The grass was green.
Not the sickly, sickening green of rot-fed weeds or corrupted marsh. This was living grass, gently waving in the breeze, warm with sunlight. Isaac stood in silence as the wind tousled his ash-colored hair, the first true breeze he'd felt since awakening in that corpse. No death magic. No glyphfire. No whispering Spiral voices.
Just sky, wind, and freedom.
Lira stepped forward beside him. Her cloak was still torn, her eyes still carried the weight of the Vale—but something was different. Her steps didn't shake. Her breathing wasn't shallow. She looked at the open road ahead like a prisoner seeing dawn after years in a cell.
"Are we… really out?" she asked.
Isaac exhaled, long and slow. "Yeah. We're out."
Behind them, the twisted canopy of the Forgotten Vale rustled one final time and fell silent, like a haunted world finally letting go.
For the first time, Isaac let himself relax. Not completely. Just enough.
They walked without speaking for a while. The road ahead was dirt and gravel, surprisingly intact. Every few hours, they passed remnants of worn milestones or wooden trail markers etched with languages Isaac didn't recognize. Sometimes birds flew overhead. Sometimes clouds drifted in quiet silence.
And always, the System rested in the corner of his mind, waiting.
[Level Milestone Reached – Level 10]Skill selection unlocked.You may choose 2 new skills.
He ignored it for now. Not because he wasn't excited—but because for the first time in what felt like forever, he wasn't in danger. He didn't have to decide anything immediately. He could just… walk.
"Do you think there are towns nearby?" Lira asked, her voice soft.
Isaac nodded. "If this road leads anywhere, it leads to people. Might not be friendly, but we'll find out soon enough."
Lira glanced at him. "Do you think they've heard of Seluriel?"
He looked up at the sky. The clouds moved lazily, uncaring.
"I don't know. But maybe they've heard of gods. Demons. Angels. If they haven't, we'll teach them."
She smiled faintly. "I want to see what the world looks like. Not just survive it."
That made Isaac pause.
So did he.
That night, they camped beneath a twisted willow, not far from a creek. Isaac started a fire—not with magic, but flint and dried bark. Lira cooked a foraged root she insisted was edible. It didn't kill them, so she was probably right.
As the firelight danced, Isaac wandered to the edge of the creek to wash his hands—and paused.
A face stared back at him in the rippling surface. For a moment, he didn't recognize it.
Pale skin. Strong jawline. Straight nose. Black hair, tousled and falling into dark eyes that gleamed with faint silver reflections.
"…Huh."
He'd half-expected to look like a zombie—skin sloughing off, eyes sunken, an undead horror. After all, he'd used Resurrection more than once already. But what he saw wasn't that.
In fact… he looked pretty normal. Maybe even a little above average.
"Guess a Charisma of 3 doesn't mean I look like a corpse," he muttered. "Just means people don't want to hear what I have to say."
Still, the face in the water wasn't bad. It looked like someone who'd been through a lot… and was still standing.
That was enough.