WARRIORS HIGH
ISLAND OF THE LOST
EPILOGUE
CHRISTMAS
It was four in the morning.
In the dead of night, Dusty and Axis were sitting at a table in dim candlelight. The candle was nearly burned out, but it lit the room enough so they could see that pair of cards in their hands.
Reaching over to the shuffled pile next to them, Dusty drew the top card, set it aside without looking at it and flipped the second card next to the five, seven and eight and king.
"King of diamonds," he said.
"Go fish," was Axis' response.
Dusty cocked an eyebrow. "Huh?"
"Nothing," said Axis, glancing at his cards for a moment before throwing in a green chip. "25."
Dusty rolled his eyes and grabbed a handful of blues. "70."
Axis' eyes widened for a moment before he counted the five-dollar chips he needed and throwing them into the pot.
"Straight," said Dusty, throwing down his six and nine and reaching over to pull in the pot.
"Woah woah woah-"
He looked up. "Yes?"
"Don't you...wanna see my cards?" asked Axis, knowing full well he had lost.
"That close to a straight?"
Axis sighed, throwing down his six and two.
"You doing alright? You usually have a better poker face," said Dusty as he gathered the cards together to shuffle. Axis was staring at the table to the couple's left, particularly at the phone, which had been silent for the seven hours they had left it there.
"What if it's on silent?" he mumbled, getting up to check before Dusty grabbed his arm.
"I know that you're stressed out about it. But it's not like they're just gonna ding dong ditch you. I talked to their folks in LA and they said explicitly that you will have a yes or no answer by today."
"I'm just saying," said Axis, sitting back down and cracking his knuckles, "It could have been any other day than Christmas. It just had to be the day where the house is gonna be the most crowded. What if the kids walk in on us and ask why there are two dudes making out-"
"That's not what you're worried about and you know it."
Dusty sighed, setting down the cards and walking over until he was facing Axis and resting a hand on his cheek. You're worried about them saying no. And I get it. But there's no risk-"
"There is a risk!" huffed Axis whilst melting into the touch, "I've worked so hard for this! And if I walk out empty handed, I feel like I'll fail...everyone. I can't keep living off of your family's money!"
Dusty let him finish before he leaned in to kiss him.
"Don't worry," he soothed, "If they don't take you, someone else will. You have a beautiful voice, Kale. Never forget that."
Axis blushed. "Please stop calling me that."
"Kale? I like it."
"Yeah, it's just…I don't like using my real name."
"You'd rather have people calling you a supporter of Nazism?"
"Shut up…"
They kissed again, the grip between them tender and affectionate. It was only for a couple moments before they broke away.
"I'm going to the bathroom," said Dusty, "Don't touch your phone."
Axis pantomimed putting cuffs on himself as the boy walked into the bathroom and shut the door behind him. He leaned over the sink, staring down at the porcelain for a while before looking up at his reflection.
He felt older than 17. Years older.
It had barely been a week since he had woken up on a plane to LA. It seemed that the world had completely erased everything that he had seen before then...the bombs, the fallout, the war…
The cost…
Even though everyone in the mansion, some that were long dead, were brought back, it seemed hundreds of thousands of others were not as fortunate. All the news could talk about was the police getting so many missing people reports that the number went down for a couple hours. Men, women and children of all race, status and worth, gone with the reset. Some seemed to just walk out of their homes in the middle of the night with no explanation.
At first, Dusty thought that everything would be back to normal.
But something...someone was missing.
Dusty had the temptation to dig out his phone and pray for something to change in the last eight days. But by now, he knew it was hopeless.
Wherever Sunfield was, it was not here.
Jaywhisker had been working his ass off to try and track him down, but whatever he tried, he seemed to be wiped clean. No tracking, no location, nothing. He was in the dark.
His phone number now belonged to a nursing home. The room he had bunked in while the Resistance was holed up in the Cour de Miracles was a storage closet.
And the guilt that Dusty felt in his chest still hung like a deadweight.
Everything, every bad thing that he had said, every time he pushed him away and thought of him as a nuisance overpowered the good memories. The weeks they spent together, holed up in the back corners of every dark place on the island, and the bond that the two had formed...what was once a clueless agent just aspiring to be like the people he answered to was now someone Dusty was grieving like a lost brother.
And the sad thing was he couldn't truly confide in anyone about it. Everyone was reunited, Breezepelt with his betrothed, Berrynose with Honeyfern, Poppyfrost with her children, Jaywhisker with Russ, so why would they need to offer support to someone if they couldn't truly empathize. They all got lucky. He did not.
Then he looked out at the door where Axis was.
He loved him. No doubt about it. To be in this kind of relationship, where love was reciprocated this passionately, where they would stay up all night together playing poker to wait for a phone call from a music industry on whether Axis would be signed to a professional music label. He was the luckiest man in the world.
