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Everything was dark. And he felt himself floating. Somewhere between worlds. No. Somewhere between life and not life.
„Hello, Holland“, a voice said.
Gentle. Shy.
It came from everywhere and nowhere. From inside his mind. From inside his heart.
„I am sorry“, the voice went on.
It sounded a bit like Alox. And a bit like Talya. And a bit like Vortalis.
„I needed someone to understand.“
A bit like Athos. And a bit like Astrid.
„Anyone.“
And a bit like Osaron.
„I know“, Holland said.
But mostly it sounded like Kell.
„I am sorry“, the voice said again.
„Why are you here?“, Holland asked.
„I’ve always been“, the voice said.
„No. I mean… I discarded you along with Osaron.“
„Just a piece. A fragment.“
„Why are you here?“, he asked again.
The voice fell silent. And Holland floated in the darkness, while the silence seemed to stretch until eternity.
„You have come home“, the voice finally said.
„I am dead“, Holland said.
„No“, the voice said. „Not yet.“
He got the impression of someone cocking his head. The sensation of being watched, measured.
„Do you want me back?“
„No“, Holland said. „I am tired.“
All he wanted was sleep. Long and dreamless sleep.
„It’s what the other one is doing“, the voice said.
„What other one?“, Holland asked confused.
„The one you call Grey London.“
„What?“
„Do you really want that?“
„You mean… their magic went to sleep?“
„No“, the voice said. „Their world.“
Another silence that stretched.
„So… what happens if I do want you back?“, Holland asked.
„I’d come.“
„Back? You mean?“
„Yes.“
„I’d be Antari again?“
„Yes.“
„And the world?“
„Would need a king.“
„That’s not what I mean.“
„I do not like to be bound“, the voice said.
„Yes. I know“, Holland said. „But you’d come back?“
„Yes“, the voice said resigned. „I’d come back.“
„Then by all means, do.“
Holland opened his eyes. Leaves were rustling above him. And he could feel something hum inside him. The hollowness was gone. His magic was back. He plucked a blade of grass from the ground he was sitting on.
He rubbed his thumb along its side and blood welled up, staining the leafy green red.
„As Staro“, he said and watched the piece of grass turn to stone in his palm. That was when he realized the color of his skin. Wide-eyed he lifted his hands in front of his eyes. They no longer had the bleached tone common to the White Londoners, instead they were vibrant like those in Red London.
He stumbled to his feet. And over to the Sijlt. His own face greeted him. Two eyes staring back at him, one black the other vivid green. But his hair, his hair was still white.
Holland rose to his feet and looked around. Leaves dotted the once barren woods. Not yet a full canopy but bright like the first leaves of spring. He quickened his steps, moving along the narrow trail through the trees and then he reached the edge of the grove and stopped.
The sight that greeted him was not what he had imagined.
The grass ran out shortly beyond the edges of the grove. In the distance he could see the still pale silhouette of his London under a still grayish sky. And in its midst the Sijlt. Still frozen.
He looked at his hands, the one still curled around the blade of grass turned stone. He looked back at the grove, streaked with shades of green.
„Give it time“, a voice said. And Holland turned around, before realizing he had just heard it in his mind.
„Still around?“, he said.
„As long as you listen“, the voice said.
He had shared his mind with a voice before. And it had not ended well.
„You have shared your mind with a voice your whole life“, the voice said. „How else do you think you knew the Antari blood commands?“
They had always been buried somewhere in his mind.
„Which is exactly my point.“
He chuckled and his eyes got drawn by something metallic on a nearby stump. When he walked over he found a single red lin. Something warmed inside his chest. He looked at the spring hued grove.
Well. He pocketed the lin together with the grass-stone. It was a start.
Steps firm, he walked towards his London.
There was a castle for him to reclaim.