The months that followed were hard.
The fortress of Last Light became a city a real city, with homes and schools and markets and temples. Refugees poured in from every corner of Tenmon, drawn by the stories of the Light Bringer who had faced the Hollow King and won.
Lee hated the attention. He wasn't a hero. He was a sixteen year old boy who had been lucky enough to have good friends and a brother who believed in him.
"You're too modest," Kira said one day, watching him avoid another crowd of admirers. "You saved the world. Twice. You're allowed to enjoy it."
"I didn't save the world," Lee said. "I postponed the end. The Hollow King is still out there. Still sleeping. Still hungry. Someday he'll wake up, and we'll have to do this all over again."
"Then we'll do it all over again." Kira shrugged. "That's what we do. We fight. We survive. We protect the people we love."
"And if we can't?"
Kira looked at him really looked. "Then we die trying. That's not failure, Lee. That's honor."
Lee was quiet for a moment. Then he laughed. "You've gotten wise."
"I've always been wise. You just haven't been listening."
They walked through the growing city together, past the new homes and the new shops and the new faces. Tenmon was healing. Slowly, painfully, but healing.
And somewhere in the shadows, the Hollow King slept.
And dreamed.