COMING HOME
April 1987 — Paiute Reservation, Near Reno, Nevada
The first sign that something was different came when they turned onto the reservation road.
Jace sat in the passenger seat of the lead SUV, his hands gripping his knees, amber-gold eyes scanning the familiar landscape. The high desert stretched out around them: sagebrush and juniper, red rock formations catching the late afternoon sun, the vast Nevada sky overhead. Behind them, two more SUVs followed, carrying the rest of the Brotherhood and their partners, along with Sidney Greene.
It had been two months since Shadowlands released in March. Two months since they'd poured their trauma and survival into ten songs that the world had embraced with overwhelming support. And now, finally, Jace was coming home.
"Jace," Connor said quietly from the back seat, his Visionary senses prickling. "There are people ahead."
Jace looked up, and his breath caught.
The road ahead was lined with people. Dozens of them: tribal members holding signs, waving, cheering. As the SUVs approached, Jace could read the signs:
WELCOME HOME JACE!
WE LOVE YOU BATTLE CRY!
THE TRIBE STANDS WITH YOU!
WELCOME TO OUR FAMILY!
"Oh my God," Samantha breathed from the back seat beside Connor.
The SUVs slowed, and as they passed the first group of people, the crowd fell in behind them, following. More people appeared along the road, elders, children, families, all waving, all cheering. The line of tribal members stretched as far as Jace could see, and by the time they reached the end of the road where the main gathering area opened up, there had to be over a hundred people following the vehicles.
The gathering area itself was packed. More people, more signs, more love than Jace knew what to do with. The crowd closed in around the SUVs as they rolled to a stop, and Jace didn't wait. He was opening the door before the vehicle had fully stopped, feet hitting the dirt before the cheering had even registered.
"Jace!"
"Welcome home!"
"We missed you!"
Kids swarmed him first: cousins he'd grown up with, now with children of their own, and those children launched themselves at Jace with delighted squeals. He caught them, laughing, swinging a little girl up onto his hip while a boy grabbed his leg.
"Jace! You're here! You're really here!"
Adults were next: aunts, uncles, cousins, extended family members. Hands shaking his, arms pulling him into embraces, names and faces flooding back with the heat of memory.
And somewhere in the chaos, Jace could hear a voice bellowing: "Coming through! Big brother coming through!"
Tobin.
Jace turned to see over the crowd and caught a glimpse of his brother literally bouncing through the throng, trying to navigate the sea of family members.
"Whoa, hey, I gotta get... come on, coming through! Don't touch my butt…" Tobin was laughing as he gently moved people aside. "That's my little brother there! Everybody out of the way! Big brother coming through!"
People laughed and shifted, creating a path, and then Tobin was there, slightly shorter than Jace, more angular in the face, their mother's green eyes steady and bright. He looked so much like Thomas, their father's build, the same line of the jaw, that Jace's breath caught.
"Wanga'a," Tobin said, his voice thick with emotion.
"Tobin." Jace's voice came out rough.
And then Tobin was lifting him, actually lifting him, despite Jace being taller, and swinging him in a circle like they were kids again. The crowd cheered, and Jace laughed, pure, unguarded joy.
When Tobin set him down, they embraced properly: foreheads touching, hands gripping shoulders, brothers reunited.
"Welcome home," Tobin whispered.
"It's good to be home."
Behind them, the rest of the Brotherhood was emerging from the vehicles, and the tribe welcomed them with the same warmth. Nathan stepped out, Galena beside him, and immediately found himself surrounded by friendly faces. Erik unfolded from the second SUV, Rebekah at his side, and children stared up at the massive Warrior with wide eyes.
Ricky practically bounced out of the third SUV, grinning at the chaos.
"This is amazing!"
Connor emerged more slowly, his Visionary senses adjusting to the flood of warmth and welcome washing over him. So many people, so much emotion, but it wasn't overwhelming. It was beautiful. Family and love and belonging, all of it braided together into something ancient and alive.
And then he felt her.
An older woman was moving through the crowd with purpose, heading straight for him. She had silver-streaked black hair pulled back in a traditional braid, wearing a beautiful turquoise necklace and a long skirt. Her dark eyes were sharp and knowing, and Connor felt her presence before she even reached him, not invasive, but perceptive in a way that felt like being known.
She stopped directly in front of him and smiled.
"Tsaŵu muguabi," she said softly, reaching out to loop her arm through his. "Beautiful Spirit. Come. Walk with me."
Connor didn't resist. He let her guide him away from the crowd slightly, felt her warm presence beside him, and knew instinctively: this was Aunt Maeva.
"You write songs," Maeva said as they walked. Not a question. A statement.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Songs that bleed truth. I have heard some of them. Not Your Possession. Scars Like Medals." She paused, studying him with those knowing eyes. "You have walked through darkness."
Connor's throat tightened.
"Yes."
"But you carry light within you still. That is important." She squeezed his arm gently. "We will talk more, you and I. I have many questions about your songwriting. About where you find your words."
Connor managed a small smile.
"I have a feeling there's a method to your madness."
Maeva laughed, delighted.
"Very perceptive, Beautiful Spirit. Yes. There is always a method."
Across the gathering area, the integration was happening naturally. A petite woman with long dark hair and warm brown eyes approached Jace and Tobin, Christina, Tobin's wife. She pulled Jace into a hug.
"Welcome home, little brother," she said warmly.
Two small figures barreled past her: Anaya, six years old with her mother's eyes and her father's steady presence, and Tay, four and full of boundless energy.
"Nazaguŵa!" Anaya launched herself at him, and Jace caught her, spinning her around. Tay grabbed onto his leg, giggling.
"Hey, little ones! Look how big you've both gotten!"
Samantha watched from beside the SUV, her heart full. This was Jace's family. This was where he came from. The love was palpable, overwhelming in the best way.
Christina approached her, smiling.
"You must be Samantha. I'm Christina, Tobin's wife."
"It's so good to meet you," Samantha said, shaking her hand.
