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They had always expected the post to be in rough shape, but she had never expected the dakii to completely rip it apart.

Someone squeezed her shoulder, and Iryana looked over to see Pyetar, his expression grave.

“I’m so sorry,” he said.

Everyone around them was somber now, even the soldiers.

“We left Klees,” Iryana said, her voice carrying. “Yet we’re still the Kleesolds, still guardians. Even without the Dovaki Post, who we are hasn’t changed.”

Her clan was nodding, offering weak smiles. But she knew they were disappointed. She was too.

“The rest of the clan will be returning soon,” she added hopefully. “We’ll see what can be recovered in the morning.”

She didn’t mention that they’d have to break the news of her grandmother’s death, but she knew they were all thinking about it. It hung around them heavily still.

Iryana let the sight sink in a little further before she could bring herself to keep walking.

When they reached the end of the hanging valley, some of those from closer settlements kept going, eager to see their own homes. The goodbyes were bittersweet. Those who came from too far off made camp and would continue in the morning. Iryana had thought they were done with camps, but there was no rebuilding that quickly.

Pyetar approached her after meeting with his commanders.

“I think we’re going to carry on, see what state the fort is in,” Pyetar told her. “Do you need anything?”

“No,” she said. “Send word once you know how it fared.”

He nodded, offered her a chaste kiss before rejoining his soldiers.

She walked through the rubble of their home, heart heavy.

The next day, Iryana picked through the rubble. The sky was a dreary gray, dropping a wet but light snow.

They’d already gone through what was left of their food stores, finding the underground storage mostly undisturbed. Now they were just looking for whatever remained of their lives.

She once found the walls of this house suffocating, so much history and expectation lining them. But she’d grown used to them her last few months there, found a sort of comfort in them. And now it was gone.

With Edvar’s help, Iryana moved a few beams to the side, uncovering what was once the hall between the First’s study and her sister’s workshop. She picked through the pieces. Paintings were ripped and soaked, dishes cracked into little shards, but she found a tapestry that was mostly intact. It was stiff with ice, but recoverable. Pulling it into the light, Iryana tried to determine which one it was, brushing off the frost and narrowing her eyes at the dyed fibers.

She laughed, a pained sound that ripped out of her throat.

The tapestry depicted the final battle of the gods’ war. The previous one. The god-giants dominated the land, huge forms battling. None of the figures quite represented the gods she had met; it was more caricature than true likeness.

Iryana walked to one of the campfires and tossed the tapestry over it.

The gods had once abandoned Istri, and Iryana wished they had stayed gone. Winning this war didn’t make up for all the lives that had been lost. All the pain they’d suffered.

Iryana looked around the valley. At the camp made of brush and wreckage. At the melting river meandering down the center, dropping freely off the cliff edge. The view was strange and unsettling without the wall. She could see distant treetops where once wooden logs had blocked the way. Would they rebuild the wall? Was there a purpose to it anymore? She didn’t know.

Their livestock was gone; the sheep somewhere in the mountains or in the dakii’s bellies. The whole valley felt dead. They’d have to uncover all the bodies now trapped under snow and collapsed buildings and bury them when the thaw came. They didn’t even have a threshold to hang mourning branches.

She didn’t know what came next.

Hadima watched her, holding a few glass jars that had somehow survived their house’s destruction. Iryana couldn’t see what was inside, but Hadima held them close like they were her most precious possessions. She was still looking into her older sister’s green-brown eyes, the color of what would return when the thaw came, when one of the guards on watch signaled.

Nervous and hopeful, Iryana crossed over where the wall once stood and looked down to see a small group of soldiers approaching. Pyetar was bringing answers.

Once the group finally made it up the cliff, she braced herself as Pyetar led her off to the side.

Pyetar had trimmed his beard short again, but otherwise he looked the same. Bundled for the cold, eyes half-hooded but warm. He wrapped his arms around her, and she accepted the comfort. Let herself sag for a moment while he held her up.