Maeve saw her father’s torn figure behind that dusty tent flap and wept. She thought that after she saw the contribution score that they were all free. The sight of his withered form, blood seeping from empty eye sockets, his body drained of mana to save us all; was more than she could bear. They had never planned for this sacrifice.

  As she approached his broken form; tears streaming down her face; she blinked...

  The next second, there stood her father; whole and hugging her tightly. Even as memories lanced through her mind like white-hot needles, something felt different. The familiar weight of his arms around her, solid and real, anchored her as two timelines of memories fought for dominance in her consciousness.

  “Mommy?” she managed through gulps of air that tore from her heart, her voice sounding strange to her own ears; younger and less hardened by survival.

  The kitchen came into focus around her. The polished granite countertops, the refrigerator covered in magnets and school artwork, the soft yellow walls; all so ordinary, so precious. Early evening light streamed through the windows, casting long shadows across the hardwood floor. The scent of the pasta dinner they’d shared earlier still lingered in the air.

  Her mother hurried to her side; arms outstretched. “I’m here, I’m here. Shhhh… it’s ok baby.” Aurora’s voice washed over her, the soft Southern drawl more pronounced as it always was when emotion overcame her.

  Maeve felt herself being pulled into her mother’s embrace, the familiar scent of her lavender shampoo temporarily overpowering the confusion swirling in her mind.

  “I learned about everything you’ve done and I’m so proud of you,” Aurora added, her own eyes glistening with tears.

  As the shock began to recede, Maeve turned to her siblings, all gathered anxiously around the kitchen table. They all grabbed each other in tight embraces, a tangle of arms and tears and laughter. Xavier’s arms were strong and steady around her shoulders. Margo’s curls tickled her cheek as they hugged. Nadia cried her eyes red as she bulldozed her over.

  Maeve turned to face her father, noticing something she hadn’t seen on his face in months; a genuine smile, unguarded by caution or calculation.

  “It’s good to see you smiling, Dad,” she said, her voice steadying. “The brooding routine didn’t fit you very well.”

  He grabbed her up and whispered into her ear, his voice rough with emotion. “You did well, kiddo. I’m sorry I had to put you through all of that alone. You did it though. You ended the threat to the world.”

  The weight of that memory; standing against the Golden Claw chief, fighting for humanity’s last chance, settled on her shoulders anew. But here, with her family once again whole around her, it felt bearable.

  “Only because of the perks of you owing me a favor, old man,” she joked, the quip feeling strange on her tongue after so long living in constant vigilance.

  Her father set her down gently, his hands lingering on her shoulders as if afraid she might disappear. The kitchen clock ticked steadily in the background as he filled her in on the plan to prepare for The Fall; investments, property acquisitions, the people they would need to gather and train.

  “I’m going to check the accounts. I’ll be right back,” her father said, giving her shoulder a final squeeze before heading downstairs to his office.

  His footsteps faded down the stairs, leaving the family in momentary silence. Maeve sank into a kitchen chair, her legs suddenly unsteady. The familiar wooden seat beneath her, worn smooth from years of family meals, felt surreal after her memories of makeshift camps and hard ground.

  Xavier was the first to break the silence, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. “How bad was it?” he asked, his expression grim.

  Maeve’s hands trembled slightly as she reached for a glass of water. The cool liquid soothed her throat as she considered how much to share.

  “Bad,” she finally said, setting the glass down carefully. “He almost died multiple times attempting this plan. Joshua nearly killed him an hour before we fought the final battle.”

  “That bastard,” Margo hissed, a brief flash of emerald lighting her eyes. The fruit bowl at the center of the table trembled slightly, apples rolling against oranges.

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  “Woah, how do you have that?” Maeve asked, momentarily distracted from her memories.

  “There’s not much mana here, but I seem to be able to access a bit of it. Just like Dad,” Margo explained, extending her palm to reveal a tiny sprout growing from nothing. The small green shoot curled upward, leaves unfurling in miniature perfection.

  “Dad seems...different,” Nadia observed, pulling her knees up to her chest on the adjacent chair, her young face solemn beyond her years.

  Maeve nodded, memories of her father’s transformation after losing so much washing over her. “I hadn’t seen him smile sincerely since we lost Margo,” she said quietly. “He shut himself off and learned new abilities. Have you guys seen his power yet?”

  “We saw his thread is purple now, but that’s about it,” Aurora answered, concern etching fine lines around her eyes. She absently twisted her wedding ring, a habit Maeve recognized from the most stressful moments after The Fall. “The memory thing is new. He hasn’t brought it up once. Every time I try to broach the topic; he changes the subject.”

