Something shifted after that night.
Not much—a little. Kaelen smiled sometimes. Laughed, rarely. Let himself feel the warmth of Seri's body beside him, the beauty of the valley at dawn, the simple joy of being alive.
It wasn't enough. It would never be enough. But it was something.
And then, on a night like any other, a messenger came.
A young Metkayina, exhausted and half-dead, carried by an ikran that collapsed on landing. He had come from the coast, from the ruins of the old village, with news that changed everything.
"The humans," he gasped. "They're leaving."
Kaelen stared. "What?"
"Pulling back. Abandoning bases. Something's happened—something big. A war, maybe, among themselves. They're recalling all ships, all soldiers. In a month, there won't be a human left on Verath."
Silence.
Then, slowly, Seri began to laugh. Not a happy laugh—a broken one, a desperate one, a laugh that bordered on tears.
"They're leaving," she said. "After everything. After all this time. They're just... leaving."
Kaelen pulled her close, held her tight.
"We survived," he whispered. "We actually survived."