"Good morning, New Warren City. You're listening to Lighthouse Beacon Radio and I, as always, am the Spotlight."

  "It’s been an…eventful last few weeks and we’re here, one last time, to make sure you know the truth."

  "Our top story. Mayor Bumble has announced he is stepping down from his position as mayor due to immense public demand after officials investigated the claims made by financier and admitted arsonist, Sparks of Life, on this very station. Several city officials went with him, leaving a skeleton crew to run the government until emergency elections could be held. Newly appointed City Controller John Murray asked for 'patience and solidarity' while city hall is put back in working order."

  "With the death of former crime kingpin Don Vincent Pazienza, authorities have been systematically tearing down his expansive empire. Indictments are being handed down at every level of the organization. Among those charged is the former defense attorney Gaul Sootmin, now facing prosecution for evidence suppression and for the murder of detective Sam Burrows—thanks to testimony from private investigator Buck Piper. May you finally rest in peace, Sam."

  "Earlier, we had shared news about the attempted apprehension of the Cremation Killer during a conflagration in Hollow Den Park. While authorities were unable to take the suspect alive due to outside interference, they released the name of the killer as Tim Longtooth, a waiter at the popular Grenda's Diner in Caverlock. Grenda herself has declined to comment. His identity allowed police to track down the one responsible for the killer's creation, Taurence Kleft, who is currently in custody and serving a life sentence."

  "In related news, after an extensive stay in New Warren General's burn ward, The Crimson Lotus, a.k.a Sparks of Life, voluntarily turned himself over to authorities quoting a promise that needed to be kept. Multiple charges were levied against him but an overwhelming amount of community support was present. Hundreds of citizens applied to speak on the tabbi's behalf, including our very own and newly promoted fire chief, Rovert Trinity, who had nothing but glowing remarks in regards to his recent actions in what officials have dubbed 'The Eidolon Event'. Emergency appointed judge Bob Withers passed down a heavily commuted sentence of six months jail time with 200 hours of community service."

  "On the law-enforcement front, police lieutenant Zywrath announced his departure from the force, citing the need for ‘judgement unclouded by badge or bureaucracy.’ He intends to resume practicing law and eventually become a judge this city can rely on for years to come."

  "A more recent development, the Crystal Meadows Country Club was shut down and the land divided up for public works. The first addition was a new soup kitchen, led by a former Aethercorp employee. Groubledon's Grub is open to all, whether you need a bite to eat or want to volunteer to help out your fellow neighbors. This is the kind of news I love to see."

  "Finally, it is with a heavy heart that I announce Lighthouse Beacon Radio will be shutting down. Our message was never meant to last forever—it was meant to light the way. And now, that light lives within you. Thank you for listening. Thank you for fighting. Thank you for seeking the truth."

  "Stay safe out there, New Warren City. This is the Spotlight, signing off."

  *  *  *

  Paul hung up his headphones with a deep, contented sigh. Lighthouse Beacon Radio might be done, but its legacy wasn’t. Tomorrow morning the Lighthouse Dispatch would take its place. A new voice for the city, built on the same foundation of truth. He stepped out of the sound booth and into the Dispatch’s new bullpen, where ringing phones and shouting reporters blended with the noise of ongoing repairs. New Warren hadn’t stopped and neither had the news.

  Down the hallway, the conference room door was already half open. Krouri stood at the head of the table, gesturing over two mock-up articles while her parents argued amicably on either side of her.

  "I want differing opinions," Krouri insisted. "That’s the whole point. We don’t print a single narrative—we print all of them and let the public make informed decisions."

  Simon pointed to one article. "Even so, I still think we should look closer at Merson’s campaign finances. He swears he never met Sootmin, but there are too many overlaps. That can’t go unreported."

  "And someone needs to remind people that Newlins was tied to both Aethercorp and the Eidolon Event," Akri added, calm but pointed. "We can’t let that slip out of the public consciousness just because there’s flashier news."

  Krouri nodded in approval. "Sounds like a plan. Paul, how’s the new radio setup treating you?"

  "It’s great!" Paul answered with a smile. "We’re ready to debut at eight tomorrow morning."

  "Spotty? You got a new crossword lined up?" All eyes fell on the tabbi leaning back in her chair with her feet on the table, tapping away at some game on her phone. Without looking up she snapped her gum and gave a quick thumbs up. "Thatta’ girl." Krouri praised.

