Post-Graduation

The ruins of St. Hestia’s smoked in the morning light.

Valerian sat on a piece of blast wall, packing a bag. He had salvaged his notes, a few void shards, and a thermos of coffee.

Elara sat next to him. She was wearing a faculty robe she had scavenged; it was three sizes too big.

"So," she said, kicking her heels against the concrete. "We're technically dropouts."

"Technically," Valerian said, closing his bag. "Though I think destroying the administration counts as a successful thesis defense."

He stood up and offered her a hand.

"Where do we go?" Elara asked. "The Wardens will come for us. The Kingdoms won't like a walking black hole roaming the countryside."

"Let them come," Valerian said. "I have new theories to test. We need a bigger lab. Something with better ventilation."

Elara grinned. It was sharp, dangerous, and completely free.

She took his hand.

"You're a monster, Val," she said affectionately.

"I'm an engineer," he corrected.

She pulled him down and kissed him. It tasted of ozone and victory.

They turned and walked away from the ruins, heading toward the horizon where the world was messy, chaotic, and full of variables waiting to be solved.