The sunrise over Elarith carried the taste of renewal—a scent unfamiliar after weeks drenched in blood and ritual. The dawn sky was washed in pastel light, soft and hesitant, as though the world itself was waking from a terrible dream. Below, the fractured remains of the Aether Vault lay silent, its shattered crystals reflecting the new day with shards of prismatic hope.
Mary stood atop the broken Obelisks—towers of once-purified crystal now split by her divine strike—surveying the battlefield. Around her lay the remnants of the Crimson Alliance camp: burned banners, overturned tents, and the silent forms of those who fell in the final battle. She closed her eyes and inhaled deep, steadying herself against the weight of every life lost and saved.
Beside her, Loosie knelt at the base of a crystalline pillar, pressing a cleansed banner into the ground and lighting candles around it. Each flame flickered in tribute to the fallen, an offering that was both delicate and defiantly alive.
"Mom," Loosie whispered, bowing her head. "They deserve this."
Mary nodded wordlessly, then turned toward Lela. The knight stood quietly, sword in hand, gazing at the cracked mirror shards that lay at Mary's feet. "She was right," Lela murmured softly. "You did end it."
"Not ended," Mary corrected gently. She stepped forward and knelt beside Lela, placing a hand on the broken glass. Beneath their protective wards, each disintegrating shard was a law unwritten—a threat unspoken. "Began it."
Lela sighed, her silvery blonde hair catching the morning light. "You destroyed the Crucible. You shattered the Sovereign's plan." She paused, anguish flickering across her eyes. "But the world is still broken, Mary. People displaced, magic corrupted… hearts broken."
Mary pressed her palm to her chest. "We'll heal it. But not by hiding the scars. We rebuild with them."
A morning breeze swept through, lifting Loosie's dark hair. She looked up. "What now?"
Mary straightened. "We restore the wards. We hunt down the cult remnants. We cleanse this land."
Lela stepped beside her. "What about the Codex?"
Mary glanced at the three fragments in her satchel. "It's more than just a key or a record. It's a promise. And now I'm its bearer."
Loosie placed a hand over Mary's. "Then we stand together—as always."
The days that followed were a rehearsal of resurrection.
Loosie led the warding rituals, weaving soft threads of smoke up into the sky as she built protective circles around the Vault. Vampiric blood and divine flame mingled in her chants, forging spells that shimmered like iron lace across ruin.
Lela trained the remaining alliance forces—vampires, werekin, arcanists—teaching them how to maintain a frontier against corruption. She channeled her spear wounds into focused discipline, forging bond after bond between race and creed.
Mary journeyed through the shattered halls of the Vault, retracing steps taken centuries before, searching for hidden altars or nodes where magic bled into the world. She stitched glyphs across broken ceilings, sealed fractures in leylines, and soberly placed voiceless reqiem towers to hold the silence she'd fought to create.
At night, she took the shards of the Mirror of Unmaking and cast them into the central pit—each shard dissolving into strands of code that slipped into the vault's foundation. Beneath moonlight, she swore wordless oaths to never let it return.
One evening, beneath a sky of scattered stars, Lela joined her at the pit. "It should be enough."
Mary looked down. The shards had vanished; only misty echoes remained. "So it is," she whispered. "But we must never forget."
Lela nodded, kneeling. "We'll honor the promise."
But darkness stirs even in healing soil.
The second twilight after the battle, Mary awoke to a voice not heard for eons—the Codex's voice, soft and distant, threading through her mind.
Mary… bearer…
She gasped and sat up. Onyx-black void hung above her bedroll, glittering with shifting runes. On her chest lay the pale violet tome she'd used in the Scriptorium to claim the mantle of Author. Its cover rattled with movement.
She reached out—
—and the book snapped open of its own accord. Pillars of light spiraled upwards from its pages, mapping glowing filaments into the night sky, weaving constellations of memory.
Mary staggered back. Through the pages, the Codex displayed six undrawn symbols.
She recognized them.
The Final Six.
"One for each ring torn from the Mirror," she murmured.
"One for each vow you took to bind the Sovereign," the Codex voice replied.
"Tell me what they mean," Mary whispered.
They are not meant for telling. They are for writing.
With trembling fingers she traced the first symbol: a bleeding fang cradled by moonlight. Instantly, a blood-scent filled the air—a soft cry of longing, the hunger of lost nights. Mary's heart pounded. The edges of her vision darkened.
Lela stirred. "Mary?"
Mary shook her head. "Not now."
She traced the second rune: a mirrored eye with inverted pupils. Light flickered across the vault walls—visions: shattered lands, cities rising, a man with silver eyes wielding no blade. For a breath, her limbs trembled under the weight of unspoken truths.
Lela knelt beside her. "You're doing too much."
The third rune: a spiral of flame and frost entwined. Heat rippled through the earth beneath them. Mary stumbled. Lela caught her.
Blood boiled in Mary's veins.
Finish them, Mary. Bear your truth.
She blinked back tears.
"I can't," she whispered.
Lela placed a hand on her shoulder. "You don't have to."
Then I will not.
Mary traced her finger across the first rune again, but only erased its glow. It sighed, dimmed to ash.
The Codex pulsed.
Someday you will bear them all.
Mary closed the book, tucking it inside her cloak. Flames from the ward towers flickered across the dawn-dark horizon.
Morning came.
And so did the promise: that even a world mended in blood and hope can still tremble beneath silent words yet unspoken.
But for now, battered and broken, they rose again.
Together.