TW: This chapter has sprinkles of just about everything. Gore, Violence, An act of mass murder, several deaths (named and unnamed characters, on and off page, graphic and non graphic). If any of these things are out of your wheelhouse but you want to keep up plot-wise, feel free to hit me up. Stay safe everybody.

First came the assault on Vroengard. By this point in the rebellion, the Riders were stirring, like a great slumbering beast at last awakened to the vermin in its lair. We understood the necessity of striking at the heart of their power, scattering them in every direction, and causing as much damage as possible in the assault. We did not aim to claim territory, only to reduce their forces and prevent them from organizing to crush us. After all, no force in history was ever quite as adept at sowing chaos as the Thirteen.

While I was not there for the battle itself, I saw the aftermath. The forsworn returned battered and bloody but mostly intact… save for two. Gelmir lay senseless in Morzan's arms, groaning and twitching like a tortured animal. Outside, one of the dragons wailed and screamed their frustrations with a nightmarish keening that was unlike anything I'd ever heard.

Gildor was not with them.

He was our first casualty, and no one took it well, particularly Gelmir. He was his identical twin, lifelong companion, and (some rumors say) even more than that. After that day, he was little more than a husk. He wouldn't speak, eat, or even rise from his bed. Kialandi spoon-fed him broth and water, but for all the good it did him she need not have bothered. His torment was triply tragic as we'd also lost Gildor's dragon. The twins were bonded to twin dragons, and the four were essentially one. Many agreed that it would have been a kinder fate for them all to have perished together. Still, no one could begrudge Gildor for using the last of his strength to save his brother.

We later determined that Gildor died in a feat of frightening magic. One of the riders had turned his body into energy, or something along those lines (even Siyamak seemed impressed). The explosion slaughtered hundreds in a single stroke, and would likely taint the area for generations to come. All of our subsequent efforts to salvage the island's many treasures took a great deal of effort and planning, which frankly barely seems worth the trouble in retrospect…. But we shall save that discussion for another time. If not for Gildor's proximity to the epicenter, none of them would have had enough warning to shield themselves. His sacrifice saved all of his comrades' lives… though they would be putting themselves back in danger very soon indeed.


Our group watched the view from the crest of a low hill. The fragile crescent of moon had finally sunk beneath the horizon. Without it, the rolling hills and hazy skyline blurred together into a fuzzy black emptiness that stretched on in nearly every direction… save for one. Not very far in the distance stood Illirea. The city was a masterpiece of architecture; a millennia of culture all building one on top of the next. And of course, it's most shocking feature; a large plateau that stretched over the entire city, absolutely dwarfing anything I'd conceived before. Elegant spires of stone and glass reached up towards the roof. The whole image gave the eerie impression of a giant maw, complete with jagged needle-like teeth. In the back of the earth's throat stood a palace that almost seemed to be a city unto itself. Even more intimidating was the gathering of massive, glittering dragons in every hue that lounged along the hill's slope. Illirea was a monolith of civilization, an unfallen haven of order, and the last sanctuary for the riders. A sanctuary that we sought to obliterate.

Our forces were divided strategically based on their strengths. The first group was led by Siyamak. He had centuries of experience over everyone else and a terrifying reputation to match. Particularly, he was known for his deadly skill in aerial combat, of which the day promised to have plenty. Balor and Beren, an inseparable duo that specialized in violence of any kind, followed him. Eltereth also joined this group, as one of our previous raids put her in possession of a dauthdaert , an ancient spear designed specifically for killing dragons. They were all under glamours to take on different scale hues and they circled outside of the rider's lackluster patrols (no doubt, they didn't expect a follow-up attack so soon after a devastating defeat). Their sole task was to kill as many dragons and riders as they could once the ground teams had begun their work.

The second team was a smaller group of three. Amroth led Xanist and Idril (though I really doubt anybody can "lead" Idril to do anything). The supplies he'd brought along were cumbersome, veiled in mystery, and apparently so delicate that he had to tend to them personally. Xanist was along to make sure they steered clear of any magical security measures. Idril… I had no idea what Idril was supposed to do, but it most likely was going to be horrible. It's also probable that Torix didn't trust her to be involved in the combat; she was not the kind of woman one wants at their back. This trio's primary goal was to secure the city itself and force the remaining riders out.