But while nothing would ever replace Axis, Sunfield's smile and relentless (and occasionally irritating) optimism had burrowed a special place in his heart. And he felt that hole like a bullet wound.
He would never feel the same without him.
Sighing heavily, he opened the medicine cabinet behind the mirror and pulled out a small orange prescription bottle. Jaywhisker had developed a prescription that, in his jargon, "psycho-stimulated the most sensitive part of the hippocampus." Supposedly, it slowed the nerves of the part of the brain that was most affected by the trauma of the past timeline, allowing the prescribed to recompose the memories they inhibited from the previous set of events. And while Dusty was squirmy about medication, it seemed to have been working.
He popped a pill and swallowed it, pulling out a hidden notebook behind some large containers of acetaminophen. Inside was scribbled notes that Jaywhisker had given him about everything that had gone on in the time he had forgotten. In exchange for his scribbly handwriting, he had rather in-depth notes on what he needed to know to not make it looked like he had gone insane.
Three days after the reset, Axis had been contacted by Elliot Gray, a music agent part of an upstart company under his own name. He said that the gist of his company was a advocation for equal rights and protection of LGBTQ+ members from discrimination, sexual harassment and equal pay. After going to great lengths about how this wasn't fishing for gay people or some part of a creep show cult, Axis had signed with a batch of various outstanding instrumentalists that varied from straight and occasionally Caucasian. After spending some time with Gray to make sure he was legit, Dusty had gone to Los Angeles with a contract proposal to one of the big name production companies, hoping for a temporary merger.
Now that Dusty thought of it, it was quite obvious how much of a showpiece they were gonna be for public favor to get their hands on some extra tax dollars.
Regardless, Axis had a legitimate chance to get a big break. They were waiting on a phone call from LA where they would either say he's in or out. Dusty was happy for him. This opportunity alone was what he deserved.
It was a good distraction from his grief, Axis being alive.
He swished some water in his mouth, swallowed and flushed the toilet, using the noise to hide the stimulant and the notebook away in the cabinet.
He walked out to Axis holding his phone and staring at the black screen. Sighing, he snatched it and tossed it to the table in the corner.
"What did I say about your phone?" he said, taking a seat.
"I wasn't on Tinder, if that's what you're wondering."
The remark caused Dusty to chuckle and lose his train of thought.
"Should I be worried about that?"
"No," said Axis with a cheeky grin and a shrug, "It was a factual statement that seemed relevant to this conversation."
"Just deal," he said, handing the deck over and throwing in a chip for ante.
"Sure thing," said Axis, dishing out the hands and setting the deck onto the table.
Bzzzzzzzzzzzt.
The couple froze for a moment, as if processing the sound as real.
Bzzzzzzzzzzzt.
Dusty whipped out his phone and felt a soaring sensation in his chest when he found nothing.
Bzzzzzzzzzzzt.
The moment Dusty nodded, Axis leaped out of his seat, causing the table to tip and the cards and chips to fall onto Dusty's lap, and grabbed his ringing phone.
"Hello?" he said breathlessly.
"Am I speaking to Mr. Kale McCarthy?" said Elliot Gray on the other line.
"Call me Axis, please," hissed the singer, "What do ya got?"
"Get used to it, Kale. Nicknames don't fly in the big leagues."
Axis froze.
"Uh...what do you mean?"
"You know exactly what I mean, boy," said Elliot Gray, a smile on his face prevalent from the other end, "We just got the call from LA. You got the job."
All Elliot Gray would hear from the other end was the chaos of two boyfriends' wild cheering.
Seattle had beautiful sunrises.
Ever since the reset, Fernsong had bolted from Forrestlake, hitching a ride on a cargo ship to the mainland. Since then he had stayed on the streets of the seaside city, keeping a low profile and using the bundle of cash in his wallet to keep warm and well fed.
It was a perfect Christmas morning. Not a cloud in the sky dared stand in front of the majestic sunrise from the mountains of the inland. Fernsong had prepared for this occasion by sneaking into the Space Needle before opening and waiting on the roof, bundled in a coat to combat the frigid, windy air high above Washington State.
At 6:31, Fernsong heard footsteps behind him.
"You're late."
"You got here early," said the man behind him, whose layers of black cloaks whipped ominously in the westbound winds, "What did you do, snap the neck of the guard to get up here?"
"I have my secrets."
"Then you don't get to tell me that I'm late."
The man took a seat next to him, rummaging out a pocket watch that seemed to glow green within the meticulously etched numbers.
"So what the fuck took you so long?"
"Sensitive bunch," he said as nonchalantly as he could, "Already went through a reset. I had to let ARS grow to prominence again to get them together for long enough."
"Christ," said the man to Fernsong's left, "You could have just hidden the Moonstone."
"I'm sorry," said Fernsong snarkily, "But I don't want twenty times the damage of what your shenanigans called."
