on her face, and her arms were sheathed in it like the world's grossest set of opera gloves; her nose took a while to start working properly, and she could smell it now. Solomon tried to speak and did not succeed.

"Go back to sleep," rasped Rook, who sat cross legged next to her on the damp underbrush.

"Where are we?"

Her second attempt wasn't much better, but Rook got it. "We're by the big tree. The big forest tree. Whatever it's called. Rest."

"What happened? I died."

"You patently did not."

"No? It was brave of me, you know. I was very scared. And you're saying I didn't even get to do it?" Solomon tried to lift herself up on her elbows. Rook put a single finger on her forehead, pinning her down.

She had no strength and couldn't feel her limbs. Rook said, "Stay still now. She won't be happy you're being stubborn."

"Who?"

But Casandra was already powerwalking toward them, looking awful in her rumpled robes, and Sol was getting very sleepy. She tugged at Rook's sleeve.

"That's what I imagined angels looked like. Flowing robes and shit," whispered Solomon, passing out just as Cas reached them.

...

When she next woke up, her head was in Casandra's lap. Solomon tried to reach out and touch her face, but Cas took her hand in hers. Belatedly, she recognized hardwood panels, tacky wallpaper, and a few wall trophies. They were in someone's office.

"If the crisis was averted, then why did every single angel drop dead all at once? The fright of my life, when the powers angels fell down in my sitting room. I thought I'd done something to the tea on accident," the Director was saying, their multicolored hair sticking up in places where they'd raked their fingers through it.

"They didn't die, exactly. The moment the Metatron burned, near everyone got snuffed out. Recalled, in a sense." Casandra grimaced. "The Dream was his. When his will stopped holding it together, everything blinked out, including the machinations that connect the others to their vessels. They're all probably just swirling around in the Dream, trying to make sense of it."

"And how did you survive?"

"I got promoted. Scribes get a permanent vessel. And I had a connection back here. I followed it out." Cas stroked her hair, and Sol closed her eyes at the sensation.

"There's a Dream again?" The Director looked incredibly tired, and yet they couldn't stop asking questions.

"There will always be a Dream. I don't know what it looks like now, because I haven't been back. It's more of a collective hallucination, see, and the Metatron hallucinated the hardest. I guess."

"At any rate, there's a dozen bodies in the other room, and several others scattered across the Institute. I'm going to need your help, Casandra. What a mess."

"Let's take some time to recover first. And I need Ulysses awake before I want to do anything."

"Ulysses is alive?" Solomon interjected.

"Yes he is. We have so much to thank Rook for."

"What happened to Harlan? He was there too."

The door to the sitting room opened. Rook entered, a teacup and saucer in hand. "They don't even look dead. I'm a literal corpse. It's unfair."