The final team, the assault team, consisted of Galbatorix, Morzan, Formora, Kialandi, and me. In combat situations like this, we took the chain of command as gospel: Torix was the defacto leader, Morzan was his right hand, Formora was stealth, Kialandi was our medic and I…. was there because Torix didn't trust me with the other groups (honestly, fair). Our only goal was to dispatch the king. It didn't take a politician to see why: Galbatorix had made enemies with every power in the known world. If he wanted to keep the elves, dwarves, and surviving riders from tearing us all to pieces, then he needed a secure base of operations (an entire country's worth of hostages and resources didn't hurt either). Problem was, we had to make our way through said base unscathed to manage that goal.

This day marked the culmination of years of work, and every single asset we had was rallied to the cause. The most dangerous of these resources, a staggering log of subjugated eldunari, rested snugly in the care of our leader. He'd painstakingly spent most of the past sixteen years (my entire lifespan at this point!) getting as many of them in line as possible, and the fruits of that labor were utterly frightening. All of these things combined shredded my nerves.

After all, this was my first "real" battle.

Not that I hadn't been brought along now and again. I'd seen skirmishes and assassinations throughout the war effort, but I mostly played support roles on those ventures. This, a siege of a massive city, was something else entirely. Every member who could stand on two feet and hold a blade was here since there would be no point in any of us surviving this day only to be hunted down en masse.

A heavy hand dropped on my shoulder. "You alright?" Papa whispered.

"No," I fidgeted with a knife jammed in my boot.

"Good. Nerves are a good sign; means your head is on straight."

"I still don't understand why I can't go with you."

"Because Torix wants you close to him. And besides, most of the ugly parts will be where I'm going." I scrunched up my nose at him and he grinned, "You'll be grateful to miss it when you see the state we'll be in." He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and let me lean on him.
"What happens once we've won?" I tried to sound casual.

He licked his lip and glanced over the horizon as if searching for some secret hidden there. He said, "We'll all be moving house. And Torix will be much busier for a while. And you," he looked down and patted my head, "will come live with me, if your father allows it."

Of all the day's trials, it was this one that had me the most nervous. "Even if he doesn't, you should take me anyway."

Xanist laughed good-naturedly, "I think I just might. The capital is no place to raise a young lady, especially when better options are available."

"Neither is a rebel hideout," I stuck out my tongue and he poked my nose.

Master stood and gestured for the group's attention. His posture was the picture of confidence, hand resting naturally on his sword's hilt. "It's time."

We rose as one, all of us burning with the same anticipation. We trotted single-file down the slope of our perch, following a ditch until it reached an overgrown patch of brush. Morzan swept a heavy stick through the bramble, holding it so we could all duck beneath the foliage and into a passageway beyond. It was cramped, damp, and reeked of rot. These tunnels hadn't been used by anything but rats in centuries and they had the grime to prove it.

We took a swift pace as we crept through the defunct passages, though we were stuck backtracking more than once where the narrow tunnels had become impassable over the years. Formorra took point, trotting a little ahead to keep an eye out for trouble. I had no sense of scale or direction, though I know we walked long enough to require two separate breaks before we finally came to the end of our path.

Formora pressed her hand against the wall. No wards and no guards. They must have forgotten about this one.

Not to be taken for granted, Torix warned. After a cursory run of spells, he shrugged. Clear, but be wary; there are people close by.

Formora set to work on the slab, scratching around the edge with a little knife. She wedged the blade into a crack and twisted, forcing a heavy stone door to swing in with a grating sound and a shower of dust. Our party filed into a shared living space. The walls were plain stone, as were the floors. A dozen beds lined two of the walls, each with a chest at its foot. A table covered in playing cards and surrounded by wooden chairs sat near a fireplace at one end of the hall, an iron-banded door and a smaller archway occupied the other.

Formora darted on silent steps to the arch and peeked inside. Sheets and maids' uniforms.

Perfect! Morzan's mental tone was almost giddy. Go ahead, get changed.

What?! I truly believed Formora was about to rip his face off.

You're on point, you have to blend in! Despite his defensive tone, he threw up his hands and backed off (even Morzan wasn't bold enough to stay in striking range of Formora when she was in a killing mood), You and the kid can do that better than we can!

He's right. Torix managed to keep his thoughts serious, even with Morzan's barely hidden chuckles. Do it quickly too; we haven't the time to waste.