"Come. Let me introduce you to everyone. Fair warning: there are a lot of us."
Meanwhile, Ricky had been discovered by the children of the tribe, and word had spread fast: the Sentinel can teleport. Within minutes, he was surrounded by a dozen kids, all begging for a demonstration.
"Can you really disappear?"
"Show us! Show us!"
"Where do you go?"
Ricky grinned.
"Oh, you want to see? Okay, watch this. I'm going to teleport to... that tree over there. Ready?"
The kids nodded eagerly.
Ricky vanished with a soft pop, reappearing thirty feet away by the tree. The children shrieked with delight and took off running.
"There he is!"
"Get him!"
"Where's he going next?"
Pop. Ricky appeared on top of a picnic table.
Pop. Behind a group of adults.
Pop. Back near the SUVs.
The kids chased him all over the gathering area, squealing with laughter every time he vanished and reappeared. Ricky was having the time of his life, his grin wide and genuine.
Erik, meanwhile, had become a jungle gym.
Several of the smaller children had climbed onto the Warrior: one on his shoulders, two hanging off his arms, another clinging to his back. Erik stood there at ease, a gentle giant surrounded by delighted kids.
"You're big!" one little boy said, perched on Erik's shoulders.
"Are you really a Warrior?" a girl asked, hanging from his bicep.
"I am," Erik said, his deep voice gentled to something almost tender. He loved children, always had, and to have these kids crawling all over him, trusting him, laughing with him, filled his heart.
Rebekah stood nearby, watching Erik with a soft smile. She'd seen Erik with children before, but this was different. This was Erik at peace, fully in his element.
Nathan and Galena found themselves in conversation with two older men: Uncle Marcus and Uncle Ira, Jace's father's brothers. Marcus was clearly the elder of the tribe, his weathered features and sharp eyes holding decades of wisdom. Ira was quieter, but no less welcoming.
"So you're the Conjurer," Marcus said, studying Nathan. "The one who married the Prime Minister of Aelin."
Nathan smiled.
"That's me."
"She's formidable," Marcus observed, looking at Galena with approval. "I can see why Jace speaks highly of her."
Galena inclined her head.
"You honor me. Your nephew is one of the finest men I know."
"He gets that from his father," Ira said quietly. "Thomas was a good man. Strong. Kind. Raised his boys right."
A woman appeared then, Aunt Lila, bustling and energetic, her eyes bright with curiosity. She made a beeline for Samantha, who was still with Christina.
"So you're the drum tech," Lila said, frank but warm. "The one our Jace hasn't been able to stop thinking about."
Samantha blushed.
"I'm Samantha Wallace."
"I know who you are, dear. I've heard all about you." Lila's smile was knowing. "You're good for him. I can tell."
Galena appeared at Samantha's other side, and Lila's attention shifted immediately.
"And you're the Prime Minister. The one who went to the White House to save our boys."
"I did what was necessary," Galena said simply.
Lila studied both women, something calculating moving behind her eyes. Then she smiled.
"You're both watching him. Making sure he's okay."
Samantha nodded.
"We all are. After what happened..."
"He's healing," Lila said gently. "Being here will help. Being with family always helps."
The gathering began to shift naturally toward the communal area, a large space where traditional cooking happened, where the tribe came together for celebrations. Tables were being set up, fire pits prepared, and the air already tasted of woodsmoke and roasted meat.
Jace stood with Tobin, watching it all unfold, and his brother put a hand on his shoulder.
"They've missed you, Wanga'a."
"I've missed them too."
"Then don't stay away so long next time."
Jace smiled.
"I won't."
As the sun began its descent toward the horizon, painting the desert sky in shades of gold and orange, the Brotherhood found themselves fully integrated into the tribe. Not as rock stars, not as the Brotherhood of Aelin, but as family. As welcome guests. As people who belonged.
And for the first time in a very long time, Jace felt the weight on his shoulders ease.
He was home.
Day Two — The Engagement Ring
The second day on the reservation dawned clear and bright, the desert air crisp with the promise of warmth to come. The Brotherhood had spent the night in Tobin's home, a comfortable house with enough space to accommodate everyone, and woke to the smell of breakfast cooking and children's laughter filtering through the windows.
Jace was in the kitchen with Tobin and Christina, helping prepare food while Anaya and Tay ran circles around the adults. The rest of the band filtered in gradually: Ricky looking surprisingly alert despite having stayed up late talking with some of the younger tribe members, Erik moving carefully to avoid hitting his head on doorframes, Connor quiet but peaceful, Nathan already deep in conversation with Galena at the counter.
Samantha appeared last, her red wavy hair still damp from a shower, and Jace's eyes immediately found her. The smile that crossed his face was soft and private, and Tobin didn't miss it.
"So," Tobin said casually, flipping pancakes, "what's going on with you and Samantha?"
Jace's hand stilled on the coffee pot.
"What do you mean?"
"Come on, Wanga'a. I know that look. That's not 'I'm fond of my drum tech.' That's 'I'm completely gone for this woman.'"
Christina laughed from where she was cutting fruit.
"He's right. You're not subtle."
Jace glanced toward the doorway where Samantha had disappeared into the living room, then back at his brother.
"We're... together."
"I gathered that much."
Jace took a breath.
"We're engaged."
Tobin's hand froze mid-flip. Christina dropped the knife with a clatter. Both of them stared at Jace.
"Engaged?" Tobin repeated.
"Since November 1985," Jace said quietly. "Before Nathan and Galena's wedding."
"November 1985," Christina said slowly. "That was... that was a year and a half ago, Jace."
"I know."
"And you didn't tell us?" Tobin's voice held hurt beneath the surprise.
"We haven't made it public yet," Jace explained. "We wanted to wait. With everything that happened, the kidnapping, the album, everything, we just... we wanted to keep it quiet for a while longer."
Christina was already moving toward the living room.
"Does Aunt Lila know? Does Maeva know?"
"No one knows except the Brotherhood and our closest people in Aelin."
"Not anymore," Christina said, disappearing through the doorway. "LILA! MAEVA! GET OVER HERE!"
