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jordan sees them from across the waters.
there is a small island pulled from almost nothing, and he can see the barrier of magic surrounding it, which is. very necessary, due to the current fight the three of them are dealing with.
the young gods are all gone, jordan knows. but that’s okay, because there theirs are. there she is, bright and shining, and waiting, watching, hopeful and proud. the connection between them lights his entire being like a firework, running burning hot, and then freezing cold, his blood feels like magma and ice, his heart is steady, steady, but it feels like it should be running a million miles a minute. some primal part of his brain shouts home, home, homehomehome-
“ianite,” he whispers, and the world that seemed so dim as of late blossoms into beautiful bright color- the purple of his beacon catches his eye most of all as the light seems to flare even further outwards, the magic dancing uncontrollably from the main beam like lightning as it expands with such power that the ocean begins to twist like it’s a storm.
tom lets out an indignant shout. “oi, jordan, could you fucking poseidon it up a little and tell the water to calm it’s fucking tits, mate?”
and then he turns, and follows jordan’s hopeful gaze‒ and nearly drops his swords. “oh, shit,” he swears, “shit, fuck, is that really him? oh, i’m screwed.”
“focus,” jordan laughs, pulling his attention back to the fight at hand. “we’ll get to that later.”
tom mumbles something under his breath, but turns away and shifts back into a proper fighting stance. jordan does the same, his trident thrumming in his hand with energy. something in his back twinges uncomfortably, but now is not the time to focus on it.
they fight.
they win.
and gods, isn’t that a feeling, for it to be over‒ jordan deals the final blow and it leaves a feeling in his gut that tingles up his spine and across his skin, and his arms, to his fingertips. the darkness is not an unfamiliar thing to him, but it still leaves a shake in him that he can’t really control, a bitter taste in his mouth. but it’s so easily overpowered by that bond, that incomprehensible thing that he’d only realized the truth of in ruxomar.
martha conway is a sweetheart, and incredibly intelligent, and sensible, and strong. in all the time jordan had known her, she had put up with so much from them all, and still kept her head about her. and she’d been familiar in a way he was unsure about, until one day, they’re talking, and he... mentions something. the connection to ianite he’d felt differs from that of the pirates’ did, he’d discovered. theirs was something of simple care‒ she was their god, and they expected nothing more than that, felt nothing beyond that. he’d thought perhaps it was the gift of a champion, then, but while tom and tucker’s connections had been stronger to their own gods, he found the explanation still hadn’t matched.
but when martha explained her connection to her mother, jordan had lost his breath and whispered: ”that's me. that's how i feel. that's how it is, that's how i live.”
and martha had smiled at him, and told him: "in that other world. the one you are from, the one my father is in- that lady you swore yourself to, that you were drawn to, that you knew, instinctively, was the right choice without even realizing."
jordan's heart had been both so full, and so empty, all in that one instant.
"she's your mother, isn't she, captain?"
his mother, he thinks, now that the battle is over. his back twinges again but he ignores it‒ the waters are calm again, and karl and tom jump into a boat together, beginning to row, but he doesn’t have time for that at all.
he dives into the water and lets it pull towards him, beneath him, as he drags his trident back and feels his elytra spread in preparation‒ the energy of it all shakes and makes him grin, wide, and real, and bright, because this is it, isn’t it. something he’s been waiting for for years.
he loosens his grip on the trident and the magic, and the ocean beneath him propels him up, twisting around his legs to push, and suddenly he is airborn, the wind beneath the elytra catching him perfectly, and he hears the indignant shouts below as he angles himself towards them, and lets himself glide.
the closer he gets, the more real it seems, a string between them bright and bundled, unravelling, growing stronger, blinding. at her side is spark, and andor and martha are close by, but she steps forward, the water beneath her shifting to ice to hold her steady as she reaches out, arms wide open, tears in her eyes, tears in his-
jordan crashes directly into her and she grips him tight as he throws his arms around her neck and buries his head in her shoulder wish a choked sob. one of her hands is in his hair, the other tight across his back, and she squeezes him so tight it would hurt if it wasn’t for the magic coursing between them, wrapping around them like a cloak, a blanket. she smells like lavender and even that alone brings forth memories he didn’t know he had, of silk sheets in the end and leather bound books written in galactic with names of every rune and spell and stories of histories and species and‒
“my boy,” she cries in earnest. “oh, my jordan.”