Formora snarled, tossing her gloves into the two men's faces. Fine, but if we survive this I'll strangle both of you with your own guts. She grabbed my arm and tugged me into the alcove, shutting a door behind us. She grumbled all the while, hissing oaths of vengeance as we tossed the plain dresses on. Luckily, both of us favored lightly padded gambeson to proper armor, so we could at least keep our vests on without drawing too much attention. Formora tucked her outrageously red hair up into a cap and threw the door open wide.

Morzan managed to hold in his laughter for all of four seconds. Then it wheezed out of him, doubling him over as he choked on his mirth. You look like an old hag!

I ought to-

Please, children, back to work. Torix's tone was light, but his glare filled in the gaps quite plainly: no more screwing around.

Most of our journey through the belly of the palace was uneventful. Formora and I scouted around corners and behind doors to make sure the path was clear for our companions. Occasionally, we would pretend to be very invested in a vase or window ledge as other servants passed us by. It felt ridiculous; never before or since have I been so anxious while dusting! Luckily for us, Formora walked with so much urgency that the few people we encountered didn't pay us any mind. Finally, we emerged into a grand staircase that spiraled off in every direction, all stemming from a massive, ornate balcony.

I doubt a ruse will get us much farther. Torix thought mildly. Formora tore the uniform in two like a rabid wolverine. I…opted not to follow her example. From here on, we'll be fighting for every step.

Why do you say that? Kialandi's brow crinkled in obvious confusion.

Torix smiled.

Three things happened in rapid succession: Torix telepathically sent the words, Brace yourselves, Kialandi gulped in air, and Formora stiffened.

Then it all became chaos.

We did not see the source of the explosion, but we felt it even from afar. Another followed, and another after that. The city was slow to rise at first, but sounds of screaming and anarchy soon clamored from all around. I felt my body reject the sounds. I saw shadows laid over the scene, and shadows of shadows. I could feel smoke stinging my eyes and the scent of burning human fat nearly knocked me flat. Amid all the chaos, I almost missed a shriek of fright from off to our left; a pale youth in a crisp new uniform. He took one look at all of us and bolted, screaming the alarm at the top of his lungs.

Torix grinned ruefully, offered a courtly bow to Morzan, and gestured to the center-most stair. The big man beamed, curtsying before leading the charge. The rest of us followed, Formora hanging back a step to retrieve her bow from Kialandi. Morzan's foot left the final step just as a contingent of soldiers swarmed onto the balcony beneath us. "Slow them!" Torix shouted back. Formora pivoted smoothly, drew her bow with practiced ease, and rained death on the poor soldiers. The few that were brave enough to follow us were the first to fall, and their fellows were forced to scatter behind cover. Unfortunately for them, Formora was a truly gifted marksman; most of them didn't make it out of her sights. She sprinted the final few stairs, threw one leg over the railing, and squinted. Her final shot went through a poor man's jugular three whole stories below.

With our back thoroughly guarded, Morzan and Torix were free to focus on our front. I almost pitied the guards that rushed to stop them. They formed a perfectly executed defensive maneuver, spears leveled at the oncoming monsters. Morzan side-stepped left before heaving himself to the right; slashing zar'roc across the shafts of the spears. The barbs hit the ground in a clang of metal, and Morzan took the opening to wedge between two of the shafts and bury zar'roc in one of the center men. A howl of rage erupted from the man at his side and he quite boldly grabbed ahold of morzan's arm, pawing in his belt for a dagger. Morzan dragged the man back by his own grip, showering him in his comrade's fluids. The man did manage to bring a dagger to bear, but it bounced harmlessly off of Morzan's wards. Then he smiled- more of a grimace, really- and his free hand closed on the poor man's face. I didn't see what happened next as I was defending against one of the other soldiers… but I'll never forget the crack and splat that followed as long as I live.

Torix took a slightly more unorthodox approach, as ever he did. He thrust forward with his thoughts, searching for a mage among our combatants. One of the soldiers in the far back of the company dropped to his knees with a sharp cry. The exact word Torix chose is lost on me, but the effects were… spectacular . The man he'd attacked twitched and writhed; first shouting then screaming as his skin flexed and bubbled. Many of his companions turned to him in abject horror. He choked out a gobbet of blood just as his body burst, splinters of bone erupting from his tortured flesh. Some of the nearest men caught these shards about their exposed hands, faces, and throats. Several of them lay there twitching in the spreading gore. The unholy scene caused a mass panic. Some of the men ran for their lives, and some dropped to their knees, offering up their weapons in shaking hands.

