all our broken skies, a kotlc + pjo/hoo fanfic

prologue

Dear Keefe,

Today's it. This is the end. I can feel it in my bones—the light is fading. It has been for a while, ever since we finally beat the Neverseen. I was willing to give up my life for the cause, but I never thought it would hurt this much. They promised to destroy everything, and they did.

The Lost Cities are in ruin, Keefe. I think everything went to hell after Biana died. It's all my fault, you know. The night before the mission, we watched Eternalia burn. It was beautiful in the way that nightmares can be. When Biana said she wanted to make them pay, I didn't tell her off, just swore that we would. And it cost her her life.

That was after Fitz died, long after you died. I wonder if you know this all, Keefe. Are you up there, somewhere, watching me? Are you proud of what we've accomplished, even though the world has been destroyed? Do you know if I made the right decision in the end?

I have so many questions, Keefe. But I can't ask them because you aren't here. Because you died—my mistake, my mistake, my mistake. All I can hope is that, soon, when we're reunited, you won't hate me for everything I've done. This is all my fault, Keefe, and I can't fix it. Some scars are too deep to heal.

The Councillors met yesterday to discuss my fate. The entire Collective was there, you know. After Forkle died—you wouldn't believe who he was, Keefe—Livvy took over. She's been doing her best, but she isn't him. I don't blame her, though. No one does.

I know that this is the last time we'll talk, Keefe, until we meet in the next life. As much as I'd love to give up without a fight, I can't—won't. For you, Keefe, I'll keep fighting. For everyone I've loved and lost, I'm not going to let this crush me. Even if I die trying, I'll make it back. Hopefully, by the time I've returned, Linh will have managed to convince them I'm better.

To be honest, Keefe, I don't know if I ever will be better. I killed Marella and Stina, Keefe, and I almost killed Wylie. Mom says that it wasn't my fault, that it was the Neverseen, that I didn't know what I was doing, but it was. In the end, I was the one who hurt them. Who killed them. And that can't be forgiven.

Tam is adjusting to the prosthetic Dex made him, but he's getting better. The scar on Linh's cheek is fading. Dad started talking again last week—he said, "Keefe's with Jolie. He's okay." Mom and I cried.

These are our scars, Keefe. It's been half a year, and we're still in pain, but we're healing. We're recovering, rebuilding ourselves, bit by bit. We haven't stopped fighting, Keefe, and we won't stop. Gisela is still out there, despite all our efforts. I'm going to make sure she gets what she deserves, Keefe. For you.

I don't belong in the Lost Cities anymore, just like her. I'm Talentless, I'm a murderer, and I might be dying. If I die, I don't want anyone to mourn. They've buried enough bodies already—they had to start a new graveyard, you know. The Wanderling Woods is full.

With each passing moment, I can feel myself getting weaker. My powers vanished in reverse—enhancing the first month, infliction the second. I stopped understanding languages two weeks after the second month, and telepathy started deteriorating days later. My photographic memory is failing; I don't know if I can still teleport, and I don't want to risk it. I don't mind being Talentless—actually, it's refreshing—but it's strange to wake up and realize you can't remember every detail of your life, can't hear the thoughts of other people. Even stranger when someone gets past your blocking.

That happened two weeks ago. Even though Elwin's hospitalized, he and Livvy have been ordering me around, making sure the drug hasn't affected anything else. I've been seeing Quinlin since I noticed my enhancing was diminishing.