“mom,” he sobs. “mom, mom, mom‒”
he feels her collapse to her knees, still holding on to him tight. “it’s been so long,” she whispered. “i thought the stars were mocking me by having me remember who you were just as i lost you again, i thought i’d lost my chance. i thought i’d never have the chance to tell you‒ to properly tell you‒”
“i thought so too,” he whispers. “i thought i wouldn’t‒ i thought i was alone for so long.”
“never,” she says into his hair.
“...i thought i’d failed you,” he admits, and feels her stiffen before she sobs again and pulls him impossibly closer.
“jordan, you’ve done nothing of the sort, and never will, and never could. you are my joy, jordan, my little star, my light‒ i have never been anything but proud of you.”
he hears the others shuffling around them a little awkwardly and suddenly remembers that they are even there‒ the ice is starting to seep through the fabric of his pants and bringing a chill to his skin, so he pulls away slowly, and feels her do the same. the hand in his hair falls to his cheeks instead, wiping away tears and tear tracks with such gentle touches that he can’t help but laugh in disbelief. she’s here, and she’s real.
she stands, and keeps her arms on his, helping him to his feet, keeping him close. a sharp pang of guilt hits him when he realizes why, but he doesn’t let himself linger on it for too long, instead letting himself find comfort in the warmth of her magic, her real magic, the one he was connected to his whole life. when they turn to face the others, he sees martha, and andor, and ianita, and who he assumes to be spark standing close to each other‒ martha has a huge grin on her face, and her hair seems to float lightly behind her. when jordan meets her eyes, her smile grows wider, and she nods excitedly, gripping onto her father’s arm tightly.
“admiral,” his mother says (oh gods, his mother, he thinks breathlessly, and his grip tightens a little‒ he feels like a kid again), “this is my son, captain jordan‒”
the next word she says isn’t in any common language, but he can hear it’s translation clear as day‒ twinkle, glitter, glow. sparkles. oh, he realizes. her little star.
he feels a sharp pain in his back (and hears a couple of choked gasps, whoops, tom and karl were back‒ oh, shit, he thinks, not to mention sonja and wag and tucker were right there, he’s going to have to explain this won’t he‒) but she puts a hand between his shoulderblades, and spark steps up with a smile, bowing his head just a little.
“heard a lot about you, captain,” the admiral says. “good to finally meet you.”
“a-and you,” jordan returns, not trusting his own voice. “i’m glad i even have the chance to come home at all, honestly.”
he doesn’t get much further before ianite steps away with a smile and he feels someone tackle him from behind, robed arms lifting him up off the ground with ease. “captain!” wag shouts in his ear, and he starts to laugh. “gods, it’s good to fuckin’ see you, mate!”
“it’s good to see you too, man,” he says through his giggles. “can you put me down? i’m getting dizzy.”
“jordan,” he hears sonja say, “you get dizzy if you’re ever taller than six feet high.”
“oh, shut _up,_” he wheezes, and is unceremoniously dropped to his feet. the second he touches the ground, he feels sonja tackle him with a shout, and jordan can’t help but smile wider, hugging both of them tight. in his peripheral he sees tucker holding tom in some kind of a chokehold, talking easily with karl as tom struggled to get tucker to let him go, making noises deep in his throat. “hey, tucker, be aware that tom’s been having issues getting air lately. couple months back he shouted too loud and passed out.”
“from shouting?” tucker laughs. “fucking seriously?”
“well,” karl defends lightly. “he was going through a lot, lying about which god he served and trying his best to convince jordan he was an ianitee.”
tucker splutters and wheezes, dropping tom to the ground to bend over as he desperately tries to catch his own breath. “you tried to convince jordan you were a fucking ianitee, you dumbass?”
“almost worked,” tom mutters, not bothering to get up off of the ground, and jordan snorts.
“no it didn’t,” jordan tells them. “he slipped up constantly. everything in balance my ass, tom, you chaotic fuck.”
“like you don’t have a clear bias!” tom shouts. “dianite wants you on his team for a reason!”
“well,” dianite mumbles, and attention shifts to him, “back then it was just to keep him safe from what i knew was coming, but. i mean.”
ianite grins sharply. “no, go on, say it.”
dianite looks away. “...no.”
“come on. say it. you wanted to be the cool uncle.”