Within minutes, the house was full of family members. Word spread like wildfire: Jace and Samantha were engaged, and suddenly the quiet morning became a celebration. Questions flew from every direction:
"How did you propose?"
"When's the wedding?"
"Does she have a ring?"
That last question, asked by Aunt Lila, made Samantha hold up her bare left hand.
"Not yet," she said. "Jace is having one made. Nathan knows a jeweler in Draíocht who works with stones, and they're going to create something with a diamond."
Lila's expression shifted, something knowing and warm crossing her weathered features. Without a word, she stood and left the house, heading toward her own residence a short walk away.
The family continued to celebrate, hugging Samantha and congratulating Jace, until Lila reappeared in the doorway carrying a small black velvet box.
The room quieted as she approached Jace.
"This belonged to your mother," Lila said softly, holding out the box. "Katherine."
Jace's hand trembled slightly as he took it. He knew what it was before he opened it, could feel the weight of memory in the small box. When he lifted the lid, his breath caught.
Katherine's wedding band.
It was simple but beautiful, a delicate gold band with small opals set into it, tiny points of fire catching the light. His mother had worn this on her wedding day, had worn it beside her engagement ring for years until cancer had taken her too soon.
"She wore a wedding set," Lila explained, her voice gentle. "But this was her original wedding band. The one Thomas gave her when they married." She paused. "I know she would want you to have it. To give it to the woman you love."
Jace couldn't speak. He just stared at the ring, remembering his mother's hands, how she used to drum her fingers on tables and the opals would catch the light.
"Jace," Samantha said softly.
He looked up at her, and she was smiling, eyes bright with unshed tears.
Jace took the ring from the box with careful fingers.
"Samantha Wallace," he said quietly, "will you wear my mother's ring?"
"Yes," she whispered.
She held out her left hand, and Jace slid the ring onto her finger.
It fit perfectly.
Samantha stared at it, at the small opals glinting in the morning light, and felt the weight of family history settling onto her hand. This wasn't just a placeholder until the "real" engagement ring was made. This was Katherine's ring. This was Jace's mother welcoming her into the family.
"I'm going to wear this always," Samantha said, looking at Lila. "Even after the other ring is made. This one... this one means everything."
Lila pulled her into a hug.
"Then it's yours, daughter. Wear it well."
The family erupted into fresh celebration, but Jace only had eyes for Samantha. She looked at him, at the ring on her finger, and smiled.
"Your mom had good taste," she said softly.
"She would have loved you," Jace replied, his voice rough with emotion.
"I wish I could have met her."
"She's here," Jace said, touching the ring gently. "She's always here."
Samantha kissed Jace, and he held her close while his family whooped and celebrated around them.
Day Three — Working with Tobin
Jace woke early on the third morning, the desert dawn painting the sky in soft purples and pinks. He dressed quietly, not wanting to wake Samantha, and found Tobin already in the kitchen making coffee.
"Morning, Wanga'a."
"Morning."
Tobin poured two mugs and handed one to Jace.
"I've got a job site today. Small house expansion for the Martins. You want to come help?"
Jace smiled.
"Like old times?"
"Exactly like old times."
An hour later, they pulled up to the work site in Tobin's truck, and nostalgia hit Jace square in the chest. He'd done this so many times with his father and brother: working construction, learning the trade, using his hands to build something solid and real. Different from music, but the satisfaction ran just as deep.
The workers were already there, a mix of tribal members and a few outsiders, all of whom knew Tobin well. When Jace climbed out of the truck, several did double-takes.
"Is that..."
"Holy shit, that's Jace Elias!"
"Battle Cry's drummer!"
A younger worker, probably early twenties, approached nervously.
"Mr. Elias? I'm a huge fan. I have all your albums."
Jace shook his hand.
"Just Jace is fine. And thanks. You work with Tobin?"
"Yeah, for about two years now. He's a great boss."
An older man, one of the tribal members Jace recognized from his youth, walked over with a knowing smile.
"Jace Elias. Haven't seen you on a work site in years. You remember which end of a hammer to use?"
Jace grinned.
"I think I can manage, Joseph."
"Good. We've got framing to do. Let's see if rock star life made you soft."
It hadn't.
Jace worked alongside the crew for the next six hours, falling into the rhythm of construction work like he'd never left. Measuring, cutting, hammering, the physical labor grounding him in a way that was different from drumming but just as essential. His hands remembered this work. His muscles did too.
Tobin worked beside him, and occasionally they'd fall into old patterns: Tobin calling out measurements, Jace anticipating what was needed, both of them moving in sync the way only brothers who'd worked together for years could.
During the lunch break, sitting in the shade with sandwiches Christina had packed, Joseph settled beside them.
"So," Joseph said casually, "rumor has it you're the King of Aelin now."
Jace glanced at Tobin, who shrugged.
"Most of the tribe knows. The ones who needed to know. We keep it quiet. The children know a little, but not enough to cause any trouble."
"It's quite a title," Joseph continued. "Contractor's son turned rock star turned king."
"It's... complicated," Jace admitted.
"I bet." Joseph was quiet. "Your dad would be very proud of you, you know. Thomas always knew who you would become, and it was something a lot bigger than this reservation. But he also knew you'd never forget where you came from."
Jace's throat tightened.
"I hope you're right."
"I am. You're here, aren't you? You came home. That means you have not forgotten your people."
"Ah, but he and I are men of two people, Joseph," Tobin said. "Aelin is in us both. We were born there. Our mother was born there. We're children of two lands, and my little brother is its king. Pa would have been more than proud of you, Jace. Just like I am. Like the whole tribe is."
Joseph nodded and said, "This is truth…you are both of two lands, and while you are a king in one land, and a son in the other, Jace, you are a warrior of both. Your tribe is always with you, and so are your Aelinian people."
Jace nodded, feeling his eyes go wet.
"Thank you," he said. "I needed to hear that."
