The satellite phone hummed in my hand as I waited for Edythe to answer. I was excited to tell her I was finally coming home, the anticipation made every second seem like an hour. The battery icon blinked red in the corner of the screen. The solar plate had been packed away as it had proven useless the last week with the heavy cloud cover. I would have to keep this call short.
The line connected and thoughts about battery life fell away.
"Thomas?" Edythe's voice came through, thin with static, but steady.
"Morning, love." I hope my smile carried through my voice.
"You have never called me in the morning, is something wrong?" I heard the worry in her voice.
The words tumbled out before I could stop them, breaking loose like a held breath. "I'm coming home." My first thought had been to tease her, but hearing her voice stripped that idea away. Besides, the battery wouldn't let me drag this out.
Her inhale was sharp, almost a sob. "You mean it? You're done there?"
"I've learned what I needed. Enough to keep moving forward. It's time." My thumb brushed over the worn edge of the phone case, though my eyes were fixed on the pale dawn spilling over the ridges. "The only question is… do I head straight to Forks, or to you in Ithaca?"
There was silence on her end, broken only by the faint crackle of the signal. When she spoke, her voice was both yearning and restrained. "I want to tell you to come here. To me. But Bella, Charlie… they're in Forks. Edward's decision can't have been easy on them"
I nodded to myself. "Then maybe I'll check flights in Kathmandu. See what makes sense. I'll call once I know."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
Her voice dropped to a whisper that the static almost swallowed. "Just… hurry."
The line went dead, leaving me alone with the thin mountain air and the weight in my chest. For the first time in months, the way forward was clear.
I slid the phone back into it's carrying case, slung my pack over my shoulder, and walked out the door to a house I had no plans to return to. My feet carried me toward the training grounds where I knew Rohan would be.
The yard was alive with the sounds of fists striking flesh and feet pounding into frost-hardened earth. Rohan stood at the far side, arms folded, his sharp gaze following every movement. He didn't shout, didn't pace — he didn't need to. His silence carried more weight than any barked order.
He saw me the moment I stepped into the yard. A small flick of his fingers dismissed the sparring pairs, and the space fell quiet except for the sigh of wind through the flags strung above us.
"You're early," Rohan said, his voice as steady as the mountain behind him.
"I'm not here to train." My breath fogged in front of me. "I'm leaving."
One of his brows rose, but his expression didn't falter. "Leaving?"
"I've learned what I can here. It's time to go home."
For a moment, he simply studied me, his gaze dark and unblinking. The silence stretched, long enough that the weight of it pressed against my chest.
"You think you are ready, your tether to the mountain strong enough?" he said at last.
I squared my shoulders. "I have come and done as we agreed back in Fork's. I've trained, I've learned control. That's enough."
Rohan's jaw tightened. "Control is not the same as balance. The fire you carry is not a tool, Thomas. It is a debt. Every ember must return to its flame, or it burns itself out."
I frowned, not sure if he was warning me or reciting some old proverb. "I can manage it. I'll keep moving forward. Besides, you cant forget that my blood is not the same as those here. The Quileute survive away from the mountain."
Rohan's eyes narrowed, a shadow flickering behind them. "The Quileute are cousins, yes — but not the same. Their fire is lesser, bound differently. Yours burns brighter. Wilder. That blood makes you more dangerous, not less."
I lifted my chin. "Dangerous for who? I've kept it under control. You've seen it."
He stepped closer, his voice low, carrying the weight of stone. "For now. But fire untended does not care for willpower. It devours. If, in the years ahead, you feel it dimming — if you feel yourself slipping into ash — you must return to the mountain. It is the only way to endure."
I forced myself to meet his stare, though my chest tightened with something I didn't want to name. "I don't plan on coming back."
For the first time since I'd known him, Rohan's composure cracked. Not anger — fear. He masked it quickly, turning his gaze toward the snow-dark peaks above.
