Epilogue: Ok, Whatever… But Where’s Cluckles?

I sat up, stretched, yawned. My ribs didn’t ache. My soul wasn’t peeling away like wet parchment. I was, against all odds, alive.

The door slammed open.

“Rissa?!” Serine’s voice cracked, half relief, half fury.

Behind her, Cassian nearly tripped over his own sword, wide-eyed like a puppy catching his master after being gone for a week. Aelith stood behind them, arms crossed, trying (and failing) to look like she hadn’t been worried sick.

“Oh, good,” I said, throwing myself back on the pillow with theatrical exhaustion. “You’re all here. Saves me the trouble of faking a dramatic entrance later.”

Serine leapt towards me, throwing her arms around me and clinging as if she’d never let go. Tears streamed down her face as she buried herself against my shoulder, sobbing into me with unrestrained emotion.“But, but... you died.” Serine said still crying.

I tilted my head, put on my best innocent face. “Did I? I thought I was just… resting. You know, beauty sleep. Works wonders.”

Cassian opened and closed his mouth like a fish. “But… your body—it—”

“Don’t overthink it, puppy,” I interrupted, waving a hand. “Magic, loopholes, existential nonsense. The important part is: ta-da, I’m still fabulous.”

Aelith’s composure shattered like glass. She threw herself at me, sobbing uncontrollably, and buried her face in my chest. “You… you stupid drunktard! I… I love you so much, Rissa! You’ve made me suffer… suffer more than I ever imagined!” she wailed, clutching me as if the world itself had broken and only our embrace could hold it together.

I hugged them both tightly with a smile in my face, feeling their sobs shake against me. “Wow, congratulations, drama queens. You both really brought the waterworks tonight. Should I get you tissues, or do you want me to cry too just to make it fair?”

Splinterbutt bowed so low his forehead almost scraped the floor. “Mistress has returned. The world endures.”

“See?” I said, pointing at him. “Finally, someone who appreciates me properly.”

Then I noticed. The one person not saying a word—the unthinkable. Arkanthos, the great lecture machine, the walking library of misery and smugness, was silent. Dead silent.

I narrowed my eyes. “Wait. The only one here not spouting nonsense is you, Arkanthos? That’s weird. Usually it’s impossible to shut you up. What’s the matter, skull-face? So happy I’m back you swallowed your tongue? Hold on—do skulls even have tongues? I don’t think so.”

Arkanthos’s jaw clicked, and then—against all laws of dignity—he broke down. Loud, ugly, echoing sobs rattled through his bones like a storm in a coffin.

“I k-knew Mistress would return!” he bawled, covering his empty sockets with the bed sheets at my feet. “I was so w-worried after that farewell, but deep down I b-believed—Mistress would never abandon us! She wouldn’t!” His wails shook the rafters.

I blinked. Then I laughed so hard I almost fell out of bed. “Gods above. You, crying like a baby. This is the best day of my life.”

I kept up the jokes, one after another, batting away questions like flies. No, I wouldn’t explain how. No, I wouldn’t tell them what bargain I’d made. No, I wouldn’t confirm or deny whether the cosmos now owed me a drink. The less they knew, the better. Mystery made me look cooler.

And if my hands shook just a little when I finally reached for the wine jug on the nightstand—well, no one needed to see that.

✦

Years passed. The world moved on. And so did we.

Serine couldn’t stop herself—every ruin, every lost library, every scrap of forgotten lore called to her like wine to me. She dragged Cassian with her, of course, and he followed like the lovesick pup he’d always been. I teased him endlessly about it, but really? I envied them a little. Their path was simple: knowledge, devotion, each other. Arkanthos went with them, naturally—nothing tickled his bony sockets more than someone eager to hear his endless lectures.

Before they left, I grabbed him by the skull and whispered: “Watch over my puppies, old bones. If anything happens to them, I’ll haunt you personally.” He nodded, solemn as always. I think he understood just how much I meant it.

And then there was Aelith.

Once, she’d sworn herself to duty, to the traditions of her people, to a destiny carved out long before she was born. Then she met me. Poor girl. I shattered that porcelain shell, and instead of piecing it back together, she let it fall away entirely. Now? She stood at my side, a blade of ice and fire, ready to follow me into whatever madness I cooked up next. I never asked her to. She never explained why. That was enough.

Splinterbutt remained my shadow, silent and unyielding. Wherever I walked, he followed. Not a guard, not a servant—something heavier. A promise carved in bone.

And me? I kept walking. Drinking. Laughing. Fighting. Cheating fate because fate deserved to be cheated.

They started calling us names. Titles. The Laughing Heretic. The Drunk Queen of Chaos. The Elf Princess Who Betrayed Her Kin. The Silent Knight of Bone. Songs spread, taverns roared, kings cursed our names. We didn’t care.

Every throne we toppled, every scheme we ruined, every “sacred destiny” we spat on—it all became legend. People whispered that we were unstoppable, untouchable. Maybe they were right. Maybe they were fools.

But here’s the truth:

I wasn’t immortal anymore, or better said, my soul wasn’t.

One day, I’ll die, and this time it’ll stick. But until then? I’ll drink every tavern dry, mock every god, and live exactly as I damn well please.