Chapter 7 A New Era

I woke to the sound of children's laughter.

For a moment, I couldn't place where I was. The ceiling above me was unfamiliar—high and vaulted, with wooden beams that reminded me of the Frostclaw fortress. But the scent in the air was different, a curious blend of werewolf musk and witch herbs that shouldn't exist in the same space.

Memory returned in fragments. The shattered celestial artifacts. The dying vampire Master. Calder collapsing with silver poison spreading through his veins. And then... the forbidden spell.

I tried to sit up, only to find my body frustratingly weak, as if I'd been bedridden for weeks. My hair fell forward across my shoulders, and I froze in shock. Where once it had been rich silver-gray like all Stargazers, it was now pure white, bleached of all color.

"The price of Life Weaving," came a familiar voice from the doorway. "Though you're fortunate it only took your hair and not your life."

"Grandmother?" I turned to see her approaching my bedside, looking older and more tired than when we'd parted, but smiling nonetheless.

She took my hand, her eyes examining me with professional assessment. "The healers said you'd wake today. Your life force is finally stabilizing."

"How long—"

"Three weeks," she answered before I could finish. "You've been drifting between consciousness and sleep, never fully waking until now."

Three weeks. The realization hit me hard. "Calder," I said, suddenly frantic. "Is he—"

"Alive, thanks to you." Her expression softened. "Though he's been driving everyone to distraction, refusing to leave your side except when absolutely necessary for council meetings."

Relief washed over me, so profound I felt tears spring to my eyes. "The spell worked."

"At great risk to yourself," she chided gently. "Life Weaving isn't meant to be attempted by even the most experienced witches, let alone one who had just shattered two ancient artifacts and closed an interdimensional doorway."

I managed a weak smile. "When you put it that way, it does sound a bit ambitious."

She didn't return my smile. "You nearly died, Rowan. The only thing that saved you was your binding with Calder—it created a circuit of energy between you. As you gave him life, he unconsciously returned strength to you. Without that connection..." She didn't need to finish the thought.

I looked down at my wrist, where the binding mark still glowed faintly. "And the children? They're safe?"

"All ten are recovered and reunited with their families," she confirmed. "Though they'll carry the memory of their ordeal for some time."

I nodded, relief mingling with lingering concern. "And the vampires?"

"Scattered after their Master's death. Without his power holding them together, the lesser vampires fled back to their individual territories." Her expression turned thoughtful. "Though I suspect we haven't seen the last of them. Eternal beings tend to hold eternal grudges."

A noise from the doorway drew our attention. Calder stood there, frozen mid-step as if afraid to believe what he was seeing. He looked different than I remembered—his hair longer, his face leaner, with new lines around his eyes that hadn't been there before. But the most striking change was the absence of his star iron collar, his neck bare for the first time since I'd known him.

"You're awake," he said, his voice rough with emotion.

My grandmother patted my hand and rose gracefully. "I'll leave you two alone. Don't overtax yourself, Rowan. Your strength will return gradually, not all at once."

She passed Calder in the doorway, touching his arm briefly in a gesture that spoke of a new understanding between them. When she was gone, he approached my bedside slowly, almost cautiously, as if I might disappear if he moved too quickly.

"Your hair," he said softly, reaching out to touch a strand of the white locks.

"A small price," I replied, my voice steadier than I felt. "Considering the alternative."

He sat on the edge of the bed, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body—werewolves always ran warmer than humans or witches. "You shouldn't have done it."

"Let you die?" I raised an eyebrow. "That wasn't an option."

"You risked everything—"

"As did you," I interrupted, "when you put yourself between those children and the Master."

We stared at each other for a long moment, each recognizing the stubborn determination in the other. Finally, his expression softened into a reluctant smile.

"We make quite a pair, don't we?"

"The Starfire Twins," I agreed wryly. "Recklessly self-sacrificing since... how long has it been since we met? A month? Two?"

"Feels like a lifetime." His hand found mine, our binding marks touching and sending a warm pulse through my weakened body. "And also like no time at all."

I looked around the unfamiliar room. "Where are we? This isn't the fortress or my clan's keep."

"The old border watchtower, halfway between our territories," he explained. "It's been renovated as a neutral meeting place. The councils have been gathering here to discuss the new alliance."

"New alliance?" I repeated, surprised.