Morzan lifted zar'roc to finish them, but Kialandi pulled him back by his belt. "We'll need soldiers once we take the city; no reason to slaughter the sensible ones," Morzan grunted his disapproval, but at a nod from Torix he lowered his arm. Kialandi at least ensured the men weren't going to bleed to death before putting them to sleep with a muttered spell.

"Ya big softy," Morzan teased, wiping zar'roc carelessly on one of the slumbering men.

"Everyone looks gentle next to you freaks," Formora cut in, trotting back up to the group. "We've got trouble on the way, and a lot of it."

"Quickly then. Cut off the head and the snake can't bite," Torix stepped over the mess he'd made as did Morzan… but the rest of us tactfully skirted the gore.

Once we reached a main hallway, Torix led the way. All attempts at subtly were gone now as much of the castle was distracted by whatever the others had wrought in the city below. After a few swift and bloody battles, many of the common soldiers saw the writing on the wall. Many dropped their weapons outright when confronted with the specter of the fearsome rebel band closing in on them. All those we passed were put into a deep sleep, but none were harmed.

Eventually, we reached the wing dedicated to the royal living chambers. In contrast to the rest of the castle, this area was deathly quiet.

"Are we sure they didn't escape?" Morzan grumbled.

"Yes," Torix answered with peculiar confidence.

"Captain goes down with his ship," Formora said simply.

"Not his ship for much longer," Morzan grinned, "Where do we start?"

"Kialanadi, Formora, round up the rest of the royal family. Lilleth, Morzan; with me."

Kialandi fell silent and spread her consciousness out in a spiral from our location. "Formora, go east and I'll head south. There are three boys, a girl, and their elderly nurse. We can box them in easily. The king is due north, Galbatorix. The queen is with her husband. Also, a small group of riders is approaching through the interior tunnels."

"Ignore them. They won't reach us." Torix took off at a purposeful stride, Morzan and I just behind.

The ornate doors were an elegant white wood inlaid with gilded vines. They were likely ancient works of art, designed by an elven monarch thousands of years before humans had even stepped foot in Alagaesia.

At a word from Galbatorix, they exploded into shards of steaming tinder.

Many of the pieces found purchase in the line of men standing just behind the portal in a grim mirror of his earlier move. Some dropped dead where they stood, and others crumpled down and clutched at their extremities. Those that escaped the initial onslaught did not outlive their comrades by very long. Morzan and Torix were both deadly warriors, but nothing compares to the sight of both of them together. They moved as one beast with razored pincers, consuming everything within reach in a bloody frenzy. I stood back in the entryway, hamstringing one fleeing soldier.

Once the rabble had been cleared, two figures could plainly be seen prying at a panel on the wall. One was a woman, short and ghostly frail in her shift and robe. The other was a man, a mail shirt tossed over his own nightshirt, bare legs practically shaking with the effort of keeping him upright.

Torix took his time wiping his blade clean and approaching the couple.

The man pivoted to take in his opponent, swallowing hard. He was an older man, eyes creased with many hearty smiles and gut grown with many hearty meals. A whimper behind him seemed to steel his nerves. He tried to force a smile, but his upper lip only twitched and dripped sweat. "It has been many years, Honored Rider. What brings you to my fair city this day?"

"Your city?" Torix's smile was that of a hunting cat toying with a rodent. He strode calmly to a seat near the fire and dropped into it irreverently. "We're past formalities now, I'm afraid."

Another swallow. "Indeed, it seems we are. Well, if it is my home that you want, you have certainly attained that. I assure you-"

"You know that your life is forfeit." His tone was cool, but not particularly cruel. It wasn't even a threat; merely a statement of fact.

"...I do."

"No!" Thin white arms clung around him.

"Love, hush. It is a facet of kingship. This day could only end two ways." He pried her hands from him with detached care. "Will you permit my lady to leave this place? She has no royal blood of her own, and will not threaten your claim. And… let her take my children. They have no part in this," his voice only shook a little as he delivered his request. Even so demeaned, he still had a sense of dignity about him.

