The morning sun rose slowly over Hollow Vale, casting soft gold across the fields. Mist clung to the edges of the orchard, curling around the boots of citizens who had gathered with rakes, baskets, and bundles of saplings. The air was cool, fragrant with soil and dew, and filled with the quiet hum of purpose.
Hazel stood near the center of the field, her brown dress fluttering gently in the breeze, her white bow catching the light. Beside her, Toya knelt in the dirt, sleeves rolled up, fingers brushing the roots of a young pear tree. Their magic shimmered faintly beneath their skin, responding to the land with warmth and grace.
Hex watched them from a short distance, arms folded, his gaze steady. He didn't speak, but his presence was grounding — a silent guardian, his magic pulsing like a heartbeat beneath the surface. Every few minutes, he scanned the horizon, sensing for shifts, for shadows, for anything that might threaten the peace they were building.
Lysithea stood at the edge of the field, her silver-threaded robe trailing behind her like mist. She watched the citizens with quiet pride — elders guiding children, farmers laughing softly, mages whispering spells into the soil. She didn't interfere. She simply observed, her eyes catching every detail, every moment of healing.
Near the orchard's edge, Balthazar knelt beside a group of children.
He wore a simple black tunic today, his dragon belt still fastened at his waist, his hair tied back loosely. His hands were covered in soil, and his voice was low, steady, as he helped a small boy press a sapling into the earth.
"Trees," he said, "are more than food. More than shade."
The children listened, wide-eyed.
"They breathe for us," he continued. "They clean the air. They hold the soil together. They give homes to birds, to insects, to spirits."
A little girl raised her hand. "Do they talk?"
Balthazar smiled. "Not with words. But if you listen closely, they'll tell you when they're happy. When they're thirsty. When they're ready to grow."
The children giggled, pressing their palms to the dirt.
Balthazar helped them gently pat the soil around the roots, his movements careful, reverent.
"Every tree you plant today," he said, "is a promise. That this land will live. That you will live. That we will protect each other."
The children nodded solemnly.
One boy looked up. "Will they grow fast?"
Balthazar glanced toward Hazel and Toya. "With magic, yes. But even without it, they'll grow. If you care for them."
The boy smiled. "I'll take care of mine."
Balthazar ruffled his hair. "Good."
The sun rose higher.
And across the field, saplings took root — pear, apple, cherry, and ash. The land stirred beneath them, responding to the touch of magic, of memory, of hope.
And Hollow Vale, for the first time in years, began to bloom.
Citizens moved through the fields with baskets and tools, their spirits lifted by the promise of growth.
As the last sapling was pressed into the earth, a chorus of voices rose from the crowd.
"A feast!" one elder called. "We must celebrate!"
"Yes!" a young woman added. "Music, food, dancing — we haven't had joy in years!"
Balthazar stood near the orchard's edge, his black tunic dusted with soil, his dragon belt gleaming. He turned toward the crowd, his expression softening.
"Tonight," he said. "We feast."
Cheers erupted.
He turned to the nearest servant. "Begin preparations. Use what we have. Make it beautiful."
The servant bowed and rushed off.
Lysithea appeared beside him, her silver-threaded robe catching the light.
"We need more livestock," she said quietly. "Cattle, pigs, goats, chickens. We only have two cattle left, three chickens, and ten goats."
Balthazar frowned.
"I can have the servants slaughter one cow, two chickens, and five goats for the feast," Lysithea continued. "We have plenty of vegetables."
Balthazar nodded. "I'll speak to the elf prince. See if he can spare a few cows, chickens, goats — and horses."
He turned to her. "Can you get my horse?"
Lysithea bowed. "Of course."
She disappeared into the stables.
Moments later, she returned, leading a magnificent steed.
The horse was dark as midnight, its coat shimmering like obsidian. Its eyes were light brown, warm and intelligent. Its mane was long and silky, braided with silver thread. Balthazar stepped forward, placing his forehead gently against the horse's.
"Tosh," he whispered. "I've missed riding you outside the kingdom."
The horse closed its eyes, sensing his energy, their bond deep and unbroken.
Footsteps echoed behind them.
Hazel ran across the courtyard, her dark brown hair catching the wind. She stopped before Balthazar, her eyes wide.
"You're leaving?" she asked.
"For a few hours," he said. "To the elf kingdom."
"I want to go with you," she said.
Before Balthazar could respond, Lysithea stepped forward.
"Wonderful," she said. "I shall make you a dress."
Hazel blinked, then smiled.
They disappeared into the dressing room.
Lysithea worked quickly, her fingers weaving magic into every thread. The dress she created was black — sleek, elegant, and fitted tightly to Hazel's body. A dragon head was embroidered on the back in silver thread. Knights entered with additions: armored shoulder pads and knee pads, sleeves of silver, and a dagger wrapped in leather, its hilt carved with snakes.
Her boots were light, trimmed with silver moths at the soles.
Hazel turned to the mirror and smiled.
She looked powerful.
She looked ready.
She stepped out of the room.
Balthazar waited outside, adjusting Tosh's reins. When he looked up, his breath caught.
Hazel walked toward him, her black dress rippling in the wind, her hair tousled, a few strands brushing her face. She looked radiant — fierce and graceful, like a queen born of shadow and light.
"I'm ready," she said, smiling brightly.
Balthazar nodded, then lifted her gently onto Tosh's back. He mounted behind her, his arms wrapping around her waist, his hands guiding the reins.
The horse reared once, then galloped forward — through the courtyard, past the cheering citizens and watchful elves, into the forest beyond.
And Hollow Vale watched them go.
A prince and a girl in black.
Riding toward renewal.