“shut up, ia.”
she grins, but doesn’t tease him further. mianite rolls his eyes, but doesn’t add anything to the conversation beyond a shrug and a smirk as jordan turns to him with a questioning look. “wasn’t much of a competition anyways,” the god of order whispered conspiratorially. “you liked him way more than you liked me when you were younger.”
when he was younger. the idea of it flickers in his mind briefly before another sharp pain shoots up his back, and this one he can’t ignore‒ it makes him gasp, more out of shock than anything, as he jolts away from sonja and reaches back to try to rub at where a slow heat was trailing from between his shoulders. she looks at him, concern in her features, and he feels wag’s attention turn back to him too. the wizard’s always had some kind of presence that jordan hadn’t known how to explain, but now it seems piercing, and it make his skin crawl in the way mostly only threats did.
“you alright?” wag asks gently, and jordan’s face screws up as he tries to scratch the itch he can’t reach.
“yeah, just kind of‒ somethin’ aches a bit, nothing too bad,” he excuses, but another jab of pain hits him and he chokes, stumbling where he stands. this time, it’s at the tip of his fingers, beneath the blunt nails, and it makes the muscles in his hand tense and freeze, stuck in an odd, curled position, clawlike and difficult to move without issue. the discomfort travels up his arm, making every muscle stiff and taut, and he pulls it close to his chest with a shuddering breath.
“jordan,” tom speaks, and now he realizes everyone’s eyes are on him now, and for some reason it makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. for some reason, he feels the impulse to grit his teeth and growl, and the absurdity of it is the only thing that makes him stop before he actually does it. “what’s going on?”
“syndicate,” dianite says sharply before jordan can even open his mouth‒ which jordan is appreciative of, because there’s something in the back of his throat that’s burning, and tastes like smoking fruits, charred citrus, and he’s not sure that if he unclenches his jaw he isn’t going to absolutely lose it. “where’s the end portal?”
“...my lord?”
“the portal, thomas,” ianite snaps. she sounds worried, concerned, anxious. it makes jordan’s heart warm in a good way, even when there are throbs of sharp, piercing aches running along his spine, making him groan low and grind his teeth, screwing his eyes shut and curling in on himself. her presence is nice, though, and he feels sonja move away as the goddess comes closer and pulls him near. “where is it?”
“th-through the nether is the fastest way,” he stutters. “jordan insisted on it, he liked being there even though getting there was‒”
“i can’t take him through the nether like this,” ianite says, strained and desperate. “you don’t know where on the overworld it would be?”
“no,” karl spoke up from the left. “jordan was the only one who could remember. is he going to be alright?”
“he’ll be fine,” mianite murmurs, but jordan picks up on the insincerity, the uneven tone, the waiver in his voice. mianite doesn’t think he’s going to be fine? cool, cool, great. that’s cool. it’s very warm, he thinks. it’s too bright. he turns his head as best he can, feels his neck crack at even the slightest movement, and buries his face into ianite’s side.
“spark, help him steady, please,” ianite orders. almost immediately, there’s someone strong and careful at his other side, familiar in magic, a small connection between them only because of their shared faith. spark’s hands are calloused and worn, but are gentle as the admiral takes one of jordan’s arms‒ the one that isn’t curled up and cramped‒ and pulls it around his shoulder. “martha, andor, are you coming?”
jordan never hears their assent (what he does hear is a small, little voice, a quiet question‒ “sparls?” ‒she still can’t pronounce his name right), but knows they’d say yes‒ perhaps at a chance to see this version of the end, perhaps, however unlikely, to see if he’d be alright. something about how the way his jaw is clenched starts to irritate him and he finally allows himself to open his mouth, just a little, and he feels something drip from his lips and down his chin as he whines, little wordless whispers of prayer escaping him. whatever the pain was before is so much worse, now, and he can’t imagine having ignored it for this long.
“we can’t afford another second,” spark says, way too close to his ears, and jordan whimpers. “lady, we need to go now.”
“but the nether‒”
“won’t hurt him more than the transformation is already doing so.”
“fine,” she finally says. “give me him, carefully, please.”
the sudden movement makes him choke, and it is all she can do to soothe him cradling him close in her arms as something stabs at the bottom of his spine, quiet hushing noises and the gentlest press of lips to his temple. “i’m sorry,” she murmurs. “i should’ve told you.”
told me what, he wonders, but they’re moving now and the sudden agony that rocks him makes him full unlock his jaw and arch away from her grip in a silent scream that has more of that liquid pouring down his chin and cheeks. he hears a shout, distantly, and feels her movement quicken, and another wave of torment washes over him before, thankfully, the world shutters into nothing.