"Gonna go there, huh?" said the man, putting the hood of his cloak down to reveal fluffy black hair and a scarred face with purple eyes.
"One officer dead, four people hospitalized after man breaks into woman's apartment in Texas," he said, reciting the headline he had seen the day after the reset from memory.
"Okay…" said the man, rubbing his eyes, "In my defense…"
"There's nothing to defend, Ravenpaw!" snapped Fernsong, letting his frustration show, "You could have picked any other timeline to give him the Moonstone, but you had to pick the one where he was happily married with a child on the way!"
"Maybe if you didn't take so goddamn long, I would have more options," he retorted, "And it's Ravenstorm."
"Ravenpaw, Ravenstorm, I don't give a fuck about what your name is, because it's gonna be 'the thick-skulled idiot that ruined the entire operation because he won't talk to his own friends!'"
Ravenstorm threw up his hands, his pocket watch flailing around his wrist. "Fine. I am telling you right now that I'm going to get the defense attorney to plead insanity so he doesn't spend 30 years in prison."
"Thank you," huffed Fernsong, getting to his feet, "Now make it a habit. We can't keep letting her lead us around for long."
Fernsong got up to leave, and Ravenstorm was about to let him until his watch started to glow.
"Ravenstorm."
"What now?" he hissed.
"He's dead."
Ravenstorm did a double take.
"Brazelton?"
"Hit by a train two miles from his house."
His pulse thummed in his wrists.
"Fernsong!" he called, just as the brute was about to go back to the observation deck.
"What now?"
"Brazelton's dead."
Now Fernsong was tensed up.
"When?"
"Just now. The train killed him."
"Shit," cursed the brute, slamming his foot into the roof.
The two stood in silence, pondering their next move.
"Get your Moonstone mess all sorted out. I'll contact Jasper."
"Got a plan for this?" said Ravenstorm, flipping up his hood dramatically.
"You know how Sky works," said Fernsong, a hand on the door back to the elevator, "The moment she finds out about this, we're fucked. And knowing her...she probably already knows."
Fernsong rushed back into the observation deck of the Space Needle as Ravenstorm turned away and with a running start, did a swan dive off of the edge.
Despite the fall being 605 feet high, Ravenstorm did not hit the ground.
"How do I look?"
Foxleap stared at Jaywhisker, who was currently in a thin Santa cosplay outfit. "You look incredibly stupid."
"Great, let's go," he said, getting into the elevator. Foxleap, who was currently rubbing his eyes in exasperation. The younger boy pressed the button to the ground floor as Foxleap adjusted his offensively garish maroon suit with a rose in his chest pocket and straightened up.
"You look like a furry," said Foxleap randomly as the elevator slowly crawled up to the main floor.
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
"I...fair enough."
"Now keep your dick in your pants. I've got kids to entertain."
Foxleap cringed. "There are...so many ways you could have said that differently."
"Felt appropriate. You need thicker walls by the way-"
"Shut up."
"Okay."
The door opened at the main floor, where people were drinking and chattering in elegant dresses and repulsive wool sweaters. A couple of people, notably the most tipsy, glanced over at Jaywhisker and burst into drunken laughter. Jaywhisker gave a nod as he left Foxleap to do...whatever he found publicly acceptable with Ivypool.
He walked up to the second floor and kicked down the door to Russ' room.
"WHAT'S UP BITCH I'M MOTHERFUCKING SANTA CLAUS!"
Russ turned in his chair and gave the most unimpressed look he possibly could.
"It's two in the afternoon and you're already drunk."
"No," said Jaywhisker with a cheeky grin, "Just wanted to see how you would react."
"You have all the money in the world and you could only get that shitty costume."
"Hey! Language!"
"We're literally brothers. And you're acting like you have a clean mouth."
"Touche," muttered the cosplaying teen, "How's the RC coming?"
As Russ showed Jaywhisker the RC he was holding, The mansion crew were drinking around the kitchen counter. Turkey was cooking in the oven, and champagne was being sipped as the group talked idly.
"What the hell is taking Jayfeather so long?" muttered Honeyfern, "You're literally asking Half Moon to marry you when you basically know the answer."
Breezepelt smirked behind his can of beer. "Didn't someone tell him that the honeymoon is after the wedding?"
"That joke hits different when their room is next door," said Berrynose, raising his drink as everyone chuckled in sympathy.
As everyone around the table continued to get buzzed, Lionblaze and Ivypool glanced at each other. With a silent nod and kiss to their respective , they left the table and walked outside to the porch.
"You're tense," said Ivypool, sitting on the bench next to Lionblaze.
"Hell yeah I am," said Lionblaze, throwing up his hands, "Jayfeather's about to get engaged, I'm still trying to sort out what's really happening in this timeline, and…"
He pulled out a thermometer-like object and handed it to Ivypool.
