The chamber is still, the air heavy with the scent of scorched stone and fading magic. The Rift's heart lies shattered at my feet, its glow extinguished, fragments scattered like the bones of Velnar's past. Mira leans against the wall, clutching her side where the Veil's blade struck her, blood seeping through her fingers. Above, the war drums have stopped—Caleth's army retreating, their Shades weakened by the Rift's sealing. But the silence feels fragile, like a breath held too long. My hands tremble, not from the fight, but from her words—the guardian, my ancestor, a memory of a world I never knew. She chose me, but for what? Redemption? Or just to clean up her mess?
I help Mira to her feet, her scars catching the faint rune-light still flickering on the walls. "You alright?" I ask, my voice rougher than I mean it to be.
She nods, wincing. "I'll live. You did it, Kaelis. The Rift… it's closed."
I glance at the ceiling, where the jagged scar in the sky used to pulse through cracks in the stone. It's gone, or at least quieter, like a wound scabbed over. But Harlan's body lies nearby, his dagger glinting with those cursed siphon runes, and I'm not convinced it's over. The Veil's chants, the murders, the Shades—they were all part of something bigger, and I'm still holding pieces of a puzzle I can't see whole.
"We need to get back to Drenvar," I say, slinging her arm over my shoulder. "The elders need to know about Harlan."
Mira's eyes darken. "They won't believe us. He was their voice of hope."
"Then we make them," I snap, but doubt gnaws at me. Drenvar's a city built on secrets, and I'm no hero—just a broken sentinel who got lucky. Or maybe not luck. Maybe her, the guardian, whispering in my head all these years, guiding me to this moment.
The tunnels are quieter now, the Shades' wails replaced by the drip of water and our uneven footsteps. My wound throbs, the cold from the Shade's claw lingering, but it's the weight of my past that's heavier. I see my squad's faces in every shadow—Loren, who taught me to sharpen my blade; Tira, who sang to keep us sane; Gav, who died shielding me. I failed them, let them die in the mists, and no sealed Rift can erase that. But the guardian's words echo: Forgive yourself. Save them now. I want to believe her, to believe I've done enough.
We emerge into Drenvar at dawn, the ash falling lighter, the sky a bruised purple instead of black. The city's a mess—walls breached, streets littered with debris from Caleth's brief assault. But people are moving, rebuilding, their faces tired but alive. Lira spots us from the market, running over with a mix of relief and fear. "Kaelis, you're back! The war—it stopped. No one knows why."
I exchange a look with Mira. "We know," I say. "Get Captain Vren. We need to talk."
Vren meets us at the barracks, her expression unreadable as we recount everything: Harlan's betrayal, the Veil, the Rift's heart. I show her the parchment with Joren's rune, now faded, and the dagger we took from Harlan. She listens, her jaw tight, then sighs. "Harlan was a coward, but a powerful one. If you're right, you've saved Drenvar."
"Not just me," I say, nodding to Mira. "She knew the runes, the Veil's history."
Vren eyes Mira, then me. "You're not the man you were, Kaelis. You're more."
I don't know how to answer that. I'm still me—scarred, haunted, barely holding together. But something's shifted, like a weight lifted just enough to breathe.
Days pass, and Drenvar begins to heal. The elders, shamed by Harlan's treachery, open the old archives, letting Mira study the runes to ensure the Veil's remnants are gone. I help where I can, deciphering symbols that hint at the guardian's era—a time when Velnar was whole, before the Rift tore it apart. The murders stop, the Shades retreat to the wastelands, and Caleth's army scatters, their power broken without the Rift's strength.
But the mystery lingers. At night, I climb to Drenvar's highest tower, where the ash feels lighter and the stars peek through the clouds. I wait for her voice, but she's silent now, her purpose fulfilled. Who was she? An ancestor, she said, but her sadness, her resolve—it felt personal, like she knew me beyond blood. I find a rune carved into the tower's edge, hidden under moss—a spiral, not jagged like the Veil's, but smooth, like a promise. I trace it, and for a moment, I swear I feel her, a warmth against the cold.
Mira finds me there one evening, her wounds bandaged, her staff replaced with a scholar's notebook. "You're brooding again," she says, half-smiling.
"Thinking," I correct, though she's not wrong. "About her. The guardian. Why me?"
Mira sits beside me, her gaze on the horizon where the wastelands stretch. "Maybe because you kept going. Even after everything."
I scoff, but her words settle deep. I think of Joren, my squad, the lives lost to the Rift. I didn't save them, but I stopped it from taking more. Maybe that's enough.
"You're staying, then?" she asks.
I nod. "Drenvar's still broken. Someone's got to help fix it."
She smiles fully now, and it's the first time I notice how her scars don't hide her strength. "Good. I'll need help with the archives."
We sit in silence, the ash falling softer, the sky clearer. The guardian's gone, her truth half-revealed, but I feel her legacy in me—a spark of hope, a chance to rebuild. Drenvar's not saved, not really. War left its scars, and the wastelands still whisper of secrets. But for the first time in years, I'm not running from them. I'm Kaelis, the sentinel who survived, and maybe, just maybe, that's enough to start again.