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"It's hope, it's a plan."- Jordan Fenn

I don't exactly remember leaving the city. I remember tearing out in a panic with my drum and not much else; I remember calling my brother’s name through the chaos of the terrified crowds, and hearing nothing back. I remember smoke and flame, the sound of crashing rock on wood, steel on steel. But beyond that, it's mostly a blur, and my first clear memory is moving at a gallop on horseback down one of the streets beyond the destroyed walls. I don't know whose horse it was. Whoever it was, I don't think they've got any use for it anymore.

To tell the truth, I'm not all that fussed about the city. A place is a place, nothing more, and no matter where you are, there's always a market for good music and stolen secrets. But Durance is missing, and I’ve got nothing but the clothes on my back and little hope of recovering what I left behind. My only hope is to go forward, to keep moving. There's whispered word among those in red that Illyria has secured lodging for us at some Ranger castle deep in the forests. Among my adopted family I'll be safe again; of that, at least, I’m certain.

It’s hope, it’s a plan. It doesn't sate the gnawing grief in my chest, but it’s something…

I lost the horse to exhaustion just outside the Stronghold; I'm walking the last few miles on foot, near to toppling myself. Just as I turn into the long path that leads to the castle, a voice sounds behind me, a shout just as exhausted as I feel.

“Is that my sister?”

Durance lives. My brother lives. And quite abruptly, the despair fades, and I know everything will be all right.