The war had ended.
But peace… peace was not silence.
It was effort.
It was choice.
And in the days following the Hollow King's fall, as the shattered lands of Aravelle began to breathe again, Ael Rynhart walked alone—not as a king, not as a warrior…
But as a man in search of what came after.
—
He left without a crown, without armor.
Just a blade on his back.
A satchel over his shoulder.
And a journal, half-filled with names he needed to remember—and places he needed to see.
Lyra watched him from the hill outside Veridell. She didn't try to stop him.
She just placed her hand on his chest, above the old scar left by Silence's blade.
"You already saved the world," she said softly.
Ael looked down at her hand.
"No. I only stopped it from ending."
He looked out toward the distant horizon—green again, but scattered with wounds still healing.
"Now I want to help it live."
She nodded once.
And let him go.
—
His first steps led him south.
To the Thornspire Coast, where remnants of cursed waters still churned black near the edges of the sea. People there had stopped dreaming during the war, and many had forgotten how to laugh.
When Ael arrived, they didn't recognize him.
A wandering swordsman with a tired gait and too many scars.
Not a king.
Not a savior.
He listened to their stories.
He helped a child rebuild his fishing net.
He held a funeral for a woman who had waited too long for a husband who would never return.
And at night, he sat by the sea, writing names into his journal.
Not of enemies.
But of those who'd survived.
And those who hadn't.
—
Word began to spread.
Not of a warrior's return.
But of a walker.
A man who did not ask for praise, nor dwell in cities.
Who mended bridges by hand.
Who helped a blind baker relearn his trade by scent alone.
Who stared down a corrupted forest spirit—and calmed it not with fire, but with understanding.
People began to follow him.
Not to serve.
But to learn.
Because the man who once ruled without feeling now taught by heart.
—
He met Elric again in the ruins of Bastrow.
The old noble had grown a beard and led a group of orphans now rebuilding a city library.
They hugged without words.
Then laughed.
"Still can't read ancient runes without mixing up 'fire' and 'fart,'" Elric muttered.
Ael chuckled.
"I don't need to. That's why I had you."
They spent the night reminiscing.
But in the morning, Ael kept walking.
He had made a promise to himself:
He would not settle. Not yet.
The world was not done remembering.
—
In the forest of Murali, he found Vel.
She didn't speak at first—just stared from the tree canopy above, watching him cook eggs too close to the flame.
"You're burning them again," she finally muttered, dropping beside him.
"I call it extra crisp."
She snorted.
And for a while, they just shared the silence.
Then, as dawn broke, she handed him a single letter.
Unopened.
It bore the seal of the Hollow King.
"What is it?" Ael asked.
Vel shrugged. "Something that survived. Maybe a truth. Maybe a trap."
He took it gently.
"Either way… I'll face it."
—
His path led him next to the Ashen Fields, where a single tree now grew—sprouted from the spot where he defeated the Harbinger.
Beneath that tree sat an old woman.
She had no name.
But she remembered his.
"You looked so tired," she said. "In that battle. But you never fell."
"I couldn't," he answered.
"And now?"
He looked to the branches.
And smiled.
"I think now… I can sit. Just for a while."
She nodded.
And they sat together.
Not in silence.
But in rest.
—
The Age of War had ended.
The Age of Kings had faded.
And the Age of Healing had begun.
Not through might.
Not through magic.
But by a man who once felt nothing…
Choosing, every day, to feel everything.
And still walk forward.