The city, once broken and blood-soaked, began to breathe again. The dark river still pulsed at its edge, a scar that no one could erase, but the skies finally cleared. Sunlight—true, golden sunlight—bathed the ruined streets that Alex had painstakingly restored with the time door's gift. It was imperfect, of course. Buildings gleamed with their old shapes but still carried the weight of memory. The city had been repaired, but its people had not.
A burial was organized—a massive one. Entire families gathered in the open square, black garments swaying in the faint summer wind. The air smelled of incense and salt, and priests, witches, and even nightwalkers stood side by side, an unusual harmony born from shared loss. Coffins lined the streets, stretching further than the eye could see. Every bell in the city tolled as names were read aloud.
