Before I could say anything more, the Wanderer’s body stiffened. His white eyes glowed brightly, his arms outstretched, and a deep, resounding call emanated from his lungs, like a low, musical note that should have been impossible for his human vocal cords to produce. It made the very building beneath me shake.
Instantly, every dragon in the vicinity angled toward the tower. At first I counted ten, then twenty. As more materialized from the darkness, flapping their wings to fly toward the building, all the Blighters in the streets below quieted. A few gunshots sounded, but soon they, too, dimmed to nothing.
And still, the call went out. The Wanderer did not pause for breath. The dragons bore down on us, their white eyes fiery with violence. More rose from the streets below until at least fifty dragons were headed our way.
The forerunner of the dragons was only seconds away, coming at us full speed.
The Wanderer’s call ceased. The dragons hovered in midair, waiting for…something. The Wanderer’s form was completely still, as if he had turned to stone.
Then, in a multitude of screeches, the dragons turned away, diving once again for the Los Angeles streets.
I watched over the edge of the building as they swooped between buildings. High-pitched shrieks sounded as the dragons began ripping into the Blighters that advanced past the long wall. Both Perseus and Orion moved among the dragons, not firing on them, recognizing that the Wanderer had done his work and that the dragons were now on our side — at least for the moment.
The Wanderer fell to one knee. I grabbed him by the shoulders. His body was hunched and pained.
“Wanderer,” I said. I felt weird calling him that; it seemed as if I should know his proper name by now. For all I knew, Wanderer was his proper name.
He looked at me. His eyes were fading — their power had been drained.
“It is done,” he managed. “You know what you must do. There is strength inside that you do not even know…your own hidden power.”
He fell forward as I watched with horror. He didn’t move, and I couldn’t believe.
“No…”
As the dragons above the city continued to scream and attack Askala’s swarm, and as Perseus and Orion lent their aid from the air, I knew that the Wanderer was really gone. The entirety of his spirit had taken control of the dragons.
I reached for my radio.
“This is Alex,” I said. “It’s…done. The Wanderer’s dead.”
It was a moment before Ashton answered.
“Copy that. The dragons are turning on the horde right now. We’re coming to pick you up.”
“Got that. I’ll…I’ll be here.”
I stood there, the cold wind whipping at my face. I looked down at the Wanderer’s lifeless body. He stared upward, his eyes dark and no longer white. The only movement was the wind ruffling his worn, brown robe.
I was so drained of emotion that it was hard to feel anything. I knelt beside the Wanderer’s body, touching his shoulder. I gave him a slight shake, in the vain hope that he might still be alive.
But it wasn’t to be. It was then that the reality of the Wanderer’s death hit me in full force. My throat tightened as hopelessness welled up within. I hated this feeling; it reminded me too much of losing my father, losing Khloe. I didn’t know what I was going to do without the Wanderer. He was the only one who knew how to fight the war against the Radaskim.
Now, there was only me, and I definitely wasn’t cut out for this.
The Wanderer had told me that I was supposed to lead the Elekai, and that was too much for a sixteen-year-old kid who didn’t know what the hell he was doing. The Wanderer had the wisdom of the Elekai collected over eons, where I had only sixteen years, most of which was spent living a sheltered existence underground. If there was anyone who couldn’t do this, it was me.
The last thing he said was to go back to the Elekai. That meant returning to the Xenolith. I didn’t know what was going to happen there, but I wasn’t really looking forward to it.
I couldn’t be plain, boring Alex anymore. I thought of who the Wanderer was. He was a vast reservoir of knowledge with access to all the memories of an entire alien race. What would that do to me? Would I still be the same person?
Landing lights flashed above, but I lay sprawled on the rooftop right next to the Wanderer. He had saved the city, but the price was now clear: it was all on me, now. If I couldn’t do it, then no one could.
I probably looked as dead as the Wanderer by the time Perseus touched down. The building vibrated upon the ship’s landing. The engine gave out its deep hum, and the wind blew almost violently. The screams of dragons carried in the air.
The ship’s drive idled. I waited a moment longer, not ready to get up and face reality.
I felt a hand on my shoulder. “Alex!”
I turned and saw Anna’s face. I shielded my eyes because the landing lights were so bright and pointing right at me. She held me in her arms, pulling me into her embrace.
“I thought you were dead,” she said.
She pulled back, looking me in the eyes. “What’s wrong?”
I couldn’t look at her. Not directly. “I don’t know what to do, with him gone…”
Anna’s eyes went over to the Wanderer. By now, Makara, Samuel, and Julian stood nearby.
“We need to return him to the Elekai,” I said. “As soon as possible.”
“Alright,” Makara said. “I can let Augustus know. He can hold Carin in check until we get back.”
“What about those dragons, though?” Julian asked. “What if they…turn?”
Makara sighed. “I don’t know. But Alex is right. We need to get the Wanderer back home as soon as possible. Maybe…maybe he really isn’t dead. Maybe if that stuff could heal Anna, it can heal him as well.”
I wasn’t holding out much hope for any miracle. The Wanderer had been pretty clear this was the end for him. Some things you just couldn’t come back from.
“We need to get moving,” I said. “The Wanderer wanted to make me leader of the Elekai. I don’t know what’s involved in that…but it’s something we should do sooner rather than later. I need to get back to the Xenolith.”
“Let’s get on board, then,” Samuel said.
I stood. Everyone’s focus went to the Wanderer. His form was still. A truth came to me that must have haunted many people throughout the ages: no matter how much the world changed, death and its finality would not.
Everyone helped me lift his body. It was light with all five of us bearing it. We walked to the ship, as if in a dream. I didn’t know what I was doing, and I still didn’t know how long I had left to be me, Alex Keener, or how long I had left to be alive.
The clock was counting down on both.
We stood in Perseus’s wardroom. The clinic’s bed had been placed in the center of the hold, and the Wanderer was laid on the bed. His eyes, now brown, stared at the ceiling, lifeless. His hood had fallen, and his long, gray hair spread out, some of it tumbling over the bedside. His weathered face spoke the story of a man who had seen much. His form was thin — very thin. If I hadn’t had known better, I would have said this man had died from his long years, not battle.
Several of the hardened Raiders wiped tears from their eyes. Both Makara’s and Anna’s eyes were wet with the tears, and Samuel’s face was grave.
It was up to me to say something about the Wanderer and his final moments.