His expression turned serious. "Much has happened while you've been recovering. After what transpired in the vampire city—the abduction of our children, the ritual, your sacrifice—both clans agreed that we can no longer afford to stand divided."

Hope stirred within me. "They're actually working together? Werewolves and witches?"

"Not without friction," he admitted. "Centuries of distrust don't disappear overnight. But yes, the foundation is being laid. The councils have been meeting almost daily, with your grandmother and Elder Thorne leading the discussions."

I tried to absorb this information, amazed at how much had changed. "And where do you fit into all this? Surely your people need their prince back at the fortress."

A shadow crossed his face. "There have been... complications. Vane wasn't the only traitor within our ranks. Several council members who opposed the alliance have been exposed as vampire sympathizers."

"How? Did they confess?"

"In a manner of speaking." His smile was grim. "Once the binding between us fully stabilized after your spell, some unexpected abilities manifested. I can now sense deception—literally smell when someone is lying."

I blinked in surprise. "That's... convenient for a ruler."

"And unsettling for those being ruled," he added dryly. "It's caused quite the stir in council sessions."

I found myself smiling despite the seriousness of our discussion. The image of Calder sniffing out lies among pompous council members was oddly satisfying.

"And what about me?" I asked, growing more curious about these developments. "Has our binding given me any unexpected abilities?"

His expression turned thoughtful. "Your grandmother believes so, though they may not manifest until you're fully recovered. She mentioned something about your prophetic visions becoming more controlled, more directed."

That would be a welcome change. Throughout my life, my visions had been chaotic, overwhelming without my pendant to control them. The thought of being able to access that power without losing myself to it was tantalizing.

"Speaking of my pendant..." I touched my bare throat, feeling strangely vulnerable without the familiar weight of the emerald.

"Gone," Calder confirmed. "Along with my collar. Both were consumed in the magical backlash when the celestial artifacts shattered."

I nodded slowly, processing this. "And the artifacts themselves? The Moon Tear and Star Fragment?"

"Transformed," he said, reaching into a pouch at his belt. "Into these."

He opened his palm to reveal two small, glowing objects—twin crystals, one silvery-blue like moonlight, the other golden like a distant star. They were considerably smaller than the original artifacts, but pulsed with the same ancient power.

"They reformed after the explosion," he explained. "Smaller, but possibly more potent. Your grandmother believes they've been purified somehow, stripped of the corrupting influence that had affected them over the centuries."

I reached out tentatively to touch them. The moment my fingers made contact, warmth spread up my arm, and the crystals lifted slightly, hovering just above Calder's palm.

"They respond to both of us now," he said softly. "Neither witch nor wolf alone, but both together."

The implications were staggering. These artifacts had once been the most powerful magical objects known to our peoples, coveted and fought over for generations. Now they appeared to have bonded to us specifically, recognizing us as their rightful guardians.

"What happens now?" I asked, withdrawing my hand. The crystals settled back onto his palm.

"That depends," he said, returning them to his pouch, "on how quickly you recover. And what you want to do next."

There was something in his tone—a question not quite asked, an invitation not fully extended. I studied his face, noting the careful neutrality of his expression that couldn't quite mask the intensity in his amber eyes.

"The councils are establishing a new institution," he continued when I didn't immediately respond. "A place where young witches and werewolves can learn together, where the old knowledge can be preserved and new alliances forged. They're calling it the Star Fire Academy."

"On the old battleground," I guessed, remembering the prophecy. "Where our peoples once fought each other."

He nodded. "The foundation stones were laid last week. Construction begins in earnest once the spring thaw arrives."

"And they need leaders," I surmised, beginning to understand where this was heading.

"They've asked us to oversee it together." His gaze held mine steadily. "As equals. Co-guardians of the new generation."

My heart quickened at the proposal. Not just the official position—though that was significant enough—but the underlying personal commitment it represented. Calder wasn't just asking me to help lead an academy; he was asking me to build a future with him.

Before I could formulate a response, a commotion erupted outside my door—children's voices, excited and insistent, followed by an adult's attempts to quiet them.

"The young ones have been asking about you daily," Calder explained with a small smile. "The rescued children. They've been staying here while the academy's residential quarters are prepared."

"Let them in," I said, finding myself suddenly eager for their company. "I'm well enough for visitors."

