The forest path outside the dungeon was quiet. Too quiet.
Ren and Elsera had stopped running, breath catching, hands on their knees. Somewhere behind them, the echo of battle had gone... still.
No sound. No dust. No collapse.
Just silence — that kind that crept under your skin and whispered:
Something ended.
Elsera was still staring at the path they came from. Her hands shook.
Ren (softly):
"You okay?"
Elsera (without looking):
"No."
They waited.
One minute.
Two.
The wind shifted.
Then the trees opened — pushed apart by a pulse of blood-slick shadow.
And from it, Veyrix Kuron stepped out.
His coat was torn to the ribs. His jaw bloodied. One arm hung slightly wrong, but he was upright.
Still. Whole.
Mostly.
Elsera:
"You made it."
Veyrix (gritting his teeth):
"Barely."
He didn't elaborate. He didn't have to.
The look in his eyes said Ashrunner wasn't dead.
Not even close.
Ren (quietly):
"You win?"
Veyrix:
"No.
I survived. He left."
He didn't say how.
He didn't say why.
But in his silence, something older than victory hung in the air.
Later — Kingdom of Emberstone
The return was somber. Quiet gates. Dim runes. Even the flame-carved statues seemed to flicker lower in their watch.
They brought back no body.
Only the weight of one name: Thenaia.
And the silence where she used to stand.
In the courtyard of the Emberflame Citadel, word had already spread. Ren could feel it — grief crawling under the skin of soldiers, apprentices, and stewards alike.
But as they stepped inside, two figures waited.
One — familiar. Dressed in layered silks and threaded glyphs, Mistress Marra, the Weaver herself, stood with arms crossed, eyes already dissecting the damage.
The other — unfamiliar.
A woman draped in storm-threaded midnight, hair like curling smoke, eyes violet and alight with lunar burn.
Her voice was smooth. Measured.
"You brought back only pain."
Veyrix gave her a look that could flay kingdoms.
Marra:
"We felt the shift. Thenaia's death wasn't quiet."
Elsera (softly):
"She died protecting the Crestflare."
The woman beside Marra tilted her head slightly.
Not shocked. Not surprised. But noting it.
She stepped forward, eyes now on Ren.
"You must be the one everyone won't shut up about."
Ren (dry):
"Depends who you ask. And how much they've had to drink."
She smirked.
"I'm called Velara. You'll learn why later."
Marra (gently):
"She's not one for small talk. But she came because she felt the same flare we all did."
Ren:
"You mean the part where reality blinked and a masked emo with a god complex stabbed our only priest?"
Velara (coolly):
"Something like that."
Veyrix leaned against the wall, finally exhaling like the weight hadn't left his chest since the dungeon.
Veyrix:
"Ashrunner's not dead. He won't stop."
Marra:
"Then neither can we."
They didn't say anything else for a long while.
Because something in the world had cracked.
And all of them… were standing near the fault line.