She gasped.
"She's…"
Lionblaze nodded.
"This was supposed to be some big announcement, but with Icecloud...And everything cycling over…"
Ivypool nodded, "Keep this quiet?"
"Yeah."
"They're gonna find out eventually…" said Ivypool, concern in her voice, "I just...Icecloud's crisis is her's and Jack's to go through. She's said that to all of us when she came out as pregnant. But...I guess maybe this isn't a good thing to keep secret. I mean, what's the concern?"
"We failed her, Ivy," said Lionblaze, the guilt seemingly ripping her apart, "Just like Poppyfrost. Now she's going to the hospital for therapy and...going through everything we all swore to protect everyone from. If I just go up and announce something that was the product of consent, what if...what if that hurts her more?"
"Lionblaze," said Ivypool, wrapping her arm around his hunched back, "She's family. Even if this is something she's sensitive about, keeping this a secret will hurt her more than anything else. She'll be happy for you."
Lionblaze shrugged. "I don't know…I mean, some part of me wants to talk to Poppyfrost, but that's singling her out...And her children are coming over…"
"This is a decision you're gonna have to make yourself," said Ivypool, "Because there is no right way to go about this, sadly, but I think making the announcement is the best one."
"How is Icecloud?" said Lionblaze, looking up, "Must be hard since Jack left for work."
Ivypool nodded. Everyone had offered to stay near her in case she had a panic attack in the middle of the night. Since the reset, she and Foxleap had been the most frequent volunteers.
"She's only had one so far," she said quietly, "It's been taking a toll on Foxleap, poor boy. He's only slept a couple times this week."
Lionblaze pat Ivypool on the back. "Feel good to be his life support again?"
Ivypool blushed. "More than you can ever imagine."
The two got up as a maroon SUV drove through the snow and pulled into the parking lot. Both grinned widely as Poppyfrost, dressed in a black and red sweater, got out and opened the door for her two children, Molewhisker and Cherryfall, who saw the two of them and ran over.
"Hey guys!" said Ivypool and she and Lionblaze picked them up into tight hugs.
"Presents! Presents! Presents!" called the twins, squealing excitedly as the two set them down.
"Go inside, kids!" called Poppyfrost, "And wash your hands before you eat anything!"
The two scampered inside, leaving Lionblaze, Ivypool and Poppyfrost to look at each other.
It was the first time they had seen each other since she left for Riven after the reset.
"You knew about the kids?" said Poppyfrost, raising an eyebrow.
"Foxleap brought us up to speed," said Ivypool quietly.
The snow was starting to pick up, leaving white sprinkles all throughout the trio's hair.
"Are you...doing alright?" said Lionblaze.
Poppyfrost walked forward and pulled both of them into a hug in response, melting into the conjoined embrace.
"I'm so happy…" whispered Poppyfrost, "We won...my kids are alive…"
Lionblaze and Ivypool shared a grin in response. Jaywhisker had said that Poppyfrost had improved, but this was much better than either of them could have anticipated.
"Come on inside," said the former, "We're cleaning out the champagne before Jayfeather and Half Moon get back."
"Has she said yes yet?" said Poppyfrost, brushing the snow out of her hair with her hands.
Ivypool turned on her hell and looked to the forest, focusing deeply on where Jayfeather hinted the proposal would be.
"Yeah, she said yes," she said with a growing smile, "And they're...having a snowball fight?"
Lionblaze did a double take at that. "I thought Jayfeather hated snowball fights."
"Well," said Poppyfrost before clearing her throat and doing one of the worst faux-British accents ever attempted, "Perhaps, the fire of their love will cause the snow to melt into the steam of their passion."
The pair stared a moment before bursting into hysterical laughter, in turn causing Poppyfrost to chuckle at her silliness.
"Where has this side of you been all these years?" said Ivypool, wrapping her arm around Poppyfrost's shoulder and heading inside to the party.
"I have as much of a clue as you do."
Rust was running out of motion sickness pills.
He already didn't like the fact that he, along with 5,000 others, had been crammed into one of the fleet of once-abandoned navy ships to make a week-long journey. It was made worse with him being unable to sip his water on solid ground and having to share his bedroom with three strangers he didn't know. As valuable of an asset as he was to the Assassins of the Rising Sun, he was certainly much better spending his days behind a desk and doing paperwork.
He bit his lip nervously as he stared at the end of the pharmaceutical bottle blocked only by three small white pills. He hoped they would make landfall soon. He would be hurling chunks overboard if they didn't dock tomorrow.
He dropped a small handful of the pills into the glass of water he was holding and swigged it down. Standing up from the right bottom bunk in his truncated bedroom, he walked into the large hallway, where people were still sleeping in the bedrooms it led to, and all the way onto the deck outside.
