Excerpt: Wish the World Real

Prologue
This Is Not the End

Before Recorded Earth History

“That’s it?” Iarmor whispered, midnight-emerald eyes flooded with hurt, disappointment. The long, slim blade in his right hand hung by his side; blood of too many hues slid and dripped sickeningly onto the stained grass. “You’re just going to leave us like this?”
The Alishalize hesitated, but her fingers tightened on the ones she held, and without prompting it was the Amarande who answered the Danaan warrior.
“We have done all we can,” he said quietly, gore-streaked hair worked loose from the warrior’s braid. Long, strong wings flared briefly, stretching with a ripple of air and force - cramped after so long folded against his spine, out of range of their enemy’s swords and spells. “You have won a place for yourselves in this world, a foothold none will be able to take from you. There will be centuries of peace, once the rain falls and the world is washed clean of the bloodshed this day. “
“But the Kin must hide,” his consort said softly. A girl’s voice, a ch - no. Not a child anymore. Those eyes that shone like polished silver could never belong to a child, no matter the body. “This day will be forgotten by humankind; magik’s arrival will fade into myth and legend, and therein lies your safety. Melt into their stories, and walk among them masked and shielded. Walk in shadow, in moonlight, under the stars - leave to them the day, the bright light; in the open spaces let them walk unafraid.”
“You and they have the skill to walk behind them, stepping only in their footsteps and leaving no trace of your passing,” the voices exchanged, the two able to finish each other’s sentences, understanding the train of thoughts and the processes behind them so deeply, so intimately, that was it any wonder they had been able to co-ordinate the night’s battle from opposite ends of the field? The Amarande’s cloak rippled like a bloody wing in the night-breath wind. “Take this world, if you want it, but take it from behind the scenes. Manipulate them like puppets and never let them know it, because if they know of you they will rebel as they have done tonight, as they will always do.” His sword - his Symbol, the god-weapon with a thousand facets, a thousand names; Fear and Defender, Justice and Hope - was sheathed in a moment, a flickering gesture too fast for Iarmor to quite make out, and with his freed hand he gestured across the battlefield. “We helped you cut them down, we helped you carve your place. We are done. You can ask no more of us!”
In desperation, the Danaan turned to their almost-Queen, but her silver eyes were just as determined, now, as her lover’s gold. “No.” She said softly, answering the question before he could ask it. “It is done. You have your world; if you step lightly, you will have your home. You have no more need for us; only desire. We have to go.”
“But -”
It was as if the stars exploded - the darkened battlefield, scattered with tired soldiers picking through the bodies of their friends and enemies, lit up as if a desert day; diamond light that streamed from windows cut in the night sky, and in a moment it melted from a blinding light to a glittering silver rain, candle flames falling from the sky like goddess-tears.
But above the two, the King and Queen that refused their titles, the rain hung suspended, gathering together into a mass of delicate, twining silver, braided moonlight and glass like vines and flowers, echoing the movement of running water as they braided together into a shining archway. Graceful and beautiful and framing the dew-strand web stretched across it.
The Amarande, gold gaze softening with relief, gently stepped back towards the Gate, lightly tugging at his other’s hand. Looking past her, to Iarmor, their trusted General - their friend - he smiled softly, touching his first two fingers to his lips, and his heart. Heartfelt farewell, a promise never to forget, as he passed through the Gate.
His body dissolved into glittering stardust as it touched the web.
The girl’s fingertips were starting to melt into diamond light, never having released her lover’s hand, but she held on a moment longer. Hesitating - not to leave, but to leave without promise, to leave the desperation in her friend’s eyes unanswered, unfulfilled.
“If you need us…” She whispered, a weak smile as she stepped back - treasuring her other, her Amarande, far more than this world or these people that had needed her. “Then call on us, and I swear we will come.”
She disappeared - and the Gate itself melted down into molten silver, breaking down and dissolving into nought but smoke, more like to moor mist than anything else Iarmor could name.
Tears ran but lightly over his face as he turned away, back to the remnants of their - now his - army, ready to throw himself into the work of shaping this world. No matter how long it would take, or how difficult the task might be - this was Their gift.
The Kin wouldn’t waste it.