"I don't see why not," Torix rose again, gesturing at Morzan to hold the woman. "Once our business is done, they will be escorted from the castle." He said all this aloud, but the king must have missed the glance he shared with Morzan. Even at a distance, I could read it quite plainly, Take care of it.

With his reassurance, the former king's shoulders drooped. "Then, permit me to dress, won't you? For my… final address."

'A robe will suffice. Jierda!" At Torix's word, the chain shirt fell into two halves and peeled off its perch. Morzan tossed a dressing gown from near his desk. The queen began to weep quietly, shaking her head in denial. Morzan held her shoulders with a deceptively relaxed pose. Torix opened the door onto a massive balcony and offered the way to his captive. "There is something you must see first." The edge of sadism was back in his tone, "You still expect some sort of rescue, no? Well, there are your heroes." He lifted a gloved hand and pointed to the horizon, where the silhouettes of dozens of dragons could be seen fleeing for their lives. Some flew jerkily, clearly compensating for grievous injuries. Others dropped from the air as the dragons of the forsworn went after them one by one.

A tear slid down the old king's cheek. "The riders…"

"Have fallen," Galbatorix said, triumph ringing in his voice.

Another explosion shook the city, this one less forceful… but also much larger. A cone of heat and flame poured through the panel where we'd found the monarchs, revealing another brick-lined passage within. All over the city, pockets of flame lept to the surface. And gods, the screaming .

Ilirea was burning alive from the inside out.

"Any last words?" Torix offered charitably, lining his blade with the poor wretch's throat.

The doomed man tightened his lips and looked into the face of his murderer. "I hope you know what it is you claim, and that you bear it well. These people need healing… though I scarce believe they will have it from you." A warm, rank breeze pulled at us.

Torix said not a word, only adjusted his grip. The man closed his eyes, lifted his chin, and mumbled a prayer.

At the very least, the strike was clean.

The man's stump had barely hit the ground when a deep red blade sprouted from the small woman's chest. Morzan dropped her from zar'roc with a thoughtless plop. "Do you have to be so fuckin' dramatic? We still have a lot of work to do."

Torix smiled ruefully, cleaning his blade on the fine robe at his feet and resheathing it. "Apologies, old friend. It isn't every day a man becomes a god."


The rest of the royal family shared their parents' fate. The eldest son and daughter died that day while fighting for their lives. The second youngest son actually lived a few days more, though he likely wished that he had not; he died of his injuries before the week was out. The youngest son, however, was never found. It is widely understood that he was taken by his nurse into the tunnels before they were lit ablaze, and likely burned with her in the inferno.

Thousands of people met that very fate. The first explosions were high-impact, designed to destroy buildings and drain wards as much as possible. They were centered around the living quarters of as many elder riders and notable political figures as could be arranged. The second, delayed assault was less of an explosion and more of a fireball, designed to raze any living matter that had managed to flee into the newly exposed tunnels. To this day, the few passages that are still accessible are littered with scraps of jewelry, money, pottery, and bones…. So many bones.

It was upon this mass grave that Galbatorix built his reign…. Is it really any wonder it was so cursed? But all of that would come later….

After one more devastating blow.


"Xanist is dead."

The words echoed in the empty throne room, and even more so in the crushing silence that followed their utterance. The once-thirteen, (now reduced to ten) stood around Galbatorix in a semi-circle. The absolutely massive hall fit the dragons comfortably, though two of them were conspicuously absent: Xanist's and Eltereth's. The whole scene bucked before my eyes; my vision faded in and out in time with my heartbeat. "He can't be," I didn't intend to speak… it just bubbled out of me, "Who could have-"

"He was cornered in one of the tunnels," Amroth delivered the words with that signature passionless monotone. No gentleness, no anger… no sadness.

I wanted to strangle him.

"When?" Torix kept his voice level and respectful, but there was a tone to it that set my teeth on edge. I couldn't quite place it, but it seemed that he was… ambivalent .

"After our initial assault began."

Pieces clicked into place for me all at once; a truly gruesome mosaic. I swallowed hard and choked out, "Did you see him fall?"

