Ashenwell's forge hall had never been so quiet.
The chamber thrummed with low magic, gentle chimes from the etherinfused glass overhead. Crafters from the thirdyear forge division stood aside, murmuring softly, watching as the vessel floated in the stasis field.
Red hair like molten silk drifted behind it, the body tall and elegantly built—elven in silhouette, runes carved in fine, glowing thread along the collarbones, wrists, and heart. Eyes still shut. Aether veins traced delicate lines beneath moonpale skin.
Grim stood close, bloodied from the time chamber, exhaustion etched into his features. His stormblue and embergold eyes focused on only one thing.
Her.
The containment sphere holding Sparks' fragmented essence pulsed with a soft beat. The Headmaster placed a single hand on the vessel's chest, muttering a timeanchor chant to stabilize the transfer. A ring of violet fire circled the slab.
"She's ready," he said.
Grim didn't wait.
He stepped forward and lowered the containment orb into the chest cavity of the vessel. The moment it clicked into place—
The world shook.
The runes flared crimson.
Sparks' voice pierced the silence—raw, echoing, alive.
"Woah—OH WOW—I have legs? I HAVE—oh, gods, what are these? Fingers? Hair? Is this what breathing is supposed to feel like?!"
Her back arched—her first breath ragged and loud as energy surged through her new frame.
She slammed back down on the obsidian slab, panting.
Then sat up.
And promptly screamed.
"I HAVE ORGANS—WHY DO I HAVE ORGANS—GRIM, WHAT DID YOU DO?!"
The entire room burst into stunned silence.
Grim chuckled through the exhaustion. "Nice to see you too."
She turned to him, still wideeyed, still glowing faintly with unstable ether energy.
Then—
"Oh my gods, I'm hot." She blinked, staring down at herself, arms outstretched. "I'm majestic. I have cheekbones. What did you even—did you use a body sculptor or…?"
Zariya folded her arms nearby, arching an amused brow. "You're welcome. I handled the aesthetics."
Sparks blinked at her. Then at Grim.
"You. Me. Hug. Now."
Grim didn't argue. She flung herself into his arms, still unsteady, still humming with residual core energy.
Her arms were warm. Real.
For the first time since Velthar, Grim's chest unknotted.
She was back.
Later that night, Sparks stood on the balcony of Solace Tower, staring at the moon like it was a longlost relative.
The others gave her space—though Hadi had muttered something about "hot AI girlfriends," and Ayesha wouldn't stop poking her just to see if she was really real.
Max said nothing. Just nodded with approval and drifted back to his shadows.
Grim joined her quietly, arms crossed.
She didn't look at him.
"You were scared I wouldn't come back."
He nodded. "I was terrified."
"Me too," she whispered. "There were moments I didn't know if I was… still me."
She touched the core in her chest. "I still don't know whose soul I fused with. It's sleeping. But sometimes I feel it stir."
Grim met her gaze.
"We'll find the root of it. Together."
She smiled softly.
"You always say things like that when you're trying not to break."
He didn't answer.
She didn't need him to.
The moment stretched—quiet, warm, fragile in its truth.
Then, without warning, Sparks leaned over and kissed his cheek.
"Thanks for giving me form."
He blinked.
"Was that the soul talking?"
"Nope. Just the part of me that has really good taste."
Far below the academy, where roots touched relics long abandoned, the Court's failure echoed in silence.
And something older… awoke.