"And I needed to say it," Joseph replied. "Now, there's a lot to do and I am looking forward to seeing you swing a hammer again. You can't shoot nails out of your hands like a staple gun, can you?"
Jace laughed, loud and genuine, the kind that startled the birds off the nearby fence post.
"No, Joseph, but I can make it rain or snow over just your head if you mess with me too much!"
The afternoon passed the same way: work, camaraderie, the simple satisfaction of building something solid with your hands. By the time they loaded the tools back into Tobin's truck and headed home, Jace felt more centered than he had since before the kidnapping.
"Thanks for bringing me," Jace said as they drove.
"Thanks for coming. The guys loved having you there. And honestly?" Tobin glanced at him. "I loved having my little brother back on a job site. Reminded me of Dad. Of all of us working together."
"I miss that sometimes. The simplicity of it."
"It's still here whenever you need it," Tobin said. "The reservation, the work, the family. We're not going anywhere."
"I know," Jace replied. "I won't be a stranger anymore."
"Well, no stranger than you usually are," Tobin joked, which made Jace shake his head and chuckle.
Day Three — Family Visits
While Jace was working with Tobin, the rest of the Brotherhood scattered to visit their own families.
Connor drove into Reno with Indira, heading to his parents' house. Jabril and Patricia greeted them with warm embraces, and Connor spent the afternoon in his childhood home, eating his mother's cooking and talking with his father about music, about faith, about healing.
"You look stronger than you did in September," Jabril observed. "The album helped?"
"It did," Connor admitted. "Writing those songs... it gave me a way to process what happened. To reclaim what was taken."
Patricia hugged him from behind, resting her chin on his shoulder.
"I'm proud of you, mo mhac. So proud."
Nathan visited his family, the Dallengers were spread across Reno, and he made the rounds with Galena at his side. His brother Nolan was there, along with Michael and Riley, and Betty fussed over Nathan the way only a mother could.
"You look good," Betty said, studying him. "Better than after... well. Better."
"I'm healing, Mom. We all are."
Alan clapped him on the shoulder.
"Your album is incredible, son. Really incredible. Hard to listen to in places, but... important. True."
Ricky went to visit his family, finding Darren and Amanda in good spirits. Caleb was there too, and the brothers caught up while Amanda made enough food to feed an army.
"Brandon's still trying to get leave," Darren said. "He feels terrible he couldn't make it to Aelin."
"Tell him it's okay," Ricky said. "I understand. Military commitments are hard to break."
The afternoon was filled with laughter and stories, and Ricky felt the last of the tension from the kidnapping ease. He was home. He was safe. He was loved.
Erik stayed at the reservation. His family was in Salt Lake City, too far for a day trip, but he didn't mind. He'd found Uncle Marcus sitting outside his home, and the elder had welcomed him with quiet hospitality.
"Come, sit," Marcus said, gesturing to a chair beside him. "Tell me about yourself, Warrior."
Erik sat, and they talked. Not about the kidnapping, not about Battle Cry's fame, but about deeper things. About family. About duty. About what it meant to protect the people you loved.
Eventually, Erik asked the question that had been on his mind since they arrived.
"Can you tell me about Jace? About how he grew up here?"
Marcus smiled.
"What do you want to know?"
"Everything. I want to understand him better. Where he comes from. What shaped him."
Marcus was quiet, studying Erik with those sharp, knowing eyes. Then he began to speak.
"Thomas and Katherine Elias came to this reservation when Jace was just a baby. Tobin was only three years old. Thomas was already a part of the tribe, but Katherine integrated beautifully. They built a life here, raised their sons as Paiute. But Katherine was born in Aelin, and of a royal line."
Erik leaned forward.
"She was royalty?"
"You could say that," Marcus told him. "She was descended from the first Guardian of Aelin, King Daeron."
The words hung in the air between them.
"If Aelin held standard monarchical principles," Marcus continued, "Jace would have been born a prince and prepared for the throne. But Aelin is not a country with any normal monarchy."
Erik's chest tightened.
"Jace doesn't know this, does he?"
"He knows now that his mother was Aelinian, and that they eventually came here to raise their sons," Marcus replied. "But he didn't know all the details before the bestowal. Thomas died before he could tell him. Katherine too. She had been planning to tell him but died before she could do it."
"So Jace grew up here, not knowing he was born to be Guardian."
"He grew up as a Paiute boy who loved to drum," Marcus corrected gently. "That's who he was. Who he still is, beneath all the titles. Our Jace. The boy who climbed trees and got into trouble and learned our songs. The Guardian came later. But the boy, the boy is still in there."
Erik nodded slowly, understanding settling over him.
"That's why this place is so important to him. It's the only place where he is just Jace."
"Yes. And that's why he needs to come back more often. To remember who he is when the world isn't asking him to be a king or a guardian or a rock star. Just Jace Elias. Son of this land. Member of this tribe."
"We'll make sure he visits often," Erik said quietly. "We'll all visit."
Marcus nodded and smiled.
They sat in companionable silence after that, watching the desert evening deepen, and Erik felt his respect and love for his brother deepen with it.
Day Four — The Phone Call
Jace was helping Christina in the kitchen when the phone rang. Tobin answered it, his eyebrows rising.
"Jace! Phone for you!"
"Who is it?"
"Someone named Roxy?"
Jace's face lit up.
"I'll take it in the other room."
He disappeared into Tobin's small office and picked up the phone.
"Roxy Ruegar. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
The voice that came through the line was bright, energetic, and full of mischief.
"Your Majesty! How's the reservation treating you?"
Roxy Ruegar was five foot two, blonde with wavy hair and green eyes that always held a mischievous glint, at least, that's how Jace pictured her from their previous interviews. She was a radio and television personality in Aelin, known for being funny, zany, a little goofy, and occasionally randy, in a way that never quite crossed the line. She loved to tease Battle Cry, and they loved her for it.
"The reservation is amazing," Jace said warmly. "It's exactly what I needed."