when he wakes up in the end, it’s a mix of emotions. everything is a dull, terrible ache, the battle from earlier taking its toll, finally, mixing with whatever the hell had happened in the aftermath of the arrival of everyone he’s ever cared for that he thought he’d never see. he does want to wonder what happened, but his mind is already so overwhelmed with a million other things‒ the world settling, the cool feeling of obsidian against his cheek where he lay.
the claws where his fingertips had been. the way the world was nothing but bright magic, how his teeth felt sharp enough to cut his tongue in his mouth, the scales on the sides of his face, the point of his ears. the splitting fucking headache.
the weight of wings on his back.
oh, he thinks, sitting up. his vision swims for a second, but it steadies just as fast, and, slowly, he realizes, the ache is fading too, magic snaking around him in soft lavender curls, cold and comforting against the fire under his skin. the look of it is familiar, and he wonders where it’s coming from, but can’t really find it in himself to move from where he’s laying down. it’s too comfortable, he thinks, even without a bed, and closes his eyes again.
“jordan,” someone whispers, and a hand is suddenly petting ever so softly through his hair, tucking loose curls behind his ear. “honey, can i move you, just for a moment?”
he hums quietly in assent, and then feels himself being lifted up by gentle arms. when he’s put down again, there’s a cushion beneath him, feather down and what feels like flowers. he curls up into himself even further, suddenly warmer, suddenly gentler. and then his head is moved to someone’s lap‒ to ianite’s lap, his tired brain recognizes, dragging old memories of late night storybooks into his mind’s eye. her dress is the same fabric he remembers, warm and smooth against the skin and scales of his cheek. her hand keeps petting through his hair, careful to avoid the parts that ache, which he appreciates, and then he feels a silk blanket tossed over him.
“shhh,” she soothes him, pulling fingertips across his temples, and he feels her magic overwhelm him. “just a little more rest now, my boy. you’re safe. you’re home. i have you, my little star.”
her little star, he thinks with a burst of childlike happiness. he is home.
when he wakes up next, he’s in his bedroom in the temple.
not just any temple, he realizes‒ no, he recognizes ianite’s temple, in ianarea, in his home realm. this was his end, this was her temple, this was his birthplace, where he was meant to be. his nest.
his wings flared a little as he struggled to push himself upwards, sitting and breathing deeply, the smell of lavender whirling around him along with that magic from before. but now he remembers what it is. end crystal, he thinks, and looks towards the nightstand where a small version of the pillar crystals sat on a tiny stand, releasing energy in little trailing bursts that float towards him like silk in water. one thin thread of magic in particular drifts towards his head and curls around it like a halo before dissipating into the air.
the door opens, and martha blinks, smiling at him before turning towards the hallway. “he’s up,” she says gently, and turns back to him. “hello, captain.”
“hi, martha,” he says, pulling his knees up to his chest and resting his chin upon them. behind her steps in andor, holding ianita’s hand, and spark, who both nod in greeting‒ andor’s wings seem to ruffle in acknowledgement and delight, his smile widening when jordan, consciously, flexes his own in response. ianita, tucked behind andor now, wiggles her fingers in a little wave, and when jordan waves back, her face brightens.
“are you feeling alright?” spark says, tucking his hands behind his back, and jordan shrugs, hyper aware of the new parts of him that aren’t exactly new.
“i’m okay,” he says. “it’s been a while.”
“you’re starting to remember,” comes another voice, and he turns and smiles warmly towards ianite as she comes into the room, giving her own smile in return. “hello, my light.”
“hi, mom,” he whispers, and feels that warmth blossom in his heart again when her smile gets bigger.
“it’s good to hear you call me that again,” she tells him, coming to sit beside him on the bed. instinctively, he leans into her, and her hand goes to his hair immediately, petting through it gently. “it’s been centuries, my light.”
he hums quietly, trying not to think too much about the implications of that. hundreds of years, torn from her‒ no, he thinks, a rumble in his chest as her hand scratches gently along the base of one of the horns that has sprouted from his head. it’s fine. he has time with her now. and he remembers, now. they both do.
“i should have told you what was going to happen,” she mumbles. “back when you were young, before the universe took you from me. i should have warned you of it.”
“well,” he mumbles. “explain it to me now.”
“i’d... like to hear an explanation as well,” spark says, a little ashamed. “neither of my wife’s children went through the experience he has.”