He hesitated. "Are you certain? You've only just woken properly—"

"I'm certain," I interrupted firmly. "I'd like to see who we risked everything to save."

With a nod, he moved to the door and opened it. Immediately, a wave of small bodies surged into the room—werewolf pups in human form and young witches, no longer segregated by species but mixed together as children naturally do when left to their own devices.

"She's awake!" cried a young witch girl with curly brown hair. "We told you she would wake up today!"

"Is your hair really white because you fought the blood-king?" asked one of the werewolf boys, his eyes wide with wonder.

"Did you really explode the vampire city?" demanded another witch child.

"Can you show us how to make silver vines?" a particularly bold werewolf girl asked, climbing directly onto the foot of my bed without invitation.

I laughed, overwhelmed by their enthusiasm and rapid-fire questions. "One at a time, please! I've only just woken up, and my head is still a bit foggy."

They settled around me—on the bed, on the floor, perched on nearby furniture—all staring with unabashed curiosity and admiration. I noticed how the werewolf children and witch children interacted with easy familiarity, no trace of the ancient prejudice that had divided their parents' generations.

"First," I said, looking at each eager face in turn, "I want to know your names, and one thing you like to do. Who wants to start?"

For the next half hour, I listened as they introduced themselves and shared snippets of their lives. The werewolf children spoke of running in the forests, climbing impossible heights, and wrestling competitions. The young witches described their first magical accomplishments—floating leaves, speaking to small animals, calling tiny flames to their fingertips.

Throughout, Calder remained by my side, occasionally adding a comment or gently reining in overly boisterous behavior. I was struck by how naturally he interacted with the children, firm but kind, authoritative without being intimidating. He would make an excellent teacher, I realized—and perhaps, someday, a father.

The thought came unbidden, but once present, impossible to dismiss. I watched him demonstrate a simple tracking technique to an attentive werewolf boy, his large hands gentle as he guided the child's movements.

Eventually, a witch elder I didn't recognize appeared to shepherd the children away for their afternoon lessons, despite vocal protests that they weren't finished visiting yet.

"You can see Lady Rowan again tomorrow," the elder promised, "if she's feeling up to it."

When we were alone again, I found myself smiling despite my lingering weakness. "They're remarkable."

"They've been through a traumatic experience," Calder said, "yet children are resilient in ways adults often aren't. They've formed their own little pack—werewolf and witch together, protecting each other."

"The future of our alliance," I murmured, thinking of the proposed academy and what it could mean for generations to come.

"Which brings us back to the question at hand." He turned to face me fully. "Will you join me in building this new beginning, Rowan? Not just as my binding partner, but as my equal in all things?"

The intensity in his amber eyes took my breath away. This wasn't simply about a professional partnership or a political alliance. This was about us—what we had become to each other, what we could be together.

"Is this a proposal, wolf prince?" I asked, my voice softer than intended.

"Of several kinds," he admitted, taking my hand. "The councils would have us lead the academy together. But I would have us be more than that."

My heart raced as he continued, his voice deepening with emotion.

"I never expected to find understanding, let alone... more... with a witch. When you first broke into our temple to steal the Moon Tear, I saw only an enemy." A faint smile touched his lips. "But then I saw your courage, your determination, your willingness to sacrifice for those you care about. And somewhere between binding ceremony and battlefield, between arguments and shared dangers, I found myself unable to imagine a future without you in it."

I swallowed hard, emotions threatening to overwhelm me. "Even with my stubborn ways? My tendency to act first and think later?"

"Especially with those," he countered, his smile widening. "They match my own flaws rather well, I think."

He reached into his pocket and withdrew something small that glinted in the afternoon light streaming through the window—a delicate ring crafted from what appeared to be star iron and silver intertwined, with a small moonstone at its center.

"This was my mother's," he said quietly. "Given to her by my father when they chose each other, before political necessity made their union official."

He held it out, a question in his eyes that needed no words.

I looked at the ring, then at our still-joined hands where the binding marks glowed softly against our skin. So much had changed since that night I'd slipped into the temple seeking only to reclaim a stolen artifact. The woman I had been then would never have imagined this moment—certainly would never have welcomed it.

Yet here I was, my heart full of feelings I hadn't known I was capable of, facing a future I couldn't have dreamed.