"Good. You deserve some peace after the year you've had." Her tone shifted slightly, becoming more businesslike but still warm. "Listen, I'm calling because I wanted to give you a heads up about the convention. I'm going to be one of the moderators for your Hall H panel."
"You are? That's fantastic!"
"Me and a local Reno guy named Mitch Kelly. He's good people, does radio here. Between the two of us, we'll keep things moving." She paused. "But Jace, this is your first time doing something like this. A panel with the Oath Holders. It's different from a regular concert or interview."
"I figured. What should I expect?"
"Chaos," Roxy said cheerfully. "Beautiful, wonderful chaos. The biggest thing to remember is just have fun and let the audience lead it where they're going. You can't control what they might ask. You just have to be prepared and roll with it."
Jace nodded even though she couldn't see him.
"Okay. I can do that."
"I know you can. And fair warning: I'm probably going to mess around a little bit on stage too. You're used to that."
"Yep. I'm used to that."
"I'm probably going to say some things that aren't appropriate for young children."
Jace laughed.
"I'm not surprised."
"Good." There was a beat of silence, and when Roxy spoke again, her voice was gentler. "Jace... I need to ask this. Are you all right? Really?"
The laughter faded from Jace's voice.
"We're getting there."
"I have a feeling you're going to be asked about what happened. About the kidnapping."
"I know we will be. And we're ready. We decided, all of us, that we're not hiding from it. If people ask, we'll answer honestly. Within reason."
"Okay. Good. That's good to know." Roxy's warmth came back full force. "Well then, I guess I'll see you in a few days, Your Majesty. Looking forward to it."
"Thanks for the call, Roxy. Really."
"Anytime. Now go enjoy your family. You've earned it."
When Jace returned to the kitchen, the rest of Battle Cry had gathered for dinner. He filled them in on the conversation, explaining what to expect from the panel.
"So we're just going to... talk?" Ricky asked. "With fans?"
"With Oath Holders," Jace corrected. "People who've sworn the Aelinian oath. They're family, in a way."
"And we're wearing our formal attire?" Nathan asked.
"Full regalia," Jace confirmed. "Crowns and everything. They need to see us as the Brotherhood of Aelin, not just Battle Cry."
Connor smiled.
"I like that. Showing them who we really are."
"Speaking of which," Tobin said from the doorway, "how are you getting your formal clothes? You didn't exactly pack Aelinian crowns."
Jace grinned.
"We brought some things. But there's a portal in your house, Toby. We can run back to Harmonytis and grab what we need."
Tobin blinked.
"There's a what in my house?"
"Portal. Didn't I mention that?"
"No. You did not mention there's a magical doorway in my house."
Christina appeared beside Tobin.
"Where is it?"
"Basement," Jace said. "Behind the water heater. Sidney helped install the upgrades for it years ago. It’s how Mom and Dad brought us both here from Aelin when I was a baby."
"There’s been a portal in our basement since we were kids," Tobin said slowly, "and you never thought to mention it?"
Jace looked at him and then grinned, showing as many teeth as he could, and chimed in a ruined surprise party kind of way, "Surprise?"
Christina started laughing. Tobin just shook his head, but he was smiling.
"Wanga'a! 'Üü kaahi!" Tobin cried out and threw a towel at his face.
Day Five — The Kitchen Cook-Off
The fifth day on the reservation was dedicated to preparation for the evening feast. The entire tribe would gather at the communal cooking area, and as tradition dictated, Jace and Tobin would engage in their annual culinary battle: the stew cook-off.
The communal area was a large outdoor space with multiple fire pits and a covered kitchen structure where traditional Native cooking happened. Several large pots sat over fires, ready for the stews that would be stone-cooked, heated rocks dropped into the liquid to bring it to temperature slowly, infusing the meat and vegetables with a depth of flavor modern cooking couldn't replicate.
By mid-morning, the area was bustling. Families brought ingredients, elders oversaw preparations, and children ran between the legs of adults in gleeful chaos.
Jace and Tobin arrived together, already bickering.
"I'm just saying," Tobin said, carrying a basket of vegetables, "my stew won last year."
"Your stew was edible last year," Jace corrected, carrying his own supplies. "That doesn't mean it won."
"The tribe voted."
"The tribe was being polite."
Samantha, walking beside them with Christina, laughed.
"How long does this go on?"
"All day," Christina said. "Every year. It's a tradition."
They reached the communal kitchen, and Aunt Lila immediately put them to work. Aunt Maeva was already there, as was Uncle Marcus, and soon the space was alive with the smell of earth and fire and home.
Smoke curled lazily over slow-cooked venison, mutton, poultry, and a thick, hearty stew, each simmering in pots coaxed with patience and pride. The aroma was intoxicating, earthy, seasoned perfectly, as if the essence of the desert itself had found its way into the spices.
Jace and Tobin moved around the pots like generals, playful and precise, needling each other with every pass, leaning over to check each other's stew with exaggerated suspicion.
Jace jabbed a finger at Tobin, eyes glinting.
"Piinishi' katsu yise 'üü pisuu." (“Stop with the beans, or you’ll fart!”)
Tobin waved a hand dismissively, smirking.
"'Üü süŵütünaa yaduha."
("You always say that!")
"And you always ignore me!" Jace shot back, leaning in conspiratorially. "I swear, you're trying to turn this into a bean festival, not a stew. No one wants to hear a symphony of flatulence after dinner. Especially not from you."
Aunt Lila, bustling between the stoves and the warming trays, dodged a sweeping elbow and gently grabbed Jace by the waist, shifting him just enough to reach the corn cakes. Jace didn't even flinch; he moved fluidly with her hands, still focused on his brother, still teasing.
"'Unahuubüdzabu, Pabi'!" Jace called out and then leaned closer to Tobin, whispering dramatically, "Your spice is weak! Mine will make them remember the taste of earth itself!"
Tobin's eyes narrowed, calculating. Then, with the perfect tilt of his head and a smirk, he shot back in perfectly deadpan English: "So… your stew will taste like dirt then?"
Jace froze for a heartbeat, scowled briefly at his brother, then burst into laughter, pointing at Tobin like he'd just landed a critical strike in a long-fought duel.
