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The days following their reunion in the Vale were peaceful, yet strange. Aria had once believed that after the war—after Xandros' defeat—the world would simply return to normal. But as the seasons shifted, the deeper truth began to settle in her bones: peace was not an immediate balm. Peace took time. And for some of them, it wasn't even enough.
It was the small things that made Aria realize how much she was still carrying. The soft rustle of leaves in the wind reminded her of the whispers she had heard during the war—threats, promises, cries for help. The faint scent of fire on the air made her flinch. Her hands, which had once held a blade with certainty, now trembled when they touched something sharp. Every moment of stillness felt too heavy, too pregnant with all they had survived.
In the mornings, Aria would stand at the edge of the village, looking out at the mist-covered hills, feeling the weight of everything they had left behind. She had tried to heal. She had tried to forget. But in the silence, in the wide-open spaces, all the memories returned—haunting her. Each night she fell asleep exhausted, only to wake up in the dark hours, her mind racing.
It was the same for Lyrien. He was quieter now than he had ever been, withdrawn in a way that felt unfamiliar to Aria. His eyes—once fierce and full of fire—seemed dulled by something deeper. There were days when Aria would catch him staring at nothing, his expression closed off, and she would find herself wishing he would talk, wishing he would share what was going on in his mind. But he never did.
Arinthal, too, was changing. Her once unshakable confidence had been tempered by something more subdued. She spent hours alone in the woods, her hands tracing the roots of trees as if looking for something she had lost long ago. Sometimes, she would look at Aria as if she wanted to speak but would simply turn away instead. Aria could feel the distance between them, though it was never voiced aloud.
One evening, as the three of them sat together by the fire, the weight of the silence grew unbearable. The crackling of the flames filled the space between them, and the shadows danced across their faces like ghosts from another time. Aria watched as Lyrien absentmindedly stirred the embers, his movements slow and deliberate.
"I think I'm ready to leave," Aria said quietly, breaking the silence. Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, no one responded.
Lyrien didn't look up from the fire, though his fingers tightened around the stick he held. "Leave?" he asked, as if the idea hadn't fully registered.
Arinthal's gaze flickered to Aria, her eyes searching. "Where would you go?"
"I don't know," Aria replied, her voice tight. "I just feel… stuck here. Like the past is pressing on me. It's hard to breathe sometimes." She hesitated, looking down at her hands. "I need to move forward. I need to find something else."
Lyrien's eyes met hers for the first time that evening, and his expression was unreadable. "Moving forward doesn't always mean running away."
Aria bit her lip, feeling a sharp pang in her chest. She knew he was right. She had spent so many years running, fleeing the pain, the responsibility, the memory of things she could not undo. But now, standing here, in this quiet village, the weight of the past pressed down on her. She couldn't shake it. "I just feel like I'm not who I was. I don't know who I am anymore."
Arinthal stood, moving toward the edge of the campfire's light. "None of us are who we were," she said quietly. "That's the cost of everything we've gone through. We've changed. But we're still here."
"We're still here," Lyrien echoed, his voice soft, but there was something weary in it.
A long silence followed. Aria felt the depth of their words—felt the weight of all they had survived, and yet, there was no easy path forward. The only thing that was certain was the bond they shared, fragile and unspoken but unbreakable.
"What if I can't find a way to move on?" Aria asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Lyrien didn't answer at first, and for a long time, the crackling of the fire was the only sound. Finally, he stood up, moving to her side, his presence steady and reassuring. "We'll find it together," he said, his hand resting gently on her shoulder. "Even if we don't know the way yet."
Arinthal's gaze softened. "We may never have all the answers, Aria. But we don't have to find them alone. You don't have to."
For a long time, Aria didn't speak. She let their words wash over her, let the quiet settle in. Maybe it wasn't about finding the perfect path, the perfect future. Maybe it was enough to just be here, to take one step at a time, even if the road ahead was unclear.
The next day, after a long night of restless sleep, Aria rose early. The fog was thick in the valley, and the air was cold against her skin. She moved silently, her boots sinking into the damp earth as she walked away from the village, leaving behind the safety of the firelight.
She didn't know where she was going. She just knew that she had to move, had to feel something other than the suffocating weight of the past.
After hours of walking, she found herself at the edge of a small river. The water flowed steadily, its surface broken by the occasional ripple of a fish leaping or a breeze skimming the surface. Aria knelt by the river's edge, watching the water flow past, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she let herself breathe. The air was fresh here, untainted by the memories of battles and bloodshed.
It was here, alone, that she could almost forget who she had been and what she had done. The river didn't care about her past, didn't care about the war or the choices she had made. It was simply there, flowing forward, not looking back.
Suddenly, she felt a presence behind her. She didn't need to turn around to know who it was. Lyrien's voice came softly, a warm breeze against the cold. "You ran off," he said, a hint of concern in his tone.
"I didn't run off," Aria replied, her voice calm. "I just needed some time alone."
Lyrien moved beside her, his gaze following the river's path. He didn't say anything at first, just sat down next to her, his presence comforting in its silence.
"You're still running, you know," he said after a moment.
Aria's heart skipped a beat, but she didn't look at him. "I'm not. I'm just… trying to breathe."
"I know." Lyrien's hand brushed against hers, but there was no pressure, no demand. Just a quiet connection. "But sometimes, Aria… sometimes breathing is just the beginning. It's what you do after that counts."
Aria finally turned to him, her eyes searching his face. "What do I do after?" she asked, her voice breaking slightly.
Lyrien looked at her, his gaze steady, unwavering. "You keep going. You keep fighting for what's worth fighting for. You keep living."
The words hung between them, simple but profound. And for the first time in a long time, Aria felt something stir inside her—a quiet, steady hope.
---
Back at the village, Arinthal was waiting for them. She didn't ask where they had been or why they had left. She simply watched them approach, her eyes understanding, as if she knew exactly what had transpired in the stillness of the riverbank.
"Did you find what you were looking for?" Arinthal asked, her voice soft.
Aria stopped before her, meeting her gaze. "I don't know yet," she said honestly. "But I think I'm starting to find the pieces. I think we all are."
Arinthal smiled faintly. "Good. It's about time."
---
The next few days passed in a quiet sort of rhythm. Aria and Lyrien spent more time together, working in the fields, talking without the heavy weight of unspoken words between them. Arinthal, too, seemed more at peace, though she remained quietly withdrawn, her eyes often distant.
But the tension that had once gripped them all seemed to ease. Each day, they found themselves taking small steps forward, each moment of peace a victory in its own right.
One evening, as the sun set behind the hills, casting long shadows over the land, Aria stood at the edge of the village, looking out at the horizon. For the first time in a long time, she felt something stir deep within her—something that felt like possibility. Maybe it was a new beginning, or maybe it was just another chapter in a long, complicated journey.
But whatever it was, she knew one thing for certain: she wasn't alone.
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