"The binding might fade someday," I said carefully. "Without the original artifacts to sustain it."

"Then we'll create our own binding," he replied without hesitation. "One based not on prophecy or magical artifacts, but on choice. On what we've built together."

I thought of the children we'd saved, of the academy we were being asked to lead, of the nascent alliance between our peoples that remained fragile but full of promise. I thought of the long journey from enemies to reluctant allies to... this. Whatever this was becoming.

"Yes," I said simply, extending my hand. "To all of it."

His smile was radiant as he slipped the ring onto my finger, where it nestled perfectly beside the glowing binding mark. He leaned forward, cupping my face with one hand, and kissed me—gently at first, then with growing intensity as I responded in kind.

When we finally parted, both slightly breathless, I found myself laughing softly.

"What's amusing?" he asked, looking slightly puzzled.

"Just thinking about how scandalized both our clans would have been by this a few months ago," I explained. "A werewolf prince and a witch Stargazer."

"They'll adjust," he said confidently. "Many already have. Though I suspect some of the older council members may require smelling salts when we make the announcement."

I sobered slightly. "It won't be easy, you know. Centuries of prejudice and mistrust don't disappear overnight, even with a dramatic shared victory."

"Nothing worthwhile ever is easy," he agreed. "But we've faced vampires, closed an interdimensional doorway, and survived forbidden magic. I think we can handle a few disapproving elders."

His confidence was infectious, and I found myself believing him. Perhaps not immediately, perhaps not without setbacks, but we could indeed forge this new path together.

A knock at the door interrupted us. Elder Thorne entered, looking surprised but pleased to find me awake.

"Stargazer," he greeted me formally, though his eyes were warm. "It is good to see you returned to the land of the living. You've been sorely missed in the council discussions."

"So I've heard," I replied. "Though it sounds like you and my grandmother have managed admirably without me."

He inclined his head in acknowledgment. "We've made progress, yes. But many decisions await your input—both of you." His gaze moved between Calder and me, noting our clasped hands and, I suspected, the ring now adorning my finger.

If he had any reaction to this development, he kept it professional. "When you're feeling strong enough, the joint council would appreciate your presence. There are matters regarding the academy and the reformed artifacts that require your unique perspectives."

"Tomorrow," Calder said firmly before I could respond. "She needs at least another day of rest."

I arched an eyebrow at him. "I believe I can speak for myself, wolf prince."

"Of course you can," he agreed smoothly. "I'm merely offering my medical opinion."

"Based on your extensive healing training?" I challenged, amused despite myself.

Elder Thorne watched our exchange with poorly concealed entertainment. "I see the binding has done nothing to temper your... spirited interactions."

"If anything, it's made them worse," Calder admitted. "Now she knows exactly which buttons to push."

"As do you," I countered.

The elder cleared his throat. "I'll inform the council you'll join us tomorrow afternoon, then. That should give you time to recover further and... sort out your dynamic."

After he departed, I attempted to rise from the bed, determined to test my strength. Calder immediately moved to assist me, his arm strong around my waist as I stood on unsteady legs.

"Slowly," he cautioned. "You've been bedridden for weeks."

I took a tentative step, then another, pleased to find that while weak, I wasn't completely incapacitated. "I need to build my strength if I'm to face a joint council tomorrow. And I should check on the children again—I have so many questions about how they've been adapting."

Calder guided me to a nearby window that overlooked a courtyard below. There, the rescued children played under the watchful eyes of both witch elders and werewolf guards—the two groups standing together in casual conversation rather than suspicious separation.

"They've become quite attached to you," Calder said as we watched the children below. "Even before you woke. They would visit your room, bring small gifts—flowers, pretty stones, drawings. They've decided you're their personal hero."

"We're their heroes," I corrected him. "I couldn't have saved them alone."

He smiled, wrapping his arms around me from behind as we continued to watch the scene below. "No, we couldn't have done any of it alone. That's rather the point of everything that's happened, isn't it?"

I leaned back against him, drawing strength from his solid presence. "The Starfire Twins. Together against the darkness."

"And together in the light that follows," he added softly, pressing a kiss to my now-white hair.

As if on cue, one of the children below spotted us at the window. A cheer went up, small faces turning upward with expressions of delight. Several of the werewolf pups transformed spontaneously into their wolf forms in excitement, racing in circles while the witch children sent small magical lights floating upward like glowing butterflies.

