And as the sky darkened and the torches burned brightly, moths flickering around the flames, I looked up into Dagan’s bright eyes, and knew, with all I had in me, that this life with him would be full of joy and likely heartache, too, because life was both. But no matter what was thrown at us—new life, death, war, or disease—we could handle it all because together, we were a force, united.

I’m standing on the river.

Beneath me, the water bubbles and churns, frothing blue and white. Fish, their scales rainbows underneath the water, flit by in schools.

I’m not alone.

A man stands on the bank, and he’s pulling a rickety boat to the shore by a golden rope. I’ve seen him before in my dreams, while I lie asleep nestled in Dagan’s arms in our little house, built on the south side of the farm for him and me, Nanaea, and Kasha.

The man raises a sharp, angular face to mine. He’s dressed like a warrior with a leather chestplate and greaves on his thick legs, but his face is at peace, no longer tortured as it once was. He smiles at me, and his relief is as thick as honey. It flows over me with sweet warmth.

It’s the Boatman, and I recognize the man for who he really is.

A woman with a scorpion tail appears from the reeds behind him, expands mighty, gold wings and lifts into the air, then descends into the boat. As she settles on a bench, her wings flutter once before she tucks them back in.

Linaza!

I gasp, shaking. The goddess of love and war, called such because those two passions often flow from the same source, is present before me.

Another man stands on the shore, and he’s glowing white. I can’t see his figure as great gusts of wind swirl around him, consuming him, but I hide my face, knowing I’m looking at Selu. The same honeyed warmth spreads throughout my chest as I look at his whirlwind, and slowly, so slowly, he points down the shore at a pair of figures walking toward the Boatman.

Confused, the Boatman squints into the distance, but after a moment, his face crumples. He drops his head into his hands, and sobs rack his strong shoulders. He looks up again as if in disbelief, and the figures run toward him at full speed.

It’s a little boy. And a woman. They’re wearing tunics from an age long ago, light bursting from their skin. They race toward the Boatman, the creature of whom I was once so afraid, and they throw themselves into his arms. He captures them both and lifts them from the ground, his face breaking apart in joy. After a few moments of him crying and squeezing them to his chest, he looks over their shoulders at me, standing on the water, gazing into a reunion that appears to have been long overdue.