He shivered, wrapping his arms around his body and watching his visible exhalations as he walked across the quiet ship, sullied by the morning sun, and into the front wing, where he felt the heat wrap around him again. He walked down three flights of stairs and into a room full of packages, parcels and envelopes.
"Morning, Shiv," said Rust, nodding to the person behind the desk littered with paperwork.
"Hey, Rust," they said, pointing in the direction of a shelf near the back, "You got two letters and a tiny package."
He shrugged and nodded. "Considering we're on a ship in the middle of nowhere, I'll take it."
He walked over to the shelf Shiv had gestured to, glancing at the cubbies sorted by the helmet serial number of everyone onboard. He found his, which thankfully was right in reach, and pulled out the contents, heading to the mess hall as he glanced through the addresses.
The cafeteria was almost empty, save for a couple in the opposite corner. He took a seat near the window and sifted through the mail.
The moment he saw the handwriting of the first envelope, he glanced around for a recycling bin.
Before joining ARS, he and his wife had a massive falling out. Rust had found texts that she had been cheating on him, she countered by claiming sexual assault, and the court stripped him of custody of his two children. ARS was his income. For the past nine months, his wife had been trying to ask forgiveness, saying she felt guilty for lying to him. And to be honest, he wanted nothing to do with her anymore.
But before he tossed the letter, he precariously ripped it open.
It was a Christmas postcard. His wife's smile was tight and forced, but there were his children, grinning and waving.
He smiled, almost shedding a tear as he looked, before putting the card back in the envelope and walking back to his seat, placing it on the table.
The second picture made him grin, though.
Inside the envelope was a beautiful cursive letter and a picture of his parents.
Rust had always been close to his parents, closer than many of the people on the ship, at least. They had been good ones, always taking good care of him, but teaching him to be strong and resilient. They were the only ones that believed him when he said his wife was lying about being assaulted. They were the only ones that knew he was at ARS.
His mother, a long time rhetorician, had written a beautiful letter telling him that they were thinking of him every day, everything was safe at home in Forrestlake and they hoped to see him for Easter. At the end, there was a sentence to check the package, which was apparently the product of a gut instinct.
Rust almost laughed when he opened it. Inside was a store-bought bottle of motion sickness pills.
His parents knew him so well.
He was just about to get up for breakfast when something beeped in his helmet. Someone was calling him.
"This is Rust," he said after clearing his throat.
"Get to the brig," said the voice, "We got vitals."
Rust froze.
"Really?"
"Heartbeat's up. I think today is the day."
Rust hung up, grabbing the mail and stuffing it into his pocket, and raced outside. He saw others hastily going to where he was going as he threw open the door and ran down all eight flights of stairs to the brig.
Well, it wasn't really a brig.
Rust walked into a fluorescent blue room, where soldiers in black were surrounding a computer unit with three monitors. Beyond a one-way mirror were three huge cryogenic chambers, with a single pane of glass fogged up with frost.
"What did you get?" said Rust, sticking his head into the fray.
"Heartbeat picked up just ten minutes ago," said the woman next to him, blood flow shot up to nominal levels. We're calibrating the oxygen detectors now."
"I'll do it," said Rust, locking his helmet into place, "Ping me if something happens."
He walked into the chamber, feeling goosebumps as the temperature plummeted. He walked slowly forward, sneaking behind the chamber and after some flipping of switches and plugging into outlets, got the oxygen chamber up and running. He relaxed, heading back to the control room-
THUMP.
Rust jumped and whirled around, looking to see what the noise was.
THUMP.
His heart hammered as he heard it come from the chamber he just connected the sensor to.
THUMPTHUMPTHUMP.
Then Rust saw it.
A hand thumping against the glass.
Rushing forward, he started opening the chamber, mist hissing out and spilling into the greater containment room.
A beautiful woman with a gray, scarred eye juxtaposing her healthy blue one gasped out of the packing of ice she had been locked in. She had a sports bra on and looked around wildly.
"Steady," said Rust, removing his helmet and holding his hands out, "Breathe. Do you know where you are?"
The woman glanced wildly around before slowly coming to terms with the man in front of her.
"Rust."
Rust smiled. "Welcome back, Sky."
He offered a hand, which Sky took to step out of the chamber of ice. Soon, other soldiers rushed in, handing her towels to dry herself off.
"Where's Garrison?" she said, drying her hair.
"In recovery," said Rust, "Went into hypothermia for an hour yesterday because he was admiring the sunrise."
"And the other one?"
Click.
Click.
Click.
The soldiers stopped to turn to the corner, where Inferno had stayed silently, flicking his lighter as he emerged from the shadows. Rust and the soldiers noticeably stepped aside.
"The other one, huh?"
Sky nodded, the two of them staring at each other almost menacingly.
"You're probably the only person in the world who's referred to me as secondhand."
"I'm the only person who can live to tell the tale and you know it."