  Paul cleared his throat and lifted a hand. "Sorry, one question. Is Sparks of Life actually running for mayor? That isn’t, like…satire?"

  Krouri tried—and failed—not to smile. "Nope. It's real. And we're going to treat it as seriously as any other campaign bid. He certainly has the popular vote locked down."

  "I heard Commissioner Chorus will be mediating the first set of debates," Paul added.

  "That reminds me…" Krouri fished into her vest, pulling out a card and setting it on the table. A wedding photo accompanied it: Lieutenant Yanni in a gorgeous white dress. Captain Rovert beaming in a tux beside her. The two newlyweds framed by a setting sun that looked suspiciously like a fireball painted across the sky.

  Akri smiled softly. "It was a beautiful ceremony. Honestly, I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner."

  Krouri clapped her hands. "All right! You’ve all got your assignments." She paused, then looked down at her notes. "One last thing. The construction should finish this weekend so we’ll all have a reprieve next week. That being said, in case I miss you Illani, I’ll announce this now. The office in the south east corner is yours."

  Illani blinked. "Mine? But…that’s the Editor-in-Chief’s office."

  Krouri grinned. "Yes. And it needs an Editor-in-Chief. With Mom and Dad retiring, I’m taking over publisher duties. Which means I need someone I trust running the newsroom. Think you can handle it?"

  The silence built. Illani’s hands flew up to her mouth. Then—"YES! Yes, absolutely. YES!"

  The room erupted with cheers, laughter and congratulations. As Paul stepped past Krouri, he gently touched her shoulder. "Hey, you’re going to Hazelnut’s barbecue, right?"

  "Of course! More people to celebrate with."

  *  *  *

  Hazelnut turned the little radio perched on the picnic table from Paul’s sign-off to a gentle jazz station. Smooth horns and soft piano drifted out across the park, mixing with laughter and the squeals of children playing tag between the trees. Nearly all the tenants from her building were there, lounging on blankets, piling food onto paper plates, shouting greetings and stories across the open grass. It was a rare thing in New Warren City. A day with no emergencies to solve.

  She smiled at the thought of Feng insisting she take "at least a month" before starting her official role. "You saved the city," he’d said. "You can afford to enjoy it first."

  "Food’s ready, Miss Hazelnut!" Iggy shouted from the grill. His growth spurt had struck hard and the little vole had shot up several inches, earning himself the honorary title of "assistant chef" from Spid the porcupine, who manned the coals like a master. Iggy gave her a proud two-handed wave.

  Hazelnut waved back and turned toward the group of little ones gathered around Carl’s wheelchair, hanging on his every word. "All right, kids!" she called. "Line up for kabobs or they’re all going to Krouri!"

  There was a mass shriek–laugh as they bolted away, Carl chuckling behind them.

  Hazelnut moved to help Carl up off the bench and back into his motorized chair. "Can I grab a plate for you?"

  He shook his head with a wry smile. "Nah. I forgot my meds. Got to head back up and grab ’em."

  "Do you want me to take you?" Hazelnut offered. "Or I can just run up and get them. It's no trouble!"

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  "And give up the chance for another elevator ride? Not on your life!" Carl joked, laughing to himself as he zipped away.

  Hazelnut watched him go, then brushed a bit of pollen from the park bench and sat down. The brass plaque set into the wood caught the light:

  Dedicated to our son, Brandon.

  She rested a hand gently over it for a moment. The apartment complex was still finding its rhythm—but it was a new rhythm. Poppy was interning at city hall. Widget had moved out to dance at the lounge much to Goldie's delight. New neighbors, like Spid, had already begun weaving themselves into the building’s small-town tapestry. Somehow, after everything, life just…continued.

  Hazelnut looked down at her hand—at the tiny heart‐shaped scar left by Kindling’s parting touch. It still tingled sometimes, when she was quiet like this.

  She closed her eyes.

  Wherever you are, she thought, hand pressed over the mark, I hope you’re safe. I hope you’re happy.

  A warm breeze moved across the park. Church bells rang in the distance. A new song started on the radio with a singer trilling the first few soft, bright notes.

  She opened her eyes and smiled.

