The days that followed were a strange, liminal space. They were caught between the epic scale of what they had done and the mundane reality of picking up the threads of lives they had left behind. Aethelburg, for all its gratitude, did not know what to do with them. They were heroes, but the nature of their heroism defied the usual parades and speeches. How do you celebrate the end of a shadow? How do you sing songs about a victory that felt more like a funeral?
Elara found herself with a small, quiet room in the Healer's Guild, offered to her for as long as she needed. It had a narrow bed, a washbasin, and a window that looked out over the herb gardens. It was more privacy than she'd had in months. The first night, the silence was so absolute it kept her awake. She had grown accustomed to the groaning of the earth, the whisper of shadows, the hum of the Shard. Now, there was only the occasional hoot of an owl and the rustle of leaves. It was unnerving.
