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It had been a long and difficult task, but Buffy had done it. No one had been killed in the process either, to her surprise. She hadn’t even had to resort to physical blows with anyone. Though she had come close to punching out this little old lady who was taking absolutely forever to choose a window…
“I got them!” she declared, proudly holding up her reward for the long wait.
She was instantly surrounded. First at her side was her second born child and only son, who reached up eagerly for his ticket. Buffy gave it to him with a smile and a pat on the shoulder, then gave a second to Mira, the oldest at seven, who was trying to pretend that she wasn’t just as eager as her brother. It took her a second to spot her youngest, who typical to form had wandered off in the commotion to look at the colorful advertisements for all of the amusement parks.
Liam stood patiently at the door, or at least as patiently as a five-year-old boy can. He was nearly jumping up and down with impatience, but at least he hadn’t decided to run out the door yet. His new shirt was already coming untucked from his pants. In one hand he carried his plastic lunch box, in the other he dragged his brand new bookbag, both decorated with his favorite cartoon characters. He kept looking out the window, then back at his mother.
On the other hand, Mira at age eight was much more relaxed then her brother. She sat on the living room couch, distractedly picking at the decorations on her shirt. Every once in a while she looked up at Buffy to see how close they were to being ready to leave, then went back to the last seconds of her summer vacation.
“We’re going to be late,” Liam said suddenly and very loudly. “I don’t want to be late on my first day.”
Buffy smiled at him easily from where she stood in the kitchen. “You won’t be late,” she promised. “Besides, do you want your sister to go hungry? We’ll leave just as soon as I’m done making her lunch.”
“Higher daddy!” Mira commanded, pointing up at the ceiling.
“I can’t, sweetie,” Angel laughed, taping the purple balloon to the corner of the ceiling. His daughter wanted it up at the top of the vaulted ceiling in the living room. “The ladder doesn’t go that high.”
“Oh,” the little girl looked surprised. “Okay. More streamers?” She looked at him hopefully with her big eyes.
Angel felt his heart melt. “Of course. Purple, White, or Green?”
“Green!” the as-of-today eight year old smiled. “I like green.”
“You sure you don’t want pink?” Angel teased.
“Ewww! Yuck!” Mira stuck her tongue out. “I don’t like pink, daddy!”
“I know. Green it is,” he grinned, picking the streamers up off the ladder and taping one end beneath the purple balloon.
While the battle raged all around, the only one of any consequence raged right here. Rand, linked to all the Asha’man and all the Aes Sedai, channeled their combined powers through the Sword Which is No Sword, Callandor. Before this, Rand and the Dark One had been evenly matched. But even the dark must tire. A split moment before the sword plunged into what served for his heart, the Dark One saw his fate. And screamed.
The fires of his eyes flared momentarily, and the very darkness which Ba’alzamon had spread began to contract in on itself. The trollocs howled in anguish and Forsaken fell where they stood. The forces of the light looked out in wonder as the Dark One slid off rand’s sword in a contracting cloud of deepest night.Rand held his sword high in victory, turning to face the mighty host.