Epilogue

The wind was soft and cool, rustling through the trees with a whisper like old secrets. Sunlight filtered pale and dappled through the clouds, casting long shadows over the worn path leading through Cedar Valley Cemetery.

Remond's boots crunched on the gravel, slow and steady, the scent of damp earth and pine thick in the air. In one hand, a bouquet of white lilies—fresh and simple, stems bound with a dark ribbon.

It had been a year since bringing down Axiom Syndicate and Second Dawn —since the weight of grief had nearly suffocated him, rage and sorrow raw and bleeding. But time had dulled the edges, left room to breathe again. Not to forget, but to heal.

Two graves stood side by side, headstones worn but clean, names carved deep and true.

Innes Alford

A Beloved Friend

Gone but Never Forgotten

Gerald Cain

A Loving Father and Husband

His Legacy Lives On

Remond's breath hitched, eyes stinging. He knelt slowly, fingers trembling as he set the lilies at their feet. The silence pressed close—solemn and aching.

"Hey," he rasped, voice raw. "It's been a while."

---

Words came haltingly—soft and fractured. He spoke of battles fought and won, of losses that still ached in quiet hours. Of friends who'd stayed and enemies who hadn't. Of the price of justice, and the weight of it.

His fingers traced the names on the stone—calloused and scarred.

"I hope you're at peace," he whispered, voice breaking. "I… I did what I could."

A breeze stirred, leaves whispering overhead—almost like a sigh. And for a moment, Remond could've sworn he felt it—a warmth, fleeting but true.

---

"So this is where you ran off to."

The voice was warm, teasing—familiar. Remond startled, head jerking up to find Bronson lounging against a tree, grinning wide. Alina stood beside him, arms folded with a fond exasperation.

"Man, you didn't even tell us," Bronson snorted, ambling over with hands shoved in his pockets. "Leaving your best man out of the loop, huh?"

Remond huffed a breath—half laugh, half sigh.

"Didn't think you'd want to hang out in a cemetery," he shot back, weakly.

Bronson scoffed, slinging an arm around his shoulders.

"Please, dude—like I'd pass up a chance to bug you," he chuckled.

---

Alina's eyes were warm, soft as they drifted over the graves. Her hand found Remond's shoulder, light and steady.

"You did right by them," she murmured. "They'd be proud."

Remond's throat tightened—grief ebbing soft but constant.

"Hope so," he rasped.

Bronson cleared his throat, grinning wide.

"Hey, speaking of which—guess who got a raise?" he snickered, puffing out his chest. "Yours truly. Anchor position, baby!"

Alina rolled her eyes, though her smile was fond.

"He won't stop bragging," she sighed. "It's been three days."

"Hey, it's a big deal!" Bronson huffed. "We're talking prime-time here!"

Remond's chuckle was soft—genuine.

"Congrats," he snorted. "Don't let it get to your head."

---

A New Beginning

Las Verga bustled—sunlight glinting off glass and steel. The streets thrummed with life—markets loud and bustling, scents of spice and grilled meats wafting warm through the air.

Hayato moved fluidly, bag slung over his shoulder, earbuds tucked in and hoodie pulled low. A few passerby stopped to stare—whispers of "Is that him?" bleeding through the crowd.

The championship had aired last week—his victory decisive, brutal.

But fame had never sat easy.

---

The Dojo was quiet, tucked between high-rises and cobbled streets. Sunlight slanted through the paper screens, warm and dappled. Yuki's voice drifted light through the hall—soft instructions, words steady and patient.

Master Ho Dieng chuckled from the front, eyes crinkling with a sly smile. "Your form's still sloppy," he snorted, cane tapping pointedly. "But at least you don't trip over your own feet anymore."

Hayato's snort was fond, lips twitching.

"You just can't admit I've gotten better," he shot back.

Yuki's laugh rang bright, eyes warm as she moved to his side—hand slipping easily into his, fingers twining light.

"Don't mind him," she teased, eyes glinting. "He's been grumpy all week."

"I heard that," Ho Dieng sniffed, though his grin was unmistakable.

---

Yuki's head leaned soft against Hayato's shoulder, eyes half-lidded and content. "When's your next match?" she murmured.

"Two weeks," Hayato sighed, thumb tracing slow circles over her knuckles. "Shouldn't be too tough."

"You say that every time," Yuki snorted, elbowing his side. "Then you come back bruised and grumpy."

Hayato's grin was boyish—soft and true.

"Guess you'll just have to patch me up," he chuckled.

Her eyes softened, laughter easing into a fond smile.

"Guess I will."

---

Meanwhile, Ho Dieng chuckled from the doorway, eyes twinkling.

"Young love," he snorted. "Sickening."

Yuki's cheeks flushed, lips twisting in a pout.

"Grandpa!" she huffed.

Hayato chuckled, arm slipping tighter around her waist.

"C'mon, old man," he teased. "Don't be jealous."

"Hmph," Ho Dieng grumbled, though the fondness was unmistakable.

---

Peace and Closure

The sun dipped low over Cedar Valley, casting the streets in hues of gold and violet. Remond's newly bought apartment was small but warm, cluttered with books and photos—of friends, of family, of a life pieced slowly back together.

A framed photos of individuals sat on the desk, edges worn—Sid, Innes, Rebecca, Noah, Elliot and his father, smiles bright and unguarded.

His fingers brushed it light, eyes soft.

"I'll keep moving," he whispered, breath catching. "For you."

---

Night settled soft, stars glinting over the skyline. Bronson's voice crackled through the phone—loud and laughing, Alina's fond chiding echoing faintly behind.

"You're coming for dinner, right?" Bronson snorted. "Don't make me drag your ass over."

Remond chuckled, exhaustion easing into something lighter.

"Wouldn't miss it," he sighed. "Save me a seat."

Bronson's laugh was warm—bright and true.

"Gotcha, dude. See you soon."

---

Remond's eyes drifted to the window—stars bright and unblinking.

The world was still broken, still bruised. But there was warmth here—a light in the dark, no matter how faint.

And for now—just for now—that was enough.

A new dawn, built from blood and ashes.

And Remond would see it through.