Erik, leaning against a countertop, whispered to Ricky, "I… I have no idea what's happening."
Ricky grinned, eyes sharp.
"It's a brotherly death match. Almost nuclear. It's less about the stew, more about who gets bragging rights for the next six months."
Erik chuckled, a deep rumble.
"Bragging rights over a stew, huh? These guys take their food seriously."
Connor closed his eyes, letting the waves of the kitchen excitement wash over him. He didn't catch words clearly, but he felt the rhythm of it all: the teasing, the pride, the laughter, the familial history baked into every gesture. He glimpsed centuries of seasoning, careful hands, ancestral pride, and family rituals, and laughed, fully aware of all the layers. It wasn't the agonizing cacophony of the city; it was generations layered over generations, each thread singing with love and good-natured rivalry. The weight of his power felt lighter. A gift rather than a curse.
Nathan tilted his head, feeling the emotional resonance: mischief, warmth, pride, and love radiating from the brothers. He couldn't understand the language, but he felt the joy and playfulness in every movement. A raw, unfiltered happiness he hadn't felt in longer than he could name. He found himself smiling, a genuine, unforced grin that felt unfamiliar but welcome.
Tobin, unflinching, jabbed his spoon into the stew.
"Your pride exceeds your skill, Wanga’a! Mine will melt in their mouths before yours even leaves the pot!"
Jace leaned over dramatically.
"We'll see, Tobin. We'll see. But I think the only thing melting will be the resolve of anyone who tries to eat…whatever you call that."
At that exact moment, Tobin's daughter darted across the kitchen and grabbed his pant leg.
"Nawabi…?" she asked in Paiute.
Tobin bent down just long enough to answer her, a small smile tugging at his lips.
"Haa', mia piabi." She ran off, disappearing into the bustle, and Tobin immediately resumed his duel with Jace, barely missing a beat.
Aunt Lila nudged under Tobin's arm to grab a tray of corn cakes, and Aunt Maeva scooped past Jace to adjust a warming rack, delivering a little peck on his cheek as she passed. Jace kissed back at her. Aside from that, both brothers ignored the bustling movements entirely, absorbed in their slow, escalating culinary warfare.
Tobin took a taste of the stew and invited Jace to do the same. Jace grabbed a spoon, scooped a hearty helping, and shoveled it into his mouth. His face shifted, a moment of genuine consideration, and then the verdict settled in.
"Miina' piinishi'…you're overkilling the beans and lentils," Jace insisted. "You'll be a damned gas bag."
"What are you, Wanga'a, the culinary court?" Tobin argued.
Then it happened.
A small, unmistakable bean-induced noise betrayed Tobin.
Jace didn't miss a beat. His expression didn't change at all.
"I rest my case…" he deadpanned.
Ricky's grin widened into chaos incarnate.
"Ooooh! It's on!"
Erik groaned, shaking his head.
"I… I can't even…"
Connor collapsed against Nathan slightly, emitting a quick little chuckle, then erupting into his trademark giggle, laughing uncontrollably until he dissolved under the table. Nathan laughed too, the hilarity of the moment washing over him through the bond. He also surveyed his lead singer, now fully under the kitchen table, tittering and snickering. This was normal Connor behavior. It was genuinely good to witness again.
Tobin waved off the hilarity slightly, justifying his glorious butt trumpet as proof the stew was perfect.
"This is so good, people will come from all over for the smell alone!" he crowed.
Jace smirked, slowly fanning the air as he replied, "Well… not after that."
From somewhere under the table, Connor started a new round of hysterical masculine giggles. Nathan was a laughing mess. Erik wasn't any better.
Ricky, never missing a beat, jabbed: "Congratulations, Tobin. You just turned dinner into performance art!"
Tobin groaned dramatically, hand over his face.
"Ah, I surrender! It was… inevitable!"
"Miina' piinishi'!!" Jace emphasized one final time.
Tobin just swatted Jace with the towel he had slung across his shoulder and exclaimed, "Wanga'a! I'll aim the next one in YOUR stew. It'll make it spicy!"
From under the table, Connor was still going, breathless, helpless giggles. Nathan peeked under at Connor and asked, "You gonna be okay, Visionary?"
"I don't know yet…" Connor breathlessly cackled. "If Tobin farts again, I'm toast!"
"Sentient toast?" Jace quipped, snickering in Connor's direction.
"Oh no! The toast with feelings?" Tobin asked. "Do they fart, too?"
Hearing this, Connor unleashed even more laughter, a few gasps of attempted composure, before weakly declaring, "You two are evil…and you must be destroyed!"
Nathan said to Jace and Tobin, in between his own gasps, "Okay, heel, you two…you're going to kill Connor…and maybe me, too!"
"All of us!" Erik cried out, wiping tears from his eyes.
"Laughter is always good," Aunt Maeva chuckled warmly, bringing in more food from another home and setting it on the countertop.
Peeking under the table at Connor, she extended a hand and said, "Tsaŵu muguabi, come up here and get off the floor!"
Connor obeyed, unsure of what she'd just said, but sensing it was endearing.
Meanwhile, the kitchen moved around them like a river of life. Children ran between the legs of the adults, laughing and squealing. Aunts carried trays in and out, shoving hands and elbows to navigate the brothers' bickering. Cousins and nieces darted past with plates, bowls, and spoons, adding movement and chaos to the scene.
Through it all, the other Battle Cry members watched in quiet awe:
Ricky delighted in the chaos, tossing quips like grenades.
Erik laughed heartily, slower but fully present.
Connor was immersed in the psychic current of the kitchen, drowning happily in centuries of family pride and mischief.
Nathan felt the warmth and love, laughing right alongside them.
And Jace, he was alive. Fully, deeply alive. Not the Guardian, not the band's anchor, just Jace Elias, laughing, teasing, loving, connected to his family. His shoulders were unburdened, his grin wide and natural. The other four saw this version of him, and quietly, without saying a word to each other, resolved: they would do everything they could to bring this living, breathing joy back with them when they left.