Amroth blinked and shifted his feet. None of them were used to me talking this much in a group setting. I only let him get as far as, "No-"

"Then you abandoned him!" My fists clenched so tightly that they went numb. "You left him to die," I took a shaky breath, unfurled one stiff finger, and leveled it at Amroth, "And you didn't hesitate to let off the second explosion! You didn't even care-"

"Lilleth, that's enough," Torix was back to his stern, unyielding glare. "Now is not the time for infighting. The last thing Xanist would want is us turning on one another."

"Don't pretend to give a damn what he wanted!" Finally, against all my willpower, tears escaped my burning eyes. I hugged myself tightly, trying in vain to banish the horrible ache in my chest. "He didn't want any of this! He would never-" A stinging slap broke my momentum and dropped me to the floor like a sandbag.

Torix stood over me, eyes blazing with unfettered fury. He set one boot on my head, (gently, sure, but the threat was so obvious it hardly needed explaining) and said, "This is neither the time nor place for a tantrum. Speak again, and you can join Xanist in the next life."

I swallowed and nodded as best I could.

He grinned in mock approval and released me. "Good. Now, go to your rest. There will be plenty of work for us tomorrow, and I'll need you."

I stood, gave a stiff bow, and walked straight back out of the hall. I didn't go to my 'new quarters'- those of the previous princess. It felt macabre to sleep in a dead woman's room before her body had even cooled. No, instead I wandered the massive complex until my feet were too tired to go on. I ended up curled in a storeroom for old furniture, sobbing my whole heart out as if that act alone could stop the pain. In the distance I heard Xanist's dragon's cries rebounding through the uncaring void; my only company into sleep.


I must confess, this loss hit much harder than previous ones. I missed my mother, I still do, but I was too young to really, fully, appreciate just what I had lost. With Xanist… I felt like I was made of fragile glass that had been heated and then dropped into an icy pool. The most apt word for grief like that… hollow. I was so numb that I burned. Extinguish the sun, crack a mountain, drain the sea. . . perhaps then you approach the enormity of that feeling. I'd never really been able to feel something that deeply before… and the one person I would have gone to for comfort was gone forever. Even Katana, so much younger and yet untried, could only keep me company in my despair. Without her, I may not have bothered to recover at all. And yet, the voracious march of time churns ever on. Outside of my own grief-addled brain, Alagaesia had a metamorphosis thrust upon her.

The following day followed a blur of consolidating power and slaughtering all neigh-sayers. Many proud nobles met the executioner's axe in the coming weeks, with minor nobility pouring in to claim their riches. This new blood was eager, ambitious, and ready to be loyal to whoever could facilitate their goals. The elves retreated en masse after the death of their King, the dwarves were forced to retreat step by bitter step to their mountains. And, not long after, Galbatorix managed to track Vrael down to his final sanctuary.

Over the years, I heard a hundred different versions of that final battle, but I believe the first is the most accurate; a desperate struggle that culminated in an underhanded blow (how very fitting). No aspect of the war pleased Torix as much as the death of Vrael. He even took Vrael's blade for his own. Some members of the court did not understand why a black dragon and an evil usurper would choose a white blade… but we knew how much nostalgia and grief was woven into that symbol. It was his last remaining link to the life that had gone up in flames one tragic winter's night; a permanent memorial to his long lost partner. The gesture was undermined somewhat by his second most notable object; the only garments in Alagaesia fashioned from dragon leather; the oldest bastion of their race that he had slaughtered with his own hands (When I was feeling particularly brave in my later years I would needle him about what Jarnunvosk would think of such a creation. This had a 100% success rate in distracting him… though usually said distraction manifested as acts of extreme violence on the speaker).

All of our lives were about to be altered drastically. The forsworn took on noble titles, claiming lands and estates from the very people whom they had just slaughtered, though they also each maintained a room in the palace itself. Galbatorix dove into his new position with gusto, locking down every facet of the capital's functions, catapulting himself to absolute supremacy.

As for me? Well…for the moment, I was but a young woman trying desperately to make sense of my strange new world. Luckily, help was on the way.


AN: ooof I didn't think this chapter would get out in time! Indeed, it wouldn't have without my darling editor Aquata on hand! Many thanks to her as always. Despite the many trials, I actually did enjoy writing this one!

It's this story's first venture into combat choreo, so feedback is very much appreciated. Should combat scenes be explored in action or through the journal asides (we did a little taste of both here to compare~) Much love to anybody reading, I hope your year is going more smoothly than mine .