“mmm, no, i suspected they wouldn’t have. jordan’s birth wasn’t one of normal circumstances,” ianite says, and jordan blinks slowly, comfortable in her hold‒ not tired, though, just drifting, but he does his best to pay attention anyways. “technically, he has no father‒ he was born to me by power of my quintessence alone, a hope and a whisper. i chose to create him not in my image,” she hums, and glances towards ianita, who’s fists tighten into andor’s shirt as she tucks herself further away, “because i knew, eventually, my creator and father would try to find him and take him from me.”
“you knew you were going to be trapped,” jordan murmurs, and spark seems to jolt where he stands. “you knew you’d need someone to keep balance while you were... dying.”
“our world is different,” she continues, addressing spark, “than yours was. the balance here had been waning for years‒ i was long forgotten, here, wiped from the memories of every living being because of the darkness. my son was not born for that reason. i never would have wished the danger of being my champion upon him, but by the time he was born... the darkness knew of him, and had already devastated my presence and power from the world. he was the only one left, even before he was alive. i was still pregnant when the last of my magic was wiped away from the realm. but there is something not even that could destroy, and with nowhere else to go...”
“the soul of the dragon,” martha whispers. “constantly reincarnated, constantly reborn. protector of the end. her oldest companion.”
“the oldest follower, and my oldest creation,” ianite smiles through her tears. “i’d made myself a protector when i was younger‒ a keeper of my dimension, because back then i was so afraid of losing everything. but the dragon cannot be killed, not really‒ so when the darkness tried to reset the end, to wipe it clean of what i was, the soul of the dragon intermingled with my greatest wish and my one last gift to the world.”
“it went to jordan,” spark says, with a long, steady breath. “jordan became the dragon’s next incarnation.”
“he did,” she confirms, scratching her nails gently across his scalp as he purred deep in his throat. “and i knew he would‒ i knew you would,” she says to him, catching his attention again. “and i never told you because i was scared of losing you any more than i already would‒ scared that if you knew early, then the darkness would find you sooner, and you’d be in danger before you could protect yourself.”
“they did anyway,” he sighs. he sits up, regretfully pulling away from ianite’s gentle touch, but keeps his hand close to hers, and she takes it gently, tracing the lines on his palms. “took me to the void and let it try to wipe my memories away‒ it couldn’t, not fully, so instead it pushed them down, locked them away. locked me away in some abandoned ghost of a realm where no one would reach me, until i was old enough that they thought she wouldn’t recognize me.”
“and i didn’t. not until you jumped into the void again.”
“it’s okay,” he says. “it’s okay, we have time. you and me. all of us.”
she sniffs, and turns to him with shining eyes, rubbing circles into his palm with her thumb in a soothing motion. she’d done it to him often when he was young and anxious‒ back before she had been completely forgotten, his uncles had taken them both in, for protection. he remembers meeting followers and champions, remembers making friends with some, remembers how so many had not come back.
remembers the moment dianite had begun to change. remembers how the god of chaos had become more withdrawn from him, more fearful, almost, unsure. he’d stopped ruffling jordan’s hair, stopped being near him at all, soon enough. but outwardly, to champions and followers, he became cruel, and angry, and in extreme cases, violent. he lashed out when his orders weren’t properly obeyed. his appearance changed, too.
but what scared jordan the most was how the shadows moved when no one else was looking. smoke curled around dianite’s ankles, hovered at the back of his neck, or just around the corners behind the throne. what scared jordan the most, back then, was how the shadows reached for him, too, snaking closer and closer when he was in the halls alone, laughing in his ear when the room was too big, and too empty, and too dark.
he remembers the nightmare that haunted him once, so real and so vivid. remembers that the very next day, the shadows caught up to him in the corner of the temple, and how no one came when he called.
“i’m sorry,” she whispers, reaching up to wipe the tears from his face. “i’m so, so sorry.”
“mom,” he says, and puts his hands up to hers. “it’s okay. we’re safe.”
“we’re safe,” ianite repeats, pulling him to her chest again. he relaxes, and feels his wings drop behind him, draping downwards to the bed. at the edge of the room, martha tucks herself into her father’s embrace, ianita jumping up into spark’s arms as well, and andor is tugged into their embrace. the room is warm with magic, the lavender of this realm, the mint of ruxomar, mingling together like incense between all of them, and if he concentrates jordan can feel the last of the second ianite waiting with them, and it makes him gasp quietly, turning to meet eyes with spark.
the admiral smiles wider than jordan’s seen so far, something so genuinely hopeful in it that jordan can only nod.
“there’s still a lot left to do,” ianite says, noticing the exchange. “are you ready, my boy?”
“as long as i still have you,” he tells her, “i can do anything.”
and he means it.