Inferno shrugged. "Let's just say, I've got a thing for strong mistresses with good looks.
He reached over and rested his hand on her shoulder, letting it slide down until the fingers slipped beneath the back of her bra. Everyone noticeably felt squeamish at the sexual advance.
Everyone except Sky, who seemed to not react at all.
"Where's Brazelton?" she asked Inferno.
"Dead already," said Inferno simply, "Brakes gave out, rolled right in front of a freight train."
"What time?"
"6:38:24."
Now Sky began to smile.
"Get me decent," she said to the soldiers, "We make landfall tomorrow in the Shadowlands."
As the soldiers dispersed, Sky turned to the window behind her and smirked as she watched the sun rise.
RETCON-41 was a success.
And everything was going exactly according to plan.
Foxleap clinked a glass with his fork, causing the bustle of the crowd in the mansion to die down.
"Hello, everyone," he said with a smirk, "Thank you all for coming."
"What the hell is this, a wedding?" called Breezepelt from the corner.
"Before we get started on dinner, I would just like to take a moment and do a small toast."
The crowd gathered around holding glasses of champagne, save Jayfeather and Half Moon, who were holding glasses of water, and looked up at the boy genius standing on a table.
"Well, let's begin by addressing the elephant in the room," he said, "Jayfeather and Half Moon are officially engaged."
Everyone cheered, Jayfeather leaning down to kiss a blushing Half Moon on the cheek.
"Our good friend Kale McCarthy just landed a deal with a music company in LA."
More cheering. Everyone turned to Axis, who was trying to hide behind Dusty in embarrassment.
"And finally, we've cut a deal with the Forrestlake House to sell the mansion. This place will be converted into a low-income housing project linked to a truma center, after a much-needed christening of the grounds."
Everyone that was not Dusty, Axis or the children laughed at that.
Foxleap's face softened.
"We've been through so much together. More than anyone can ever imagine. The world turned against us two years ago, so we fought back with all the guns, germs and steel that we could possibly muster. Most will never know our story. On the surface, everyone thinks we're the snooty racist rich family on the hill being condescending sons of bitches to anyone who crosses paths with us. But they don't know. Maybe they never will. No one knows that behind these majestic white walls and wide windows…"
He paused.
"We are the strongest family to ever walk this earth. And nothing in the world will ever change that."
He raised his glass with a grin.
"So a toast! To those we've lost and the friends we've made!"
"Cheers!"
"To those we've saved and those who we'll fight for!"
"Cheers!"
"To life!"
"Cheers!"
"To Forrestlake!"
"Cheers!"
Foxleap removed his glasses dramatically.
"To us."
The family came together in celebration, laden with hugging brothers and sisters, kissing girlfriends and boyfriends, and the conjoined catharsis of all the pain they had gone through.
They had certainly not fought their last battles.
But tonight?
They were free at last.
But Dusty was not present for the toast.
After kissing Axis on the cheek, he had downed his glass of champagne, walked upstairs and headed to Coalstrike's room.
The sight was less than pleasant.
Jaywhisker was typing on two computers, his hands flying at lightspeed as he tried to decipher as much information as he could from what he saw, Coalstrike was beating the life out of a punching bag in the corner with natural vigor, Mallowleaf was doing squats with a 75-pound dumbbell and Seashell had her arm around Daffodil, the latter seemingly just finishing sobbing.
"Any luck?" he asked Jaywhisker.
"I've searched the cameras of every place in the goddamn island in the last two days," he rasped, "Nothing. He's disappeared."
Dusty sighed, his mood souring very quickly.
Mallowleaf finished doing her reps before getting to her feet. Seeing Dusty looking down, she walked over and pulled him into a motherly hug.
"We'll find him, Dusty."
Dusty sincerely wished he could believe her.
"I came here to ask something?"
"Do they want us to come down for dinner?"
Dusty shook his head.
"Got a six-pack?"
Mallowleaf was about to show concern about him drinking a can of beer four years below the limit, but it wasn't like she had been stopping him and Jaywhisker, both underage, for hitting the drinks. Besides, the kid was responsible enough.
She turned to a mini-fridge and pulled out a six pack of Coors, setting it down and beginning to hand them out.
"I hate Coors," muttered Coalstrike, who looked the most torn up about the absentee.
"No, you don't," shot back Mallowleaf, "It's either this or a water bottle."
Coalstrike took the Coors, but he wasn't happy about it.
Everyone turned to Dusty after a moment, him being the only one standing, and he remembered just how god awful he was at giving speeches.
"Listen, I…"
He was already lost for words.
"I know these past couple days have been stressful as hell. Searching cameras, making calls, sending out reports…"
He gulped, feeling the pressure of what he was saying against Coalstrike's red-eyed glare.
"But...it's motherfucking Christmas. This is the day we come together. And...I'm gonna be honest, toasting together...making jokes, smiling, caroling...whatever normal people do on Christmas day…"
"That's what Ashtooth would have wanted."
