Morning came quietly.
Not with explosions or alarms or the weight of impending battle but with birdsong, distant hammers striking stone, and the soft murmur of a city learning how to breathe again.
Sanny sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the light spilling through the window. Dust danced in the air, glowing gold. It was peaceful.
And it hurt.
Peace felt wrong now like something stolen rather than earned.
He reached for the broken chain around his neck, fingers curling around the cracked metal charm Alex had given him long ago. It was warm from his skin, familiar, grounding.
Remember to live your life, my love.
Her voice still echoed in his mind, gentle and unyielding.
Sanny exhaled slowly and stood.
The city had changed in small but meaningful ways.
Where buildings once lay in ruin, scaffolding now rose. Where screams once echoed, laughter hesitant but real returned. The people moved together, rebuilding not just walls, but trust.
Zane worked near the eastern district, reinforcing a bridge that had collapsed during the battle. He moved with calm efficiency, blue energy flickering faintly around his hands as he fused stone and steel.
He didn't push himself like before.
He didn't punish himself anymore.
That had been the hardest lesson.
In the days following Alex's death, Zane had barely slept. He trained until his body collapsed, replaying the moment again and again, what he could've done differently, how close he'd been.
But grief, he learned, wasn't something you could beat into submission.
One night, Axel had found him alone, fists bleeding, eyes hollow.
"She wouldn't want this," Axel had said quietly.
Zane had snapped back then anger sharp, desperate. But later, alone, the truth settled.
Alex had believed in life. In warmth. In moving forward.
So Zane did.
He still hurt. He always would. But now, when he closed his eyes, he remembered her smile not her final breath.
That was progress.
Malia stood in the marketplace, handing out supplies, her voice firm and composed. She smiled easily, joked with children, encouraged the tired.
But when the crowd thinned, she leaned against a wall and let herself breathe.
Some nights, she still cried.
Other nights, she didn't feel anything at all and that scared her more.
Grief came in waves. Some gentle. Some violent.
Alex had been her anchor. Her constant.
Learning to exist without her felt like learning to walk again but on shattered glass.
Still, Malia kept going.
Because Alex would've dragged her forward herself if she hadn't.
Axel trained outside the city walls, movements slow but deliberate. His injuries had healed, but his body remembered pain. His mind remembered failure.
He had survived.
Alex hadn't.
That truth weighed on him more than any wound.
But as he trained, children watched from a distance eyes bright, hopeful. To them, Axel wasn't a failure.
He was a hero.
And slowly, painfully, he began to accept that surviving didn't mean he had done wrong.
Sometimes, survival was its own burden.
Kale wiped sweat from her brow as she helped lift a heavy beam into place. She was shorter than most, her dark hair tied back, muscles aching but she didn't complain.
She rarely did anymore.
Once, she had been loud. Reckless. Always teasing.
Now, she was quieter but not broken.
She noticed everything.
Especially Kalifa.
Kalifa had been distant since her confession. Not cold but cautious. As if afraid of her own heart.
Kale watched her sister carefully, concern etched into her eyes.
That evening, as the sun dipped low, Kale finally spoke.
"You're going to tear yourself apart if you keep this up," she said, handing Kalifa a bottle of water.
Kalifa accepted it silently.
"I told him," Kalifa said after a moment. "I told Sanny how I feel."
Kale blinked. "You what?"
Kalifa let out a shaky breath. "I didn't expect anything. I just… couldn't keep carrying it."
Kale studied her sister's face, then smiled softly. "That took courage."
Kalifa laughed bitterly. "Or stupidity."
"No," Kale said firmly. "Love is never stupid."
Kalifa looked away. "He's still grieving."
"As he should," Kale replied. "And so are you."
Kalifa's hands trembled slightly. "What if loving him means betraying Alex?"
Kale stepped closer, placing a hand on her sister's shoulder. "Alex loved him. Truly. You think she'd want him alone forever?"
Kalifa's eyes filled with tears.
"I don't know how to exist between guilt and hope," she whispered.
Kale hugged her tightly. "Neither do any of us. But we'll figure it out. Together."
That night, Sanny stood at the memorial.
A simple stone. Alex's name carved cleanly into it. Flowers lay at its base, fresh each day.
He knelt slowly, resting a hand against the cool surface.
"I'm trying," he whispered.
The wind rustled the leaves gently, almost like an answer.
Footsteps approached.
Kalifa stopped a few steps away, hesitant.
"I didn't mean to interrupt," she said softly.
Sanny shook his head. "You're not."
They stood in silence for a while.
"I've been thinking about what you said," Sanny finally admitted.
Kalifa's heart skipped. "You don't have to respond."
"I want to," he said.
He turned to face her fully now.
"I loved Alex," he said plainly. "I still do."
Kalifa nodded. "I know."
"And part of me feels like moving forward means losing her," he continued. "Like letting go is a betrayal."
Kalifa swallowed. "I would never ask you to forget her."
"I know," Sanny said. "That's why this scares me."
He looked down at his hands. "But she asked me to live. To keep going."
Kalifa stepped closer but didn't touch him. "And what do you want?"
Sanny closed his eyes.
"I don't want to be alone," he said quietly. "And I don't want to drown in grief forever."
He opened his eyes and met hers.
"And when I'm with you… it doesn't hurt as much."
Kalifa's breath caught.
"I didn't plan to fall for you," she whispered. "It just… happened."
Sanny let out a small, broken laugh. "Yeah. That seems to be a pattern."
Silence stretched again but this time, it wasn't heavy.
It was honest.
"I can't promise I'm healed," Sanny said. "I can't promise I won't have bad days. Or that I won't think about her."
Kalifa's eyes shone. "I don't want perfection. I just want you."
He hesitated then slowly reached out, taking her hand.
The contact was gentle. Careful.
But real.
"I care about you," Sanny said. "More than I realized."
Kalifa squeezed his hand, tears slipping free. "That's enough."
They stood there beneath the stars, grief and hope intertwined not replacing one another, but learning to coexist.
Love didn't erase pain.
But it made it bearable.
From a distance, Kale watched, a soft smile on her face.
The city continued to rebuild.
The wounds were still there.
But so was life.
And for the first time since the battle ended, the future didn't feel empty.
It felt uncertain.
Fragile.
And worth fighting for.
THE NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE THE FINAL CHAPTER.
Until Next Time On Sanny Tenom.