Blue fire burns in my hand and I know I have the magic again. After all this time, hiking across the barren desert, watching those sent with me die along the way.
Well. We can fix that.
I raise my hands and call a wind, and the bodies rise. They will never be fully whole, but they still have lives to live. They may be the only ones who still believe in me.
Beside me, Macor, the only one left, asks me what I am doing.
I tell him I am returning to claim my throne.
That throne was only yours if you could reclaim your arts in a year, Macor reminds me.
I tell him it doesn’t matter. There are more bodies here than those that came with me, more bodies to call to my cause. So many travellers lost to this desert, called by rumours of riches and magic. My wind raises them all, brings them to their feet, ready to follow my every command. These bodies cannot be killed by sword, and my brother has no sorcery. He will not be able to stand against my army. My gift has returned to me, and with it, my way to the throne.
We begin to walk the long path home.