CH633 · Rewrite
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Chapter 633: Welcome Back

They held each other for a long time.

When Roland finally pulled back, he touched her face. “You’ve become thinner.”

Anna’s eyes were still wet, and still as clear as lake water—he could see his own reflection swimming in the blue of them. But her cheekbones stood out now where they hadn’t before, and through her clothing he could feel the ridge of her spine and the sharp angles of her collarbones. The soft, round shape of her face had gone somewhere.

“I’m sorry for worrying you.” The scent of her hair settled something in his chest. They had been apart for what felt like centuries, though he knew that made no sense.

She shook her head, wiped her face against his collar. “I’m all right. As long as you woke up.”

“How long was I out? Three days? A week?” Her thinness made him afraid to name a larger number.

“More than a month.”

“What?”

“Fifty-two days, to be exact.” A small laugh broke through her expression at his face. “It’s autumn now. You should notice the curtains were changed.”

He moved his arms experimentally, curled his toes under the blanket. No pain. No weakness. Nothing wrong. “How did I eat?”

“You didn’t.” She leaned into him, both hands gripping the fabric of his clothes as if he might slip away again. “Someone ate in your stead.”

“That’s—possible?”

“Nightfall, from the Bloodfang Association. She planted a Seed of Symbiosis in your body. She ate more than usual and it sustained you both.” Anna’s voice was matter-of-fact, but her grip didn’t loosen. “Your muscles didn’t atrophy. Wendy told me that meant the symbiosis was connecting two living circulatory systems, not just keeping you breathing.”

Roland looked down at the wooden tub on the floor, the water still steaming faintly. “Thank you. For taking care of me.”

She said nothing for a moment. “Compared to what you’ve done, what I did was nothing. You honored your commitment to the witches. You destroyed the church’s army. Every witch in the Union would have cared for you gladly, without me.” She paused. “But I preferred to do it myself.”

“So did I.” He tilted her chin up and kissed her.

Afterward, her cheeks were red. She straightened and smoothed her sleeves with the brisk efficiency of someone reclaiming composure. “I need to tell the others. They’ve been waiting a long time.”

“We could continue,” he said.

She slanted her head, almost involuntarily. “You’ve only just woken. You should rest—”

“I feel completely fine.”

“Even so.” She raised her hands and struck his chest twice—lightly, with no real force. Then she picked up the tub and moved toward the door. “I’ll be back soon.”

He smiled at her retreating back. “I’ve had more than enough sleep.”

The door clicked shut.

His smile faded.

Why did I sleep for two months?

He should have woken sooner—the soul-duel was over, Zero was defeated. But he hadn’t. And unlike a normal dream, this one hadn’t dissolved on waking. He could still recall it in sharp detail: the apartment building, the summer heat, the television broadcast, the girl with white hair who’d called him uncle with genuine alarm in her eyes.

Was that really Zero?

And why had she called him that?

He turned it over. The city in the dream hadn’t been his—the skyline was wrong, the building styles mismatched across decades, the tube-style apartment entirely out of place against the glass towers in the distance. None of it cohered the way a false memory should. Everything was real-seeming, and everything was subtly wrong.

Before he finished the thought, the door burst open.

Lightning arrived first, dropping her backpack mid-stride and wrapping her arms around his neck. Behind her, Wendy stood with her hands pressed to her chest, relief spreading across her face like sunrise.

“You finally woke up,” Wendy said.

Lily crossed her arms. “What a troublemaker. You’ve had us worried all this time.”

“Are you worried about others?” Mystery Moon peered at Lily with open surprise. “That’s very rare.”

Agatha stepped forward holding a Stone of Measuring. She held it up before him without preamble—measuring, not greeting. “No magic reaction. You didn’t inherit Zero’s abilities.” Her eyes narrowed. “What do you remember? Specifically, do you have access to the Pope’s memories?”

“You know about that ability?” Roland blinked.

“We have one of the church’s pure witches in custody. She explained it.” Agatha lowered the stone. “Well?”

“I… don’t think I received any of her memories.”

Ashes stepped into the center of the room, her expression flat and assessing. “How do we know he’s still Roland? He was submerged in over two hundred years of memories. He could have been overwritten.”

“Come on.” Andrea rolled her eyes. “Must you do this now?”

“I’m quite certain he’s His Majesty.” Nightingale’s voice came from the empty air beside the bed. Roland turned toward it—and something registered in him at once. She sounded steadier than he would have expected. Controlled. A careful neutrality he recognized as effort.

Then Nana, Scroll, Leaf—each voice came in turn, each face carrying some version of the same relief. The room felt warmer than its walls warranted.

Last was Tilly.

She took his hand in both of hers and looked at him the way she’d always looked at him: measuring, fond, and entirely sincere.

“Welcome back, brother.”

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