I waved down to them, feeling a surge of protectiveness and affection. These children represented everything we had fought for—not just their individual lives, precious as those were, but the future they embodied. A future where werewolf and witch could grow together, learn from each other, strengthen each other.

"We should go down," I suggested. "Just for a little while."

Calder looked uncertain. "You're still very weak—"

"And surrounded by people who care about me," I finished. "Including an overprotective wolf prince who I'm quite certain won't let me overtax myself."

He sighed, recognizing defeat. "Very well. But at the first sign of fatigue—"

"You'll sweep me dramatically back to my sickbed," I teased. "I know."

He helped me dress in a simple robe left by my bedside, then supported me as we made our way slowly down to the courtyard. Word of my awakening had apparently spread quickly; by the time we emerged into the open air, a small crowd had gathered—council members, guards, servants, all watching with curious eyes.

The children rushed to greet us, surrounding us in a whirlwind of excited chatter and questions. I noticed that several of the werewolf pups approached me without hesitation or fear, while young witches looked up at Calder with open admiration rather than the traditional suspicion.

"Show us the moon crystal!" one child begged. "Please!"

Calder caught my eye, a silent question passing between us. I nodded slightly, and he withdrew the pouch containing the reformed artifacts. As he opened it, the twin crystals rose into the air between us, spinning slowly and casting prismatic light across the courtyard.

Gasps of wonder rose from the assembled crowd. The crystals danced above our joined hands, responding to our shared will, their light neither wholly moon nor wholly star but something new—something born of both.

"What are they now?" asked a small witch girl, her eyes wide with wonder.

I exchanged a glance with Calder, both of us realizing we hadn't actually named the transformed artifacts.

"Star Fire Crystals," he said after a moment's thought. "A new beginning from what was broken."

The name felt right—appropriate not just for the artifacts, but for everything they represented. The broken past reforged into something new, the separate halves finding greater strength together than they had ever possessed apart.

As the crystals continued their dance above our palms, I looked around at the gathered faces—werewolf and witch together, the ancient division beginning to heal. There would be challenges ahead, certainly. Old prejudices would resurface, new threats would emerge. The vampires, though scattered, would eventually regroup. The path forward would not be smooth.

But in that moment, watching the wonder on the children's faces, feeling Calder's steady presence beside me, I was filled with something I hadn't truly felt since long before this journey began.

Hope.

Not the desperate hope of survival against overwhelming odds, but the quieter, deeper hope of building something that would outlast us—a legacy of unity, strength, and understanding.

The crystals lowered themselves back into Calder's palm, their light dimming slightly as if satisfied with their brief performance. He returned them to their pouch, but their glow remained visible through the fabric, a reminder of the power we now shared.

Later that evening, as twilight descended on the watchtower, Calder and I stood alone on a small balcony overlooking the border lands that separated—or perhaps now connected—our territories. In the distance, I could see the construction already beginning on what would become the Star Fire Academy, torches marking out its foundation in the gathering darkness.

"Having second thoughts?" Calder asked softly, noticing my contemplative expression.

I shook my head. "Not second thoughts. Just... awareness of the magnitude of what we're undertaking."

"Rebuilding an alliance broken for centuries," he acknowledged. "Creating a new way forward for both our peoples."

"While figuring out whatever this is between us," I added, touching the ring on my finger.

He smiled, drawing me closer. "That part, at least, seems to be evolving naturally enough."

As if to prove his point, he bent to kiss me, a gesture that felt increasingly familiar yet never failed to send a current of warmth through our binding. When we parted, I noticed the marks on our wrists glowing more brightly than usual, pulsing in perfect synchronization.

"I wonder if the original Starfire Twins ended up like this," I mused. "The histories never mention what happened to them after the First War."

"Perhaps it's time to rewrite those histories," Calder suggested. "To uncover the truth of what really happened—not just between our peoples, but between them personally."

I liked the idea. "Our first research project for the academy."

"The first of many," he agreed.

As darkness fell completely, stars appeared overhead—bright and clear in the winter sky. Among them, I spotted constellations I'd studied my entire life, the patterns that had guided Stargazers for generations.

Beside me, Calder suddenly tensed, his enhanced senses detecting something I couldn't.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Riders approaching," he said, relaxing slightly. "Ours, though. Scouts returning from the northern border."