The Feast
The feast began as the desert sky turned to deep indigo, stars beginning to appear overhead like distant fires. Long tables had been set up in a wide circle around the central fire pit: roasted meats, fried bread, corn dishes, beans prepared a dozen different ways, fresh vegetables, and desserts that made Ricky's eyes go wide, all of it brought by a dozen families.
The Brotherhood sat with Jace's immediate family, but the boundaries between families blurred as people moved between tables, sharing food and stories.
An elder stood, Elder Thomas (no relation to Jace's father), with weathered features and eyes that held decades of wisdom, and raised his hands for quiet. The gathering settled.
"We welcome our family home," Elder Thomas said in English, his voice carrying clearly across the space. "Jace Elias, son of Thomas and Katherine, returns to us. And he brings with him his brothers, not of blood, but of bond. The Brotherhood."
He switched to Paiute then, speaking words that Jace understood but the others didn't. But Connor felt the meaning wash over him through his Visionary senses: Welcome. Honor. Family. Healing.
Elder Thomas raised a cup.
"To family, both born and chosen. To healing. To home."
"To home!" the gathering echoed, and the feast began in earnest.
Food was passed, stories were shared, laughter rang out.
When the feast began to wind down and the tables were being cleared, someone brought out drums.
Tribal Drumming
The drums were different from Jace's rock kit, traditional Paiute drums, handmade, with animal hide stretched over wooden frames. They varied in size, each with its own voice, its own rhythm. The drummers began to gather near the central fire, and Jace felt something in his chest pull tight.
This was home. Where his love of rhythm had been born.
Tobin was already moving toward the drums, and he looked back at Jace with a knowing smile.
"Coming, Wanga'a?"
Jace didn't hesitate. He crossed to join the circle of drummers. There were six of them total: Tobin, Jace, Uncle Marcus, Uncle Ira, and two cousins, Daniel and Joseph.
They sat in a circle, drums between their knees, and there was only silence. Then Uncle Marcus began, a slow, steady heartbeat rhythm that resonated deep in the chest. One by one, the others joined, each adding their own voice to the pattern.
Jace's hands moved over the drum, feeling the hide, the vibration, the pulse. This wasn't the lightning-fast complexity of rock drumming. This was simpler, older, more fundamental. The heartbeat of the earth. The pulse of generations.
Tobin's rhythm wove with his, complementary and harmonious. They'd learned to drum together as boys, had sat in circles like this with their father, learning the old songs, the traditional rhythms. This was muscle memory deeper than technique: this was soul memory.
The tempo increased gradually, and around the fire, people began to stand. The dance began: traditional movements passed down through generations, feet moving in patterns that told stories, arms gesturing to sky and earth.
Connor watched, transfixed. His Visionary senses showed him layers: he saw the current dancers, yes, but overlaid with echoes of all the dancers who had moved to these same rhythms over centuries. Grandfathers and grandmothers, children grown old, ancestors long passed. The dance was the same, continuous, unbroken through every generation.
Tears slid down his face, but they weren't sad. They were the only response his body knew for something this old and this beautiful.
Nathan felt the rhythm in his bones. He understood, suddenly, why Jace was such an incredible drummer. This was in his blood. This was his foundation.
Erik swayed slightly, his massive frame moving in time with the beat without conscious thought. He respected this: the tradition, the community, the connection to something larger than oneself.
Ricky wanted to join the dancing but held back, uncertain if he'd be welcome. Aunt Lila noticed and grabbed his hand, pulling him to his feet with a grin.
"Come on, Sentinel. It's just movement. Just joy. You can do that."
And so Ricky danced, awkward at first, but then finding his own rhythm, his own way to move with the drums.
Samantha stood with Christina, watching Jace drum. He looked different here, not diminished, but elevated. The weight he usually carried seemed lighter. His face was relaxed, a small smile on his lips, his eyes distant but content.
This was Jace Elias, Paiute drummer, son of this land, part of this community.
Christina leaned close to Samantha.
"He needs this. Needs to remember he's more than what the world demands of him."
"I know," Samantha said softly. "I'm glad he has this. Has you. Has all of this to come back to."
The drumming continued for nearly an hour, the rhythms shifting and evolving. Finally, as the fire burned low and the moon rose high, the drumming slowed. The final rhythm was the same as the first, that deep, steady heartbeat.
The silence after was profound. Sacred in a way no one wanted to disturb.
Jace and Aunt Maeva
Later that night, after most of the tribe had dispersed to their homes, Aunt Maeva approached Jace where he sat by the dying fire with Samantha.
"Walk with me, nephew," she said quietly.
Jace glanced at Samantha, who nodded understanding. He stood and followed Maeva away from the gathering area, out into the desert night where the stars blazed overhead and the cool air smelled of sage.
They walked in silence for a while, following a path Jace knew from childhood, worn into the desert by generations of feet, leading to a small rise overlooking the reservation where you could see for miles under the moonlight.
When they reached the top, Maeva sat on a flat rock, patting the space beside her. Jace sat, and they just looked out at the land spread below them.
"You are carrying darkness," Maeva said finally. "I saw it the moment I looked at you."
Jace's throat tightened.
"I'm healing. The Elixir helped. Time is helping."
"The Elixir healed the wounds in your spirit," Maeva agreed. "But it did not remove the memory. It did not erase the violation."
Jace looked down at his hands.
"No. It didn't."
"Do you dream of it?"
"Sometimes. Less than before, but... yes."
Maeva was quiet.
"When your mother died, you were still very young. Twenty-three years old. A man, but a very young man. And you tried to carry it all: your grief, Tobin's grief, my grief…the whole tribe. You tried to be strong for everyone."
"Someone had to be."
"And now," Maeva continued gently, "you try to carry the Brotherhood's pain along with your own. Connor's violation. Ricky's suffering. The helplessness Nathan and Erik felt. You absorb it all because you are the Guardian, because you think it is your duty."
