Living in the cottage changed them.
Not dramatically—they were still themselves. But the rhythm shifted. Slower. Quieter. More intentional.
Mornings in the garden. Afternoons flying. Evenings by the fire, talking about everything and nothing.
"I didn't know I needed this," Glad admitted.
"None of us know what we need until we have it."
The community visited—of course they did. But the cottage remained a retreat, a sanctuary, a place to remember who they were beyond roles and responsibilities.
The Watcher visited too, curling up by the fire in Anino-form, purring contentedly.
This is what peace feels like, it observed. I never knew.
"Neither did I. For a long time."
Worth waiting for?
"Always."
They sat together—ancient being, ancient creature, eternal cat—watching flames dance.
Peace.
After everything.
Finally.