"The mountain remembers what is denied it," he murmured, more to the wind than to me.
I hitched my pack higher on my shoulder and offered my hand, not wanting to leave at odds with someone who had done so much for me.
Rohan looked down at my hand for a long moment. The muscles in his jaw worked as though he were weighing more than just a handshake. At last, he clasped it, his grip firm and warm, but brief.
"You carry more than you know," he said quietly. "I hope the path you've chosen is wide enough to hold it."
I gave a short nod, unsure what to say, and then let go. His hand lingered half a second longer, as if reluctant to release me, before he folded it back behind his back.
Without another word, I turned and walked out of the yard. The prayer flags snapped in the wind above me, their colors blurred against the pale sky, and I kept my eyes on the trail that would lead me to the village center.
The smell of woodsmoke and boiling rice met me before I reached the lower terrace. Morning fires burned low in the stone hearths, their smoke curling into the pale air. Figures moved in and out of the haze, starting the day with the quiet rhythm of habit.
I found Dorje crouched beside one of the larger cooking fires, sleeves rolled up, turning flatbread on the hot stone with a wooden paddle. His face was ruddy with heat and effort, but the familiar grin broke out the instant he saw me.
"Thomas!" He straightened, brushing ash from his hands. "You look like a man with a decision in his stomach. Come — eat before you say it."
I chuckled despite myself, taking the rough loaf he pressed into my hand. "I'm heading out today. It's time."
His smile faltered, though he tried to hide it with a nod. "I thought as much. You've had that look lately — like your eyes were already on another horizon. Not that you were ever all that content here."
"I owe you more than I can say," I told him. "Your patience, your food… your humor. You made this place bearable."
Dorje snorted, but his eyes shone. "Bah. I only fed you so you wouldn't waste away and shame us all. But if you ever wander back, my fire will be here, and my pot will be full. Maybe then I will finally beat you in the training grounds."
We clasped forearms, his grip firm and steady, the kind that carried both farewell and promise.
"Walk safe, Thomas Raizel," he said. "And wherever your fire takes you… don't let it burn you hollow."
I nodded, swallowing hard, then turned toward the path leading to the gate. Behind me, the smoke curled upward, carrying the smell of bread and ash into the morning sky. Dorje's final shouted words made my pace quicken just a bit.
"You better make it through the gate before Hu Mei finds out you are leaving!"
The path narrowed as I neared the village gate. A few early risers paused their work to watch me pass — not with hostility, but with that guarded curiosity they'd always shown me, as if they couldn't decide whether I belonged here or not. Maybe they were right.
By the time I reached the gate, my uncle stood waiting. He leaned against the old timber post, arms folded, eyes fixed on me. He didn't speak, didn't raise a hand, just watched. The silence was heavier than words, but not cold. Judgment, maybe. Or acceptance. Or both.
I inclined my head in respect. He gave the smallest nod in return. That was all. That was enough.
I hitched my pack higher and stepped past him, boots crunching against the frost.
(Unseen by Thomas)
From a shadowed alcove along the wall, Rohan watched. His hood was drawn, his presence hidden, though his eyes never left the figure as he moved beyond the gate.
"You're letting him go."
The words were spoken low, meant for no ears but his. Vyaghra stepped up beside him, the older man's face drawn, voice taut with concern. His gaze followed Thomas down the path. "Unbound fire, carried into the world. If the mountain is denied, what will that mean for him? For us?"
Rohan's jaw worked, but his voice stayed quiet. "It is not for us to decide. The choice was always his."
Vyaghra's hand tightened into a fist. "The choice may damn him. Or worse, damn us all."
"The mountain remembers," Rohan said, echoing his earlier words. "It will have its due, one way or another. Maybe it's time to see if the mistakes from the past will not be made again. We are not rulers and should not be, but maybe he will find us a path. Guides maybe?"
They stood in silence, watching as Thomas walked the path away form the village.