The days that followed blurred into a rhythm Valeria hadn't known in years.
No alarms. No dark clouds rolling in with screams stitched between lightning cracks. No emergency convocations at dawn. Just warm sun over Elandor's rooftops and the long, golden hush of calm.
The Guild Square — once a battlefield's nerve center — had become something softer. Guildmasters now stood at the fronts of their halls not to bark orders, but to laugh. Armor was polished not in fear, but pride. Adventurers idled along stone steps, playing cards or practicing low-tier techniques out of habit, not urgency.
For the first time in memory, Kael found himself with… nothing to do.
Even the stray Varnok that had lingered near the outskirts were barely worth his time. The scouts rarely reported sightings anymore. When they did, it was always low-tier — Dregspawn or Burrow Fangs. Kael would walk out alone, and in less than a blink, it would be over. One flicker of motion, one flash of Stormfire or a compressed kinetic burst, and silence would return. The city didn't even notice. No fanfare. No thanks. Just one more fading trace of war swept aside by the wind.
He tried to rest. He really did.
Leiya dragged him to one of the restored gardens in the upper district — a once-sealed oasis that now bloomed again with silverroot trees and humming frost lotus blooms. She spun in slow circles under the shade, laughing, light catching in her long black hair as petals scattered around her.
"Doesn't this feel like a dream?" she asked, beaming. "Like a world that forgot how to bleed?"
Kael leaned against a tree trunk, watching her with a faint, uncertain smile. "It feels... far away," he said. "Like it's not mine."
Leiya stopped twirling. Her expression softened. She walked over, gently pressing a hand against his chest. "You helped build this peace. You bled for it. It is yours, Kael."
He looked down at her hand, then at the light dappling the ground. He wanted to believe her. He wanted to live in this moment, to finally be someone who could smile without looking over his shoulder.
And with her, he came close.
That night, they shared a quiet meal at a small rooftop inn overlooking the eastern watchtowers. The stars shimmered above, and the city below pulsed with gentle, living sound. Kael barely touched his food. Leiya didn't push. She knew how to sit in silence with him, how to fill the air without needing to speak.
Afterward, as they stood at the railing, she leaned her head on his shoulder. "When you look out there… do you still feel it?"
Kael hesitated. "Yes," he said finally. "It's like something's watching. Not close. But not far enough."
She didn't flinch. "Then we prepare. Quietly. No fear. Just… ready."
He turned to her — truly looked — and saw not the cheerful girl who'd once stumbled into his life like starlight, but the powerful adventurer who had chosen to stand beside him even when the sky fell. A partner, not just in battle, but in what came after.
Their hands met, fingers locking with quiet certainty.
That night, for the first time in months, Kael slept. Not deeply. Not dreamlessly. But enough.
Yet, beyond the city's walls — far past the forests, mountains, and silent ruins — something stirred.
A heartbeat deep in the earth.
A breath drawn in the dark.
Waiting.