He paused for a moment, waiting for Coalstrike or Daffodil or anyone to object.
Silence.
"We'll find Ashtooth," he said, getting the confidence to look up, "Because we're his family. And I know he's been through some really tough shit, just like the rest of us, but you and I all know he would never leave us behind. He loves us. And we love him. So even if it's today, tomorrow or a week from now, he will come back. We'll find him. But wherever he is, I know that his wish is for us to be happy. Especially on Christmas."
Dusty opened his can and raised it haphazardly.
"This toast isn't just for him. It's for all of us. All that we've been through. The bombing, the shootings, the fight on the mountain...we all got out of it together and we still have the will to die for one another. And if we're being honest...win or lose...making it this far by ourselves is really fucking impressive.
"So I raise my glass. To Mallowleaf, Daffodil, Seashell, Jaywhisker, Coalstrike, Ashtooth and me."
Everyone raised their cans in response.
"To Ambercloud and Jetstorm."
Dusty's hand clenched at his own words.
"And to the future."
"Cheers."
Everyone came together, clinking their cans and taking a big swig before breaking apart again.
Jaywhisker, after the toast, came up and hugged Dusty wholeheartedly and tightly.
"I wish I knew them…" he muttered as Dusty began to shake in grief of his fallen parents.
"They would love you…" he murmured, "And you would love them."
Jaywhisker broke the hug after a minute before preparing to get back to work.
THUMP.
A loud crash came from downstairs. After it was met with cheers and laughs, everyone except the teenagers lowered their guard and headed downstairs.
Fang had made his grand entrance, giving hugs all around to everyone who had not seen him since the reset. The atmosphere was joyous, and both boys suitably relaxed with the release of tension.
"Wow," said Jaywhisker, "I thought he was dead."
Dusty nodded.
Then he thought of something.
Jaywhisker thought Fang was dead.
But he was okay.
"The hell took you so long, big guy?' said Breezepelt, giving him a slap on the back.
"Made the biggest mistake of my life and decided to sit in the passenger seat."
Everyone laughed at his misfortune.
Except Dusty.
There was only one person who he could think of that Fang would let drive.
And that was…
No way.
No fucking way.
He raced down the stairs, glancing around at the main floor. Axis was entertaining the kids with funny faces, everyone was drinking…
Dusty's heart was beating. In bare feet, his legs led him to the door and to the blizzard outside.
He looked through the snow, his head turning to the car whose headlights just turned off.
"Never again," chuckled the voice of a boy, "Never again will I let him trick him into a death trap-"
He emerged from the snow and stopped.
Dusty turned to meet his gaze.
And he saw him.
Oh.
My.
God.
"Dusty?" said the boy, stepping forward precariously.
Dusty grinned immaculately.
"Hi, Sunfield."
The two friends stared at each other before they raced forward into a euphoric, tearful embrace.
"You're alive! You're alive! You're alive! You're alive! You're alive!" cheered Dusty, openly sobbing in happiness.
"I'm here…" said Sunfield, grinning the widest Dusty had ever seen and trying to resist sobbing poorly.
They held each other like they were the only thing keeping each other alive, and by the time they broke apart, the snow was drenching their hair in white.
Dusty didn't care.
Sunfield was alive.
And for now, for tonight.
All was well.
TO BE CONTINUED
Lately I've been asking myself a question while writing this epilogue.
What's the point?
Zadie Smith says writing is a shameful practice. Who are you to write 400 pages? Why should anyone read them. It's not as if anyone's forced to read this story, and for all the people that did, there are twice, maybe three times the people that ignored it. Who are they to witness the garbled sentences I type into my computer when I have the inspiration? Who am I to be worth their time?
One person specifically made me think of this question.
Their name is Russetmoth2786.
Now most may not know her. I personally would say that she is a complete stranger. We've never talked, we've never interacted, and we have no reason to. But in her own fic, "Letters from the Warrior Cats," I've taken to a consistent theme.
The concept of Warriors High is dumb and stupid.
I've been watching these concepts unfold with an idle ear. And yet, while everything written is well thought out and constructed with fantastic quality, with every predominant character, I see at least one sentence that says how absolutely dumb the concept of them being in a high school is. It is there. Without fail. Do I dare call it a motif?
Or is it me playfully ignoring someone telling me clearly that what I am investing my time and energy into is worthless and stupid?
I don't really have a good answer in why I write this style. Why I chose Warriors High, of all things, does seem stupid. I could have continued the original stories I was making or actually work on some piece of writing that isn't in the same venn diagram circle with 10 years worth of work.
But the thing is, I don't care. Because I love doing this.
Writing this fic was a joy. Just grasping a universe I gazed star struck upon for almost a year and being able to tell my own story with the creator's blessing is something I never dreamed of doing. It's fueled me with passion. It's persuaded me to climb from the depths of depression and rise back to write again.
