From the Translator
The translation of this book has been one of the most challenging, captivating, and enjoyable adventures of my life. Conveying the energy and spirit of each character is no easy task, but I did my best to preserve the unique essence of each one exactly as envisioned by the author.
The Afterglow, its occurrences, and especially its characters, have repeatedly saved me during the most challenging moments of my life – when I had no strength, when everything was falling apart, Robert, Steph, Chris, Norman, Sarah always came to my rescue. And each of them, every time, reminded me of something very important.
Stephanie reminded me of how important it is to notice the beauty around us and to be able to rebuild ourselves. Over and over again, step by step. After all, so much depends on our attitude and determination.
Robert reminded me of the importance of staying calm and unwavering in any situation, because decisions made in haste and panic never lead to anything good. Moreover, your resilience can save someone's life.
Norman reminded me of the importance of a positive attitude: a bit of humor and a small drink from the flask can make even the worst day a little bit better. And Sara – of the importance of treating everyone with understanding and respect. After all, you can never truly know what someone has been through.
And the most important advice I receive every time I come across this book is from Chris: never despair. Even when the world is falling apart, even when you can't see a way out, even when it feels like there is no strength left – never despair. Because as soon as you start to despair and give up, you'll break forever.
I sincerely thank the magnificent author of this book for her boundless talent, for the vivid characters, and for the vibrant narrative style that makes you immerse yourself in every moment of the plot without hesitation. And most importantly, for creating a story that gave me a completely new and infinitely beloved world, to which I continue to return again and again.
My dear reader, I sincerely wish for you to fall as deeply in love with this story and to find something truly special in it – something that, if it doesn't save you in a difficult moment of life, will certainly make you smile, remind you of what matters most, or inspire you.
Let The Gorgon be your guiding star in the fight against the most difficult and seemingly invincible obstacles. May Stephanie's strength of spirit and Lewis's unwavering determination instill in you an unshakable belief in your abilities. And may the magical chemistry between them bring warmth to your soul and remind you that somewhere in this world, your person is always waiting for you.
With infinite gratitude and boundless love for each of you.
Once and until the end.
Afterglow: The Justification of Chaos
Dedicated to my guiding light and the brightest person.
Mom.
You will always live in my heart.
Part 1. Stephanie Shayer
1
An endless snow-covered field. A white sky. A hazy horizon line fading into a pale mist. All around, an infinite silver expanse without a single hint of color – no sound, no breath of wind, not even a sense of cold. My steps are silent, weightless; it takes me a moment to realize that I’m walking. From nowhere. To nowhere. The silence is so overwhelming that the flow of blood through my veins feels like a deafening roar, the beating of my heart like a mythical battering ram, threatening to shatter my chest. A vague sense of foreboding coils through my body, wrapping around and choking me, but I lift my eyes to the pearly, dusty-gray sky. Snow is falling in large flakes. Slowly. Silently. Spiraling down, settling on my hair, shoulders, arms.
My arms.
I lower my gaze to them. Instead of long gloves reaching to my elbows – bright crimson blood. Hot. Sticky. And only at this moment do I realize the snow-covered field is gone: a dark forest surrounds me, black trees tangled together like a cage. Above, the sharp sliver of a crescent moon. I’m standing knee-deep in a motionless river, but its waters are scarlet, concealing silent bodies, their right arms twisted behind their backs.
I try to get out, to climb free, but I only sink deeper into the mire pulling me down, further and further, and the dead begin to whisper to me. I can hear their voices and feel as though I know each one. I squeeze my eyes shut, sensing their cold, lifeless hands on my shoulders, dragging me with them. When I open my eyes again, I see a wasteland. Everything is burning. The earth burns. The sky burns. There is nothing to see but erupting darkness and the infernal blaze of hellfire. I am drenched in blood; it drips down my face, flows along my arms, and runs over the sword I grip with lifeless force. Everything around me is steeped in blood, pouring in rivers, blazing with scarlet flames.
The taste of ash on my lips. A hissing in my head. A black sun.
I fall to my knees, and then collapse into the snow.
The hot coffee burned my throat, and the warmth of the bitter drink spread through my body. I exhaled heavily, driving away the intrusive images of the night’s torment, and lifted my gaze to the sky, veiled with stormy gray-brown clouds. A chilly, pre-dawn gloom cloaked the world, and the gusty cold wind – so unusual for what I understood to be midsummer – offered little pleasure in being outside. In the Central Lands, summer is gentle and welcoming (though this year, the weather has been surprising with uncharacteristic fluctuations since spring); and in the Isthmus Region, where I was now, winds, it seemed, were a common thing.
I still couldn't fully realize that we had actually crossed the customs borders of the lands and passed through twenty-three checkpoints. My emotions urged me to look around, soak in the landscapes, and try to catch glimpses of the local culture. When else would I have a chance to escape the confines of restricted movement? But my rational mind stubbornly refused to view these new places through the lens of idle curiosity.
Firstly, the job wasn’t done yet. Secondly, while there was no doubt about the validity of the documents presented to customs officials and no questions were raised at any checkpoint, there was no guarantee that on the return trip the political investigators – the Reapers – wouldn’t take an interest in the name that had endorsed our papers. This wasn’t just playing with fire – it was an attempt to walk on a thread over the abyss.
The brewed coffee bean exuded a spicy aroma, and I suddenly thought that over the past few months, during which sleepless nights were consumed by black coffee and endless work, my body seemed to have absorbed too much of this bitter, smoky liquid, flowing through my veins instead of blood.
I tossed the empty paper cup into the trash, wanting to get back to the warm car as soon as possible, and, lifting the sleeve of my leather jacket, I glanced at my watch. Not even six yet.
Suddenly, in the distance above the houses, a flock of birds rose into the air, their sharp cries echoing through the surroundings. The silence of the early morning in the sparsely populated suburb only amplified their plaintive and anxious clamor, which resonated in a chorus of echoes among the houses and sent a gust of wind scattering leaves across the road.
A pang tugged at my heart, and for some reason, a spasm tightened my throat: it was as if all the doubts of the past days had collapsed onto my shoulders like an unbearable weight.
Such a long journey made, such a grave risk looming overhead like the tip of a sword; a misstep feels all too easy, unbearably dangerous. More dangerous than ever before.
Shivering slightly, I made my way toward the small white trailer.
“Let’s go,” I said to Andrew; he nodded, adjusted the collar of his bright orange shirt, and started the engine, “and take off those damn sunglasses! Where do you see any signs of the sun?”
“In the same place, where the meaning and practicality of this whole trip lie,” the man retorted, glancing at the rearview mirror, while I clicked my tongue and gave Andrew a condescending look. “You