Vanila collapsed the moment the chamber broke.
The time that had slowed around him for so long caught up in a single breath. The battle, the aging, the rupture of containment—it all crashed into him like a mountain of forgotten days. His body was divine, but his soul was still human.
He passed out cold.
Back at the refuge, beneath the eternal mirage skies of Caldreth's canyon, they laid him on a bed of woven aether-silk. His chest rose and fell slowly. Sweat glistened on his skin. The black crest pulsed faintly, marking the slow return of consciousness, of memory, of reality.
Serra sat beside him, a basin of water and fresh clothes beside her. Her eyes studied his features—older, sharper now. His jaw had hardened, his lashes darker, his hair wild from the energy that clung to him even in sleep.
She tried not to look further.
But gods, he had grown. And certain parts of him… were uncomfortably impressive.
Her face burned.
"Stupid gods and their stupid symmetry," she muttered under her breath, pulling the sheets higher. "He doesn't even know he looks like this…"
She struggled with the buttons on his tunic, brushing against him far too many times than she wanted to admit. Her cheeks were fully flushed now. She swore she could feel the Core inside her blushing.
"Get it together, Serra. You're a warrior. You're not thirteen anymore..."
But even a warrior has her moments.
Eventually, she dressed him, muttering curses to herself, wiping his forehead once more.
Then she heard the faintest whisper:
"...Serra?"
She turned—and Vanila was awake.
His eyes were half-lidded, still hazy, but bright with recognition.
"Kael…" he murmured. "You're here… too?"
Footsteps hurried. Kael appeared, hair longer now, eyes wide with emotion he rarely showed. He stood frozen for a moment before rushing to Vanila's side.
Vanila tried to sit up, then paused as the aroma of cooked food hit him—roasted mana-beast meat, root vegetables simmered in herb-broth, and fresh-baked bread laced with emberfruit. His stomach growled like a beast.
Serra laughed softly.
"We figured you'd be hungry."
"It smells…" Vanila swallowed. "Real. Everything feels real again."
Then it hit them.
The years.
The loss.The silence.The never-knowing if they'd see each other again.
Vanila sat up fully now, still unsteady. Serra reached for his hand.
And suddenly, the three embraced.
No words. Just the grip of shared pain and triumph. Their shoulders shook. Their breaths caught.
Kael's quiet mask cracked—tears streamed silently down his cheeks. Serra wept into Vanila's chest, clinging like she'd never let go again.
Vanila held them both, weak but warm, whispering:
"I heard you… even in the dark. I heard you both."
For a moment, the gods fell silent.
And only their reunion mattered.
Vanila's condition worsened.
The headaches came not just in waves, but in spikes of pain, like divine sigils tearing through the inside of his skull. The Cores stirred violently within him—gods murmuring through static, their voices layered and raw, incomprehensible.
He couldn't eat. Could barely think.
Kael and Caldreth trained in the canyon below, giving him space, but the distance only made the ache more unbearable.
Serra stayed behind.
She sat beside him in the dim candlelight of the refuge chamber, watching the sweat bead down his face, his hand shaking against his temple.
"I can't keep it together," Vanila muttered. "It's like they're all awake but fighting—inside me. I can't even hear my own thoughts."
"Then stop holding it in," Serra whispered, brushing a damp strand of hair from his cheek. "You don't have to carry this storm alone."
Their eyes locked.
Something cracked open.
Not magic—need. Longing. Memory. The grief of years lost. The weight of everything they had never said. And something more primal, ancient—the pulse of god-touched blood.
Vanila leaned in, breathing her in, and she didn't pull away.
What followed wasn't soft.
It was desperate.
Her hands roamed down his stomach, fingers pressing over his chest crest, feeling the radiance throb like a second heartbeat. He flinched under her touch, but not in pain—in release. She pushed him back onto the bedding, climbing over him, her breath hot against his throat.
Their clothes fell away like ash.
Their bodies met with tension that had been building since their youth—broken by war, rejoined through fire. The air crackled with heat, magic prickling the walls, Serra's crystal-veined body glinting in the dimness. She rode him hard, fast, like the world could end in a moment and she needed to feel everything before it did.
Every thrust ignited his core.Every moan made his headache fade.
They clung to each other, half-mad, divine fragments pulsing between their bodies, crestlight flickering like stars ready to collapse.
And then—
Footsteps.
The door creaked.
In the silence after climax, Caldreth and Kael stood frozen at the threshold.
Vanila, still locked with Serra, blinked up in shock.Serra's cheeks flushed red as her breath caught in her throat.
Vanila didn't move fast enough.
The two men had already seen it—Serra's back arched over him, their bodies still joined, the heat still clinging to the air.
Kael turned his head, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes—hurt? Surprise? Silence.
Caldreth sighed, exasperated but unsurprised.
"Well. Timing was never your strength, Vanila."
They left without a word.
And Serra, face buried against Vanila's chest, groaned.
"I am never living this down."
Vanila, still catching his breath, half-laughed, half-wheezed.
"Was worth it."