The days after the battle passed in quiet, like the world itself had fallen into deep thought.
No drums.
No fanfare.
Just whispers.
The city — or what was left of it — stood like a burnt painting, half-sketched memories charred at the edges. Markets no longer echoed with haggling, only with the sound of tools scraping rubble. Where laughter once bounced from balconies, now silence hung like fog.
People moved, helped, rebuilt — but no one smiled fully. Something had died. Not a person… something deeper.
Hope, maybe?
---
Leo sat upright on a dusty cot, a blanket around his shoulders, looking out of a torn tent flap. The sky was still stained from the magic — not red or blue, but that eerie gold-grey that feels like it shouldn't exist.
Ari sat beside him, arms tucked behind her knees, her head tilted as she watched him.
"You're awake," she said gently, half a smile curving her lips.
Leo didn't look at her at first. He just whispered, "Was I ever really asleep?"
She didn't reply — just scooted closer until their shoulders brushed.
Rayleigh entered a few moments later, brushing ash off his coat.
> "Well," he said, trying to sound casual. "Good to see the sleeping volcano's awake."
Leo laughed once — short and dry. "I'm the volcano now, huh?"
> "You did nearly melt a mountain range," Rayleigh muttered.
Ari swatted Rayleigh's arm. "Stop. He's been through enough."
> "So have the mountain goats," Rayleigh muttered, rubbing his shoulder.
Leo smirked. Then sighed.
> "No more jokes. I need to tell you both everything."
And so, he did.
He told them about the dreamworld, the ancient man with his face, the concept of the soul carrier. He spoke of the Archive's forbidden wing, the book with no author, the cursed lullaby that made bones hum — the one called the Final Note.
Ari already knew some of it — her gaze didn't shift once. But Rayleigh grew still, the way a fire pauses before it roars again.
> "And you're saying... you think this power... chose you?"
Leo looked down at his hands.
> "I think it followed me. Maybe since birth. Maybe since someone else's death. I don't know."
A long silence passed.
Then Rayleigh finally asked, "And this book... where is it now?"
Leo smiled weakly. "Safe. I think. Hidden."
Ari raised a brow. "You hid a world-ending magical lullaby?"
> "...Under my pillow," Leo said.
Rayleigh blinked.
Ari stared.
> "What?!"
Leo burst into laughter — a genuine, broken, healing laugh. "Kidding! It's in the Archive's locked vault. Gods, you two are fun to mess with."
Ari groaned. "I was this close to setting your pillow on fire."
Rayleigh smirked. "Too late. Probably already cursed it."
---
Far away, deep in the forested mountains…
There was no light, only mist — thick and silver, curling around every branch like sorrow.
A voice sang through the trees. Soft, broken, and raw. It wasn't a melody meant for others.
It was a song of regret.
Of guilt.
Of love once held and lost by the one who still lived.
> "You were the fire…
But I was the wind.
And I smothered you without ever knowing…"
The voice cracked.
And then silence again.
Leaves rustled.
Someone — or something — moved in the dark, alone with a grief that could split the world.
---
Back at the Archive...
The trio was finally settled in their old spot again — the big circular reading chamber that still smelled like burnt ink and old paper.
Books were piled around them like fort walls.
Leo leaned back, sipping soup, blanket still around his shoulders.
Ari was polishing her staff with a level of focus that could bend steel.
Rayleigh was scribbling notes and absolutely not looking at the soup bowl Leo had just knocked over with his elbow.
> "Smooth, Leo," Ari deadpanned.
> "I'm channeling the soup gods," Leo said proudly. "They demand a spill before every spell."
Rayleigh muttered without looking up, "Then I hope the stew god avenges his broth…"
Everyone burst into laughter.
For the first time in days… it felt real.
Not forced. Not fragile.
Just them.
---