  *  *  *

  The bells at Our Lady of Mercy finished ringing the hour. Sparks—still a bit patchy and a little sore—stood at a folding table in the church basement and took a sip of the free coffee. It wasn’t good, exactly, but it was warm. That was enough. He adjusted the collar of his borrowed suit (itchy, missing a button, possibly older than the church itself) and tried not to fidget. The idea for a support group had come to him halfway through his sentence after overhearing two other parolees quietly grieving their now-silent Eidolons. There were others like him. People who’d bonded and lost, then left with an absence no one else could see. So, he’d rented the church basement for a gathering every other Sunday. Even if one person showed up, it would be worth it. Worth the service hours…and worth the effort.

  The door opened.

  One person. Two. Then five. More than a dozen refugees from the Eidolon Event trickled inside—students, retirees, laborers, a tired-looking shopkeeper—and Sparks felt his heart twist with something dangerously close to gratitude.

  They came.

  He counted heads against chairs as they filed in. More than he had estimated. He hurried to get more chairs from the stack. Another hand reached for the same one. Sparks turned, a "thanks" already on his tongue.

  Leo. Awkward in a simple jacket and jeans, holding the folding chair in front of him like a shield.

  "…Leo," Sparks said, softly. "It's good to see you. I was hoping you'd come."

  The hamster briefly met his eye. "Sparks." He placed the chair down gingerly and went to grab another.

  That was enough.

  When everyone had gathered in a circle, the introductions began. One by one, stories of strange powers, of voices that comforted or challenged, and then the horrible quiet of having that voice go silent. Leo shared, too. He was coaching a little league breakball team now, and that maybe it had helped a little.

  Finally, it was Sparks’ turn.

  He rose slowly, rubbing his thumb across his palm. The pad of his hand bore a lotus-shaped scar. Kindling’s parting gift.

  "Hello," he said. "I’m Sparks of Life…but please, Sparks is fine."

  "Hi, Sparks," the group returned.

  "You probably know me as the Crimson Lotus. That chapter of my life is over. These days I’ve been focusing on pyrography—wood burning." He lifted a small wooden plank and passed his palm over it. A gentle fwoosh and glow. When he turned it towards them, a delicate lotus flower was seared into the wood. There was a smattering of polite applause.

  "As for what I'm looking to gain from this…aside from the obvious hours towards my sentence," he added, earning a small ripple of laughter, "I'm looking for peace. Closure for something so intrinsically linked to you in such an indescribable way that you can't imagine life without them. Having that suddenly torn away leaves a hole. An empty, painful void. And if you try to fill that space with the wrong things—" he hesitated, remembering Buck's drunken anger that night. "—it only gets worse."

  He glanced around the circle, but his gaze lingered on Leo.

  "But it does get easier. It never goes away—not completely—but it gets lighter to carry. I used to spend all my time looking up—searching for something I’d lost, wishing against every star in the skywall for something that will never exist again."

  Sparks looked down at his own feet.

  "Recently, I read something that made a lot of sense to me. It asked: ‘What is the most important step a person can take?’ I used to think it was the first one." He gave a small, fragile smile. "It’s not. It’s the next. And the next. Always the next. You have to keep moving forward."

  *  *  *

  A motorcycle roared up the city street. It was quiet. Early evening. The rain was dying down as the bike turned onto a side street and rolled up a small hill. The engine switched off. A figure kicked the stand out and set it to park. He pulled a bouquet of flowers from inside his coat. Walking through the field of markers, he stopped at one. He grinned, the lamplight reflecting off a bony sneer.

  The headstone gleamed in the lamplight, already marked with tributes: a half-empty bottle of expensive wine, a feather striped in green and white with its quill dipped black, and a single matchbook. Buck smiled faintly at the offerings, set the bouquet at the base, and knelt. The stone inscription read:

  Sam Burrows.

  Friend. Partner.

  Brother. Savior.

  He spoke aloud to the stone. "I figured out that last case, by the way. The husband stole his own wife's jewelry to pay off his gambling debts and blamed it on the nosy neighbor. Now the neighbor is suing. Thanks for your help on that."