Jace's eyes burned.
"It is my duty. There is a bond..."
"That bond connects you to them... It does not make you responsible for their pain." Maeva turned to look at him fully. "You protected them, Jace. You volunteered to go in Connor's place. You endured hell to keep them safer. That was courage. That was love. But you cannot carry their trauma as well as your own. That will break you."
"I don't know how to stop," Jace admitted, his voice cracking. "When I feel their pain through the bond, I can't just... ignore it."
"You can never ignore it. But I am asking you to share it. To let them carry their own burdens while you carry yours. To trust that they are strong enough to heal themselves."
Jace was quiet, sitting with it, trying to find the edges of it.
Maeva reached over and took his hand.
"You came home, ada'. That was wise. You need to remember who you are beneath all the titles. You are Jason Beannú Elias. You are Paiute. You are a drummer, a brother, a nephew, a son of this land. Before you were Guardian, you were these things. And when the Guardian's duties are done, you will still be these things."
"Sometimes I forget," Jace whispered. "Sometimes all I can feel is the weight of the amulet."
"Then come home more often," Maeva said firmly. "Bring your Brotherhood here. Let them see you as we see you, not as the King, but as our Jace. Let them help you remember."
Tears slipped down Jace's face.
"I'm tired, Aunt Maeva. I'm so tired."
"I know, my boy. I know." She pulled him into her arms, and Jace let himself be held, let himself be a child again. "But you are healing. And you are not alone. You have your brothers, both born and chosen. You have Samantha. You have us. Let us help carry the weight."
They sat together for a long time, Maeva holding Jace while he cried quietly, releasing more of the weight he'd been carrying since his mother's death in 1982. The desert wind was cool and clean, the stars overhead infinite and steady.
When Jace finally pulled back, wiping his face, the weight had shifted.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
Maeva cupped his face.
"You are strong, ada'. Stronger than you know. But even the strongest need rest. Even guardians need to come home."
They walked back to the gathering area together, where the Brotherhood was still sitting around the dying embers with Tobin and Christina.
Jace and the Brotherhood
Jace approached the fire, and his brothers looked up. They'd been talking quietly, but they fell silent as he sat down beside Samantha, who immediately took his hand.
Nobody spoke. Then Connor broke the silence.
"This place is beautiful," he said quietly. "Your family is beautiful. Thank you for bringing us here."
Jace managed a small smile.
"Thanks for coming."
"We saw you tonight," Nathan said, leaning forward. "Drumming with your family. Dancing. Laughing with Tobin in the kitchen." He paused. "We've never seen you that free before."
"This is home," Jace said simply. "It's different here."
"We want you to have that," Erik said, his deep voice rumbling. "That freedom. That lightness. Not just here, but everywhere."
"I don't know if that's possible," Jace admitted.
"Then we'll make it possible," Ricky said firmly. "We saw you tonight, Jace. We saw who you are when you're not carrying everything. And we're going to make sure you get to be that person more often."
"You don't have to..."
"Yes, we do," Connor interrupted gently. "You've carried us through hell, Jace. Multiple times. You've protected us, led us, held us together. Now it's our turn. We're going to protect that." He gestured toward the reservation, toward the home fires and the drums and the family. "We're going to protect your joy."
Jace's throat tightened.
"I don't deserve you guys."
"Shut up," Nathan said, not unkindly. "You absolutely do."
Tobin, sitting across the fire, raised his cup.
"To protecting each other. All of us."
They all raised their drinks: tea, water, coffee, didn't matter.
"To protecting each other," they echoed.
The fire crackled low, the stars wheeled overhead, and the Brotherhood sat together, stronger for having seen where their Guardian came from, and who he was beneath the titles.
Day Seven — Preparing for the Convention
The final day on the reservation was spent preparing for the upcoming convention. The Brotherhood gathered at Tobin's house, standing in front of the portal that led back to Harmonytis.
"I still can't believe there's a portal in my basement," Tobin muttered, staring at the shimmering gateway.
"Get used to it," Jace said with a grin. "It's convenient. Besides, I can sneak up on you better now."
"Ya better not!" Tobin exclaimed with a laugh.
One by one, they stepped through, emerging in the royal residence in Harmonytis, where servants had already laid out their Hall H attire: formal vests and pants in their respective county colors, embroidered with their amulet symbols. And most importantly, their crowns.
Jace's half-circlet as High King of Aelin.
Nathan's half-circlet as Governor of Draíocht, garnet gleaming.
Connor's half-circlet with its emerald centerpiece.
Erik's half-circlet with sapphire.
Ricky's half-circlet with onyx.
They gathered the clothes carefully, folding them into garment bags, then returned through the portal to Tobin's basement.
"So tomorrow," Ricky said as they emerged back in Nevada, "we're going to walk into a convention center dressed like rock stars, and then for Hall H, we're going to put on crowns and become royalty."
"Basically," Nathan confirmed.
"That's so cool," Ricky breathed.
Samantha helped Jace carry the garment bags upstairs.
"Are you nervous?"
"A little," Jace admitted. "I've never done anything like this. A panel discussion. Answering questions from fans."
"You'll be great," she said confidently. "You're always great when you're being genuine. And that's all this is, being genuine with people who love you."
That night, as they packed for the drive to Reno the next morning, Jace stood outside Tobin's house looking up at the desert stars. Samantha found him there, slipping her hand into his.
"Ready to face the world again?" she asked softly.
Jace looked at the ring on her finger, his mother's ring, the small opals catching starlight. Then he looked at the reservation spread out around them, at the peace and love that had filled the past week.
"Yeah," he said. "I'm ready. The convention starts tomorrow. Hall H. The Oath Holders. All of it."
"We survived hell," Samantha said. "We can handle a convention."
Jace smiled, pulling her close.
"We can handle anything."
Tomorrow they would drive to Reno. They would face thousands of fans, answer questions about the kidnapping, share their music and their story, and stand on that stage as Battle Cry and as the Brotherhood of Aelin.
But tonight, they were home.
And that made all the difference.