I was still getting used to his abilities without the collar—enhanced senses, faster reflexes, and the newly developed talent for detecting lies. Just as he was adjusting to my unfettered prophetic gifts, which had indeed become more controlled and directed as my grandmother had predicted.

The binding had changed us both, in ways we were still discovering.

"Tomorrow will be interesting," I said, thinking of the joint council meeting awaiting us. "Our first official appearance as... whatever we are now."

"Leaders. Partners. Pioneers." He turned to face me fully, his expression serious. "There's an old werewolf tradition—before making a formal commitment public, we make a private promise first. Something meaningful only to the two of us."

I was intrigued. "What kind of promise?"

He took my hand, pressing it against his heart. "Among my people, it's customary for the male to offer something of himself as a pledge—a sacrifice or gift that demonstrates his commitment."

"And what do you offer, wolf prince?" I asked softly.

His smile held both tenderness and a hint of his characteristic confidence. "My crown isn't physical like human royalty wear, but it exists nonetheless—the authority passed down through my bloodline, the right to lead my clan alone."

I understood immediately what he was saying. "You're offering to share your authority."

"More than share," he corrected. "To fundamentally transform it. No werewolf prince has ever ruled as an equal with a partner, let alone a witch partner. It breaks every tradition my people hold sacred about leadership."

The significance of his offer wasn't lost on me. For a werewolf, especially one of the royal line, authority was sacrosanct—earned through strength, maintained through respect and tradition. To willingly divide that authority, to transform it into something new, was perhaps the greatest concession he could make.

"My crown will always be missing a piece," he said, echoing words from a vow I didn't remember him making, "waiting for you to fill it."

The phrase triggered something in my memory—a glimpse of a possible future I'd once seen in a vision, now manifesting before me. I placed my hand on his cheek, deeply moved by his offer.

"And what should I pledge in return?" I asked. "Witches have no crowns to share."

"You've already given more than enough," he said, his fingers brushing through my white hair—the visible reminder of my sacrifice. "But if you wish to follow the tradition..."

I considered what I could offer that would hold equal significance. As a Stargazer, my most precious possession had always been my gift of foresight—the ability to glimpse possible futures, to read warnings in the stars. It was what defined me, what made me valuable to my clan.

"I pledge my sight," I said finally. "Not just to my people, but to yours as well. To our shared future. My visions, my guidance, my warnings—all given equally to both clans, without reservation or preference."

It was no small thing. Traditionally, a Stargazer's loyalty was absolute—our gifts used exclusively for the benefit of our own kind. To pledge my abilities to the werewolves as well was to fundamentally change what it meant to be a Stargazer.

Calder recognized the weight of my offer. "A true equal exchange, then. My authority for your sight."

"Both transformed in the sharing," I agreed.

He sealed our private pact with a kiss, and somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled—a lone voice soon joined by others in a chorus that echoed across the night. Not a hunting call or a warning, but something rarer: a song of celebration.

"Your people approve," I murmured against his lips.

"Our people," he corrected gently. "From this moment forward."

Later, as we prepared to return inside, I paused for one last look at the stars overhead. The constellations seemed especially bright tonight, as if affirming our path forward.

"Look," I said, pointing to where the Hunter and the Seer constellations aligned perfectly above us. "The stars that guided the original Twins."

Calder followed my gaze upward. "What do they tell you, Stargazer?"

I closed my eyes briefly, allowing my gift to flow freely, seeking insight without being overwhelmed by it. A series of images flashed before me—the academy filled with students, our councils united in purpose, the twin crystals growing in power as they remained in our keeping. And beyond that, more personal visions: Calder and I standing together through seasons and years, facing challenges I couldn't yet clearly see, but always together.

Always united.

"They tell me," I said, opening my eyes to find him watching me with quiet intensity, "that this is just the beginning."

He smiled, offering his arm to escort me inside. "I was hoping you'd say that."

As we walked back into the warmth of the watchtower—our temporary home until the academy was completed—I felt a sense of rightness settle over me. The path ahead would not be easy, but it was ours to walk together. Wolf and witch, prince and Stargazer, two halves of something greater than either could be alone.

The Moonfire Pact had been fulfilled, but the story it had begun was far from over.

And I, for one, couldn't wait to see what came next.