  Buck uncapped a flask and poured a little of the amber liquid onto the dirt. "I've been doing okay. Nightmares are finally gone. Been sleeping like a baby the last few nights, no booze required. Goldie's keeping me honest and making sure I see my sponsor." He put the flask away and pulled out a challenge coin with a grin. "Gonna get my one year coin if I keep this up." His face sobered. "I still miss ya, buddy. Hope you’re raising hell, wherever you are."

  He pushed to his feet, brushing off his pants. "Dunno if you've heard, but they're re-opening the lounge tonight. Supposed to be a big deal. Goldie said she had some kind of surprise for me, whatever that means." A grin tugged at his face. "Shut up."

  The Glittering Starlight Lounge sparkled away, its luster fully restored. He approached the doors and was stopped by a familiar meaty paw. Magically tattooed flames stretched up the arm to the shoulder, dancing along his scars.

  "Hey Buck, staying away from the alcohol?"

  "Depends. Is there any left after your massive hump broke everything in the bar?"

  Louie smirked, then both men cracked up, slapping each other playfully. "Get in there, man. She's waiting for you."

  Inside, the lounge was alive again. Black velvet and polished stone, light glinting off shimmering crystal, the chatter of a crowd that had nearly lost this place forever. A waitress guided him to a semi-circle booth near the stage and set down an order of mozzarella sticks.

  "Compliments of the gentleman at the bar," she winked.

  Buck glanced over. Sitting with his back to him, a scruffy, orange furred tabbi in a terrible suit raised a glass into the air.

  He was suddenly flanked by two more guests. "Happy birthday Buck!" Hazelnut cheered, handing him a gaudily wrapped present. Krouri echoed the sentiment from his other side.

  "Ladies, it's still not my birthday," he shot back with a chuckle.

  "We know," Krouri replied. "We got you something anyway."

  "Open it! OPEN IT!" Hazelnut urged excitedly.

  He tore the wrapping paper off to reveal a small, unmarked box. Inside was a brand-new Slate phone.

  "It's the latest model!" Hazelnut grabbed it and showed him how to turn it on. "I already programmed it with all of our numbers. Goldie's is here under Favorites."

  Buck accepted the phone with stunned silence. It was a truly thoughtful gift. "Thank you," he managed.

  The house lights dimmed. The curtain swept aside. Goldie appeared in a gown of molten gold, heels clicking with every step. The crowd erupted in applause, but her eyes never left Buck. "Good evening ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to the grand re-opening of the Glittering Starlight Lounge!" she cried, radiant. The room thundered its approval. "Thank you all so much for coming out on this very special night. It means so much to me to see all your faces back again. For my first song, I thought I might share with you a little number I've been working on for someone very special. Call it an early birthday present."

  And then she began to sing.

  Her voice soared, velvet and fire all at once. Every note, every lyric, seemed to unspool right into Buck’s chest:

  Hearts that sigh between each beat,

  Eyes that draw our gaze to meet.

  When a lilting song becomes the answer,

  To questions asked upon a lonely dancer.

  I hope you will see this through,

  And love yourself as I love you.

  I will hold you close, my dear, 'til your regrets disappear.

  I will join you in your fight, see your world in black and white.

  You who’ve hidden from my heart, but could not keep us apart.

  As the lounge filled with her voice, Buck closed his eyes and let himself believe—maybe for the first time in years—that he was exactly where he was meant to be.

  ---Epilogue---

  Illani hopped down the front steps of the new Dispatch building, her heart so full she felt like she might float. Tomorrow the real work began, and she was determined not to let Krouri’s faith in her go to waste. All she had to do was stay true to herself. That’s what made a good reporter. That’s what made her.

  She paused at the curb, breathing in the familiar city air. It was sharper now, cleaner somehow. A rustle at her cuff made her giggle. She held out her hand. The head of a brilliant white dove poked free, curious, tilting as though it were studying her. Its eyes gleamed with something older, deeper, more searching than any bird’s had a right to be.

  "Okay, okay," Illani whispered with a smile. "You can come out. Just don’t go too far."

  The dove slipped from her sleeve in a shimmer of radiant light. Its wings stretched wide, dazzling white, save for a single primary feather blazing an impossible blue. With a rush of air, it lifted skyward, circling above the Dispatch, above Illani, above the whole humming city.

  The last Eidolon still bound to the physical plane.

  The Eidolon of Hope.

  Did you have a favorite character amongst the main 4?