So is this fic you just finished stupid?
Absolutely.
But if I love to write it and people enjoy reading what I put my time into…
Who cares?
This fic was a journey of ten months, three hiatuses, many, many emotional roller coasters and growth in mind and spirit. It would be a cruel injustice if I didn't thank everyone who had helped me along this incredible journey.
I would like to begin by thanking the members of the Holy Island: Snow, Daggs, Castle and Shadow. It was around 750 days ago that I was inducted into the humble community that would inspire me to not just write, but write with my walls down. After the travesty of my first attempt at a fic (which all of you are banned from reading), They helped me let down my walls and write what I loved to write. Simply put, I would not be here without them. I cannot thank you enough.
I'd like to thank everyone in Fallenclan for giving me the final kick in the ass to write this chapter. It was only three months ago when I came into contact with you all, and while the Holy Island will never be replaced, the upstart community of talented writers I thought I would forever be alienated from has dug out another special place in my cold, black, decrepit hard. Lucy, Minty, Phoenix, Virgo and everyone else who was there since the beginning, I'm fairly sure that I would have dropped this story if it weren't for your positive light in my corner of the world.
I'd like to give a special thank you to my idols (Yes, there can be idols in FFN), which include Azrakatz, Sunflowersun7 and the incomparable Kalum16. You probably don't know of this fic's existence (And why should you? Meddling with a lowlife angsty teen like me isn't what I would do if I was a good writer.) But if for some god-knows-why reason you decide to give this a glance, just know that I'm grateful beyond words about your existence. Your stellar writing and storytelling has been something that I've long since accepted I cannot replicate. So if you're reading this, just know that your presence in the world of Fanfiction is known and admired by myself, however much that may mean to you.
Stepping out of the interwebs for a moment, I'd like to give a tender thank you to Seamus. Odds are you've heard of her from the AN announcing my first official hiatus. Simply put, due to circumstances beyond either of our control, she and her family have moved away to Canada. The separation was mutual, the heartbreak still lingers, but...her presence remains. I have made a lot of poor decisions in writing, some that have cost hours or even days of setting myself up to fail. This extends all the way back to November of 2019, when she first became aware of my writing. For as long as I can remember, she's been by my side when she could, ripping apart my stories from the inside out and challenging myself to be the best I can be. And while I'm confident that this conclusion could have been a lot better, I am proud to say that I had her by my side. Seamus, if you're reading this from the Maple Leaf land, feel free to copy-paste the many compliments and proclamations of love I've showered you with over our time together. And check your mailbox. Closely. *winky face*
And finally…
You.
Yes, Jayfeather's Friend. I'm talking to you.
Where the fuck do I begin? My life on this website has been strange and chaotic, but the constant thread has been your presence. Your guts of steel, your ruthlessly absurd ideas and your supporting shoulder have been here in the two long years I've spent here. It's honestly crazy that you still tolerate me enough to even give my story a glance, let alone be the fantastic friend that you are, for some reason. I've been through a lot. More than anyone will ever know. And while I never will consider you my closest friend, for several reasons, there are not enough thank yous floating in the aether that I can pull out of my ass. Everything, from inviting me to The Holy Island, to teaching me how to be insane to patting my shoulder as I wrote my first good fight scene to the mutual contests of suffering that we sparred with plot twists and executions galore to me just sitting here at this computer and smiling, knowing that somewhere in the world at some time in the future you will be reading this even after all this time…
What kind of acknowledgement can I put into words that does my gratitude for being one of the greatest friends I have ever known justice? What sort of poem can I knit together to make you feel the power of the impact you've had on my life even though the circumstances between us are so vastly different? What can I possibly say to correctly, convincingly tell you that you are an amazing human being?
Nothing. Just a jumble of words I'm vomiting onto a computer screen. For everything you've done for me, you get this? It's almost shameful.
You deserve the motherfucking world, Jay. Of all the people you invest a portion of your precious time into, you choose some lowlife, dirty bastard like me? I don't deserve you. I deserve absolutely nothing that you've given me. And yet you still decided to give me everything.
Thank you, Jay.
For everything.
So what next?
In what seems like ages ago, I feared that I would never be able to write again.
Weeks later?
Island of the Fallen.
The sequel to this garbage pile of a story, that will end the Warriors High trilogy.
There are a lot of unknowns that come with this. Who knows what's coming next? In the end, I hope I can answer the questions you still have from this story, and finish off the monster in what was this universe.
My plans are big, long and dark. What I wish to do is push the envelope like never before. I'll probably fail, but now, with the support crew I have that I've never had before, I have a miniscule shot to actually pull this off.
Will I?
That's for the future to tell.
Thank you all for sticking around.
Till next time.
Best,
~Res
Word Count: 8,000