  Outside a car drove around the Cul de sac, its headlights sweeping across the kitchen windows. Maeve started and reached for her belt, completely forgetting what normal life was like; another ordinary moment that had become extraordinary to the family.

  “He’s stronger than he’s letting on,” Maeve continued, lowering her voice though her father was out of earshot. “After the loss of Mom, he came back from a scavenging run completely different. At moments, he would stare at ‘you know who’ with such coldness that it scared me.”

  She swallowed hard, remembering the cold fury that had transformed her father’s typically analytical demeanor into something altogether more frightening.

  “He’s like the smart version of Joshua, for scale in power...maybe stronger. I don’t think he realizes it, though. It was always about us, or the camp,” she said through whispered tones, her fingers tracing invisible patterns on the tabletop. “He almost never ran out of mana. I mean… at all.”

  Everyone around the table sat in stunned silence. Margo looked down at her hands, the tiny sprout wilting as her concentration wavered. Her brow furrowed as if recalling something from the hospital.

  Before she could speak, Xavier interjected, his voice tinged with disbelief. “How?”

  Maeve shook her head slowly. “I’m not sure, but I haven’t seen him acting this caring in a while. Honestly, it shocked me more than being back.” She glanced around the kitchen, taking in the familiar details; the refrigerator drawings from Nadia’s elementary school days, the chipped mug with an A that her father always used for coffee, the family photos lining the walls.

  “It wasn’t until I noticed you all that I could understand why.”

  She paused, remembering how her father had changed after their losses. “He didn’t use his real name after he returned. He just kept the Threads nickname all the way until the end.”

  Nadia stood suddenly, her chair scraping against the floor. The sound startled everyone, cutting through the tension that had built in the room. She looked at each family member in turn, her young face set with determination that reminded Maeve painfully of the warrior she would become.

  “It’s Dad, though,” Nadia said firmly. “He’ll tell us what we need to know and teach us what we need to survive. Does anyone doubt that?” she continued, her voice gaining strength. Her hands, which had been fidgeting with the hem of her shirt, tightened into fists at her sides.

  “We follow his orders, and we win. Its as simple as that.”

  Everyone nodded in agreement. Maeve noticed Margo kept her head to the side, avoiding their gazes. She filed that observation away for later.

  “Let’s shelve this for now and support your father,” Aurora suggested, noticing her daughter’s changing mood. She reached across the table to touch Margo’s hand reassuringly. “Your little sister’s right, he’s also figuring things out as he goes along.”

  “Right,” Margo agreed, visibly rallying herself. “It’s not like there’s a handbook for returning to the past.”

  The tension in the room eased slightly as they all acknowledged the absurdity of their situation. Maeve could feel her muscles relaxing incrementally, realizing how tightly wound she’d been since receiving her memories.

  They heard footsteps on the stairs, and everyone quieted. Alexander appeared in the doorway, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

  “The plan is in motion,” he announced, his eyes lighting up with uncharacteristic excitement. “We’re rich.”

  The mood exploded into cheers. Aurora grabbed a bottle of wine from the cabinet, checking with Alexander through a glance before opening it. He nodded, his smile widening.

  “Everyone, including you, Nadia, get over here!” Aurora called, her southern accent growing more pronounced with excitement. “Tonight, we celebrate as a family reunited!” She began pouring small glasses of wine, the deep red liquid catching the light.

  “Give a toast, Dad!” Margo urged, somehow producing a burrito from nowhere—a skill she’d apparently retained from both timelines.

  “Toast, toast, toast!” they chanted in unison, the familiar family ritual bridging the gap between their old lives and new memories.

  Alexander raised his glass, the light reflecting off the crystal as he held it high. His expression softened as he looked at each of them in turn.

  “We’re a family who’s seen severe loss. We’re a family who’s been to war. We’re a family who’s saved the world,” he began, his voice steady but thick with emotion.

  Maeve felt her throat tighten, the dual memories overlapping as she recalled both the father who had taught her to ride a bike, and the leader who had taught her to survive the apocalypse.

  “Before all that, however, we’re a family,” Alexander continued, raising his glass higher. “To the Family!”

  “To the family!” they proclaimed proudly, glasses clinking together in a circle of unity.

  As they drank, Maeve caught her father’s eye across the table. In that moment of connection, she saw both versions of him; the man who had fallen, broken and drained in that tent. And the man who stood before her now, determined to rewrite their future. She silently vowed that this time, she wouldn’t let him carry that burden alone.

  The wine tasted sweeter than anything she remembered from either timeline.