Chapter Text
Things had died down once Kaz took over as leader of the Dregs, evicting Pekka Rollins from Ketterdam in the same swift move. Slowly, the Crows had put their guards down, realizing with same amounts of relief and trepidation that, for a little while at least, they could rest.
Not stop fighting. They would never stop fighting. But their enemies were no longer as many, nor were they as strong. And so, they could breathe.
It had been so long since they last had time to rest, they weren't quite sure what to do next.
Kaz was the first one to come up with a plan, of course. After all, having destroyed Rollins didn't mean that his goals were complete. Far from it, actually. He needed to strengthen his kingdom, make sure there would be no represalies from the few Dime Lions' followers who still dreamt of revenge.
And, if he spent his remaining time helping Inej plan the route she would embark on once the Wraith - the ship Kaz had given her -, was ready to sail, no one was stupid enough to comment on it. Not even Jesper, whose lips quivered into a hesitant smirk every time their fearless leader began the trying climb up the stairs of the Crow Club.
Wylan was pretty sure they were all afraid Kaz would take offense and disappear back into the shadows. That, too, he chose not to disclose.
Nina and Matthias were craving to go back to Fjerda but, sadly, they also had to wait until things calmed down. Mostly for Matthias, it was quite the risk, going back to the Ice Court, especially as they had raided it a few months before, proving once and for all that impossible things were actually improbable.
And so, as guests of the Bastard of the Barrel, Nina and Matthias spent their days in leisure, taking the opportunity to go onto all the waffle dates they hadn't had the opportunity to engage in before.
And Wylan…
Wylan entered the kitchen of his family home with a weary sigh. Grabbing the plate covered with leftover waffles Nina had left when she came the previous night before sitting at one edge of the huge island.
That island, that house, that life was meant for more than him. It was meant to be filled with laughter, with love, with life.
And what did he have? A father who hated him and wished him dead, stuck in the depths of Hellgate (where he would remain for the rest of his days, if Kaz had anything to do with it). A mother who had been beyond traumatized and refused to move into that house for all she wished for was to be rid of her ghosts.
What he had were ghosts. The ghosts of the memories, too many and too heavy for him to even bother counting them. The ghosts of the people he loved that he had lost. The ghosts of the people who had wished him gone, leaving him a wound across his heart that burned almost as hot as Hell itself.
"Well," Wylan spoke softly. That morning had dawned particularly clear, the sunlight dancing through the open windows with enchanting grace. If he straightened, he would be able to observe the sea and Black Veil. "At least it's over now."
He had never felt worse.
He couldn't help but wish it was night already. At least, that would mean a sort of alliance between the exterior and the war raging within him.