The dark corridor unraveled in a spiral of shadow, and Helios stepped out into the city of Atlantis.
The air still shimmered with the residual heat of catastrophe. Beneath them, the obsidian flow that had once been molten death now cooled in ragged waves—black and twisted like the petrified remains of some titanic serpent. The volcano had exhausted its fury, and the land bore its scars.
All around the city, the Stone Guardians stood in quiet vigil. Their crystalline eyes still glowed, their forms half-submerged in ash and stone. Above, the great crystal of Atlantis hovered silently, still wreathed in drifting motes of light and watched over by the carved faces of kings and queens long dead.
And then, with a sound like ice cracking under pressure, the shield—crystalline and celestial—fractured.
The shell that had saved the city fractured along its edges, spiderwebbed across its radiant surface, and with a single glimmering pulse—collapsed outward in a rain of light. The shards fell like stardust, disappearing before they could touch the ground.
Helios stood in its wake, his jacket still dusted with flecks of soot, his hand loosely entwined with Kurai's. She said nothing, though her eyes swept the horizon.
A movement caught his eye—on the rooftop just a few buildings away.
Skuld.
She sat cross-legged at the edge of the highest tower, silhouetted against the slowly recovering skyline. Her clothes were scuffed. Her hair was becoming messy. She looked tired, and Helios couldn't blame her as he could also use a nap too.
Helios and Kurai shared a glance—then, without a word, both vanished.
In two silent bursts of motion—light and shadow—they reappeared beside her.
None of them spoke for a while.
Together, the three watched Atlantis breathe.
Down below, a crowd had gathered around the temple steps where Kida had collapsed, still glowing faintly from the Heart's departure.
She stirred.
Slowly, eyes fluttering open. Confused at first. Then pained. Then… present.
Milo was the first to reach her, skidding to a halt and collapsing to his knees beside her.
"Kida—Kida, are you—?"
She threw her arms around him.
He froze. Visibly short-circuited. His hands fluttered like nervous birds—hovering above her back without knowing what to do—until he finally let them rest gently around her shoulders.
Then, almost shyly, he began to pull away.
But Kida didn't let go.
Instead, she hugged him tighter, burying her face into the crook of his neck, and his awkward tension melted into quiet stillness.
And then she gasped.
Her hand clenched reflexively.
She drew back just far enough to open her palm.
Inside… was a bracelet.
Tarnished, silver, and ocean-etched. The same one she had worn as a child—the one that had fallen from her wrist the day the Heart had chosen her mother to ascend. The last relic of a life before grief.
And now it was here.
Warm.
Real.
Her breath hitched as tears welled in her eyes.
Kida pressed the bracelet to her face, rubbing it against her cheek as if trying to remember a touch that had long faded from memory. Her voice broke into a whisper.
"Thank you, Mama."
On the rooftop, Skuld stared down at the scene, lips parted slightly. "Helios… did her mother really give her that?"
Helios didn't answer at first.
Then, he smiled—not his usual smirk or sardonic grin, but something softer, touched by something warm and human.
"Yes," he said quietly. "Parents can do amazing, impossible things when it comes to their children. I should know…"
He turned his gaze toward the crystal floating above them. "I believe… those who fuse with the Heart—some part of them still lingers inside it. Thought gone, but never truly lost. The part that once was her mother… that's why Kida's alive now. She should've been consumed. Expended."
He paused.
"But the Heart doesn't have the instinct to protect. It only fulfills. And love—love is not its domain."
His voice dropped to a reverent whisper. "Only a mother's love could've defied that rule."
Beside him, Kurai tilted her head.
Her expression unreadable. Her tone colder than ash.
"Love…" she said, like a word foreign in her mouth.
Helios looked at her—not with mockery, not with pity.
With something almost like sorrow.
"Kurai," he said, "it's the reason I am still here."
She didn't reply.
But her hand lingered in his longer than usual before she noticed and pulled it away.
The silence lingered a while longer—comfortable, even sacred—before Skuld let out a long exhale and stretched her arms over her head.
"I'm gonna fall over if I sit here another second," she muttered.
Helios chuckled and stood, using magic to brush the soot from their clothes. "Then let's go somewhere horizontal before we all collapse dramatically and ruin the skyline."
With a casual flick of his wrist, he conjured a dark corridor. The magic flared dimly, less aggressive than usual—tired, even.
"Back to the room?" he offered.
Kurai said nothing, simply walked forward and stepped through.
Skuld gave him a sidelong glance. "You gonna carry me if I pass out mid-step?"
He smirked and nudged her with his shoulder. "Only if you don't snore."
She rolled her eyes and disappeared into the corridor.
Helios followed, the portal sealing behind them like a sigh.
Their room—spacious by Atlantean standards—was untouched. Cool stone walls, soft blue-glowing light panels, and three beds neatly made as if the last apocalypse hadn't just ended.
Skuld dropped face-first onto the nearest bed with a muffled grunt and didn't move again.
Kurai slipped off her boots and lay on her side, back to the others, but not as far as usual.
Helios stared at his bed for a beat. Then, slowly, he pulled off his jacket and sat.
The weight of the day—of energy harvested, heartless defeated, and love rediscovered and remembered—finally settled on him.
He fell back, one arm draped over his eyes.
For a moment, none of them were warriors or keyblade wielders.
They were just tired kids.
And for now… that was enough.