The wind moved in hushed circles across the crater, curling ash and scorched dust into slow spirals. All around, the earth was torn and split, jagged with the weight of magic and steel. No birds sang, no watchers cried out—the world itself seemed to hold its breath.
In the very center stood three figures, blackened by soot, shoulders slack with fatigue. Kalem, dark armor cracked and dented, let his spear vanish into nothing, its glow flickering out like the dying star of a storm. Nara, cloaked in embers, let the flames at her feet dwindle until only smoke clung to her boots. And Isolde, breathing slow, drove her frost-laced blade into the ground beside her, letting her weary limbs rest.
None spoke. Their silence said more than any words could carry.
Then came a crunch of gravel. Garrick descended the rise, robes fluttering like parchment caught in the wind, the recording totem at his belt now dim. His face bore no smugness this time, no quill tucked behind his ear. He walked like one paying respects.
He halted before them, and after a long moment, looked skyward. His voice came slow, but firm.
"Do you remember," he began, "when Nara threw an academy staff to prove her strength?"
Nara's cracked lips twitched.
Garrick went on, his gaze faraway. "And the time Isolde froze the stairway accidently causing Master Halvar to slip and brake his lute? She claimed it was for science. We all took the blame. Except Kalem—he was in the forge, even then."
Kalem didn't respond, but his eyes softened.
"We weren't always blades and fire," Garrick said, his voice quiet now. "We were children, reckless and full of ruin. But there was love there. And joy. We could have stayed that way."
A pause. The silence lingered, heavy as stone.
Garrick looked at the ruin surrounding them. "This is what's left of our joy."
Footsteps broke the stillness once more. Jhaeros stepped down, dark cloak billowing, the sigil on his chest cracked but gleaming faintly. Beside him came Lyra, leaning on her staff, silver hair streaked with soot. She said nothing, but her eyes roamed the three at the crater's heart with something close to sorrow.
"You always had a way with words, Garrick," Jhaeros said. "Always looking for the poetry behind the pain."
"Someone had to," Garrick replied.
"Still." Jhaeros looked at Kalem, then Nara and Isolde. "He's right. You remember the 2nd year at the academy, when you three got wrecked the minds of entire noble recruiters?"
"It wasn't that bad.," Nara muttered.
"They were annoying," Isolde added.
Kalem said nothing.
"You forgot them like they were nothing." Jhaeros finished.
Lyra's smile was faint. "And Garrick's path as historian made them bang their heads."
"I did not," Garrick said indignantly.
Everyone, even Kalem, let out a soft breath that was not quite a laugh.
There was a silence, gentler now.
Kalem finally spoke, low and hoarse. "I've done what I came to do. I broke the chains they forged. I gave the world tools that could outwork tyrants and break the old powers."
He looked down at his hands.
"But I forgot something."
"What?" Lyra asked.
"That those powers were people once. Like us. That change without understanding is just another form of ruin."
Isolde raised her head. "You didn't ruin things alone. We all played our part."
"I started it." Kalem looked at Nara. "And I kept going without looking back."
Nara shrugged. "We all needed something from that fight. I needed to hit you. You needed to be hit. Isolde needed to make sure we didn't kill each other."
Isolde gave a graceful nod, brushing a soot-streaked strand from her face. "I regret nothing. Except maybe jumping in halfway."
"I regret giving you a mana spear to the ribs," Kalem murmured.
Isolde smirked. "You always did overcompensate."
Another silence, gentler still.
Garrick stepped forward, holding up the totem, its surface blackened. "This won't hold more than a few days of memory now. But I think that's fitting. Some things shouldn't be archived. Some stories should live only in those who were there."
He placed the totem gently into Kalem's hand.
"I'm not the one who needs to carry the final chapter."
Kalem stared at the little object. He didn't speak.
Behind them, the sky began to change. The ash parted. A beam of sunlight pierced the veil, golden and pure, landing on the cracked stone between them.
Nara raised her hand to shield her eyes. "What now?"
Kalem turned, slowly. "We rest. We build something better. Not machines. Not weapons. Just... a life."
"Without battles?" Jhaeros said. "You'll grow bored."
"I'll forge a plow. Or a clock," Kalem replied. "And if that bores me, I'll make a walking tea kettle."
"That sounds like you," Lyra murmured.
"Where will you go?" Garrick asked.
Kalem looked to the horizon, then back at his friends. "Not far. Not without you."
They stood in a circle then tired, changed, scarred, but still bound by something no battle had broken. Friendship, forged in fire, tempered in time.
And somewhere, beneath their feet, the last echo of their clash faded into the earth, leaving silence behind.
But not emptiness.
Never that.