Tracer sped to the sandy shore, favouring her injured leg.  Thousands of onlookers had amassed to watch the pivotal contest.  But she was in no mood to deliver victory speeches.  Embracing her overwhelmed friends one by one, Onyx approached to assist her.
     "This way cousin," she directed, moving deeper into the crowd.  They stopped as they reached Mother's former body-guard.
     "It's yours," Tracer informed Fiasco, presenting him with Ops.
     "Your highness?"
     "You'll be running the Palace from now on.  I'll even let you keep the blacklights," she jested.  "Just lose the white for Onyx's sake.  I hate hearing him complain..."
     "Trace!"
     "...and we'll be visiting often."
     "I. I."
     "You lead your tribe into the future.  You're the only one I'll be able to trust.
     "Yes your highness.  Thank you."
     "I don't let my friends call me 'your highness'.  The name's Tracer."
     Fiasco bowed.  "It would be an honour.... Tracer.  But I am a little confused, and forgive me for asking, but won't the Guild just reverse your decisions in favour of ‘them’ controlling the Palace?"
     "No, cuz you see it's finally time Father stepped down.  And let his little girl run D'ver City."
 

     The End.
 
 

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