found me in the past, found me now.

The next town was quieter than the last.

Tucked between two hills and edged by dense woods, it barely warranted a name on the map. A place where strangers passed through, not stayed. But something about its stillness drew me in. The way smoke curled from chimneys, the soft rhythm of laundry flapping in the breeze, the sleepy shuffle of boots against cobblestone. It reminded me of something I hadn't realized I missed—peace that didn't have to be earned.

I rented a room above a small bakery. The owner, an old woman named Mirelle, insisted I try the apricot tart on the house and called me "darling" in a way that didn't make me flinch.

"Stay as long as you like," she said as she handed me a brass key. "There's no hurry here."

And maybe that was what I needed.

So I did.

I stayed.

Days passed quietly. I helped in the bakery, kneading dough with flour-streaked arms and earning soft laughter from Mirelle when I misjudged the yeast again. I learned how to feed the chickens in the morning without getting pecked. I even helped repaint the front shutters of a house next door after the town's schoolboy dared to climb the rooftop and kicked a whole bucket of paint off.

It was... simple.

But it didn't mean I stopped thinking about them.

At night, after the candles had burned low and the town settled into its gentle hush, I'd lie awake in bed, fingers tracing invisible patterns into the sheets.

Sometimes I imagined what they were doing.

Was Diana scolding Claire for skipping paperwork again? Was Camille writing letters she'd never send? Was Tessa standing at the back of the garden, watching the moon rise in silence? Was Lillian still humming as she trimmed flowers no one else noticed were wilting?

Were they still talking about me?

Or had they, slowly, begun to let me go?

The thought scared me. More than I wanted to admit.

But it also grounded me.

Because I hadn't come here to forget them. I'd come to remember myself.

One evening, while folding clean laundry on the windowsill, I caught my reflection in the glass. And for a moment, I just… stared.

I looked different now.

There were still shadows under my eyes, yes—but they were softer now. Earned. Not from sleepless nights filled with guilt or panic, but from long days of honest work and quiet reflection. My hair was tied in a loose braid, falling over my shoulder. My posture had relaxed. I wasn't clenching my jaw anymore. My shoulders weren't tight with invisible weight.

I was still Sera Vandren.

But I wasn't the girl who ran away.

Not anymore.

The next morning, I stood at the edge of town, bag packed again, the wind carrying the scent of woodsmoke and damp soil. Mirelle hugged me tight enough to make my ribs ache and slipped an extra tart into my satchel when she thought I wasn't looking.

"Don't forget us, darling."

"Never," I whispered.

As I walked, my fingers found the worn edges of the letters again—still sealed, still untouched since the day I left. Only this time, I didn't feel like I was hiding behind them.

Now, they felt like promises I was ready to keep.

I wasn't returning yet.

Not just yet.

But I was ready to begin the journey back.

And when the time came—when I finally stood at those academy gates again—I wouldn't be the same girl who had walked away.

I would be someone they'd recognize in a new way.

Someone they could love without doubt.

Someone who had learned to love herself, too.

The path back felt different from when I'd left.

There was a strange quietness that lingered around me, one that didn't feel lonely or heavy anymore. Instead, it felt clear, purposeful. Every step I took now was deliberate, as though each mile forward was slowly stitching together the scattered pieces of myself.

Days blended gently into nights, a slow rhythm of walking, resting, and thinking—always thinking.

About who I had been. Who I had become.

And who I wanted to be when I finally stood before them again.

Along the road, I revisited towns I had passed through once before. Faces smiled in recognition, offered me bread and warm tea, remembered my name and the quiet girl who had traveled through their lives like a ghost just weeks ago. I lingered longer now, enjoying the conversations, letting them share their stories with me, letting myself smile more freely.

They didn't see a villainess or a heroine.

They saw Sera—just a traveler, learning and listening.

One evening, beneath a lavender and rose-colored sky, I found myself on a familiar path, winding down toward the same lakeside village I'd visited weeks before. The lake was calm, its surface mirroring the painted sky, rippling gently as I approached. I walked out onto that familiar dock, the wood creaking softly beneath my weight.

Settling down at the edge, I pulled out the letters again.

This time, they didn't feel like ghosts I was afraid of. They felt warm. Familiar.

One by one, I held each envelope, fingers tracing the inked names—Lillian, Diana, Claire, Camille, Tessa. They deserved more than words on paper, I realized. They deserved me, open and unafraid, standing before them once more.

And I was ready now.

Tomorrow, I would set out on the final leg home.

But tonight, as the stars began blinking awake above me, I just wanted one last moment to hold them quietly in my heart.

As twilight deepened into soft darkness, I heard footsteps behind me. A quiet presence approached, stopping gently at the edge of the dock.

Turning slowly, I found myself looking into familiar eyes—soft crimson, reflecting the quiet starlight.

Tessa stood there, calm, her expression steady as ever.

My heart stilled, then quickened.

"You found me," I whispered, a smile curving my lips despite myself.

She stepped forward slowly, settling beside me on the dock. Her warmth radiated quietly, grounding me. "Of course I did. I said I would."

We sat silently for a moment, the gentle hush of the lake surrounding us.

"How long have you been following me?" I finally asked, trying to sound playful despite the sudden ache of emotion.

"Not long," she admitted quietly, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Just enough to be sure you were ready."

"And now?" I asked softly.

She turned to me, her gaze quiet but filled with gentle certainty. "Now, you are."

I exhaled softly, leaning my head against her shoulder. Her touch was familiar, comforting, safe.

"You know me better than anyone," I murmured quietly.

She chuckled softly, a sound rare and precious. "I pay attention."

We stayed like that a while, the night wrapping gently around us. No rush, no hurry. Just breathing together, hearts quietly speaking in the silence.

"You're going home tomorrow," she murmured after a while, quiet yet certain.

I nodded gently against her shoulder. "Yes."

She reached out, her fingers gently brushing mine, soft but steady. "Good."

I turned toward her slightly, capturing her gaze. "Come with me?"

She smiled softly, her eyes warm and gentle. "I never left."

My chest ached beautifully as I squeezed her hand gently, gratitude and affection filling me in equal measure.

Because she was right—she had never truly left.

And neither had the others.

Tomorrow would come soon enough, bringing reunions, tears, laughter, and a future I could finally embrace without fear.

But tonight belonged to this quiet moment, beneath stars that had guided me gently home, beside someone who'd quietly believed in me from the very beginning.

For now, this was enough.

Morning broke slowly, softly.

Golden threads of sunlight spilled across the lake, dancing gently on the surface like a thousand tiny stars, waking me quietly from the soft sleep I'd drifted into on the dock. Beside me, Tessa stirred, eyes flickering open as she stretched quietly, graceful even in sleepiness.

We exchanged a quiet look—one that spoke without words, gentle acknowledgment of the day ahead.

"You ready?" she asked softly, brushing dark hair behind her ear.

"I think I finally am," I murmured back, feeling the words solidify within me. No hesitation this time, just quiet certainty.

Together, we packed quickly, moving with easy coordination as if we'd done this countless times before. I caught her gaze occasionally—quiet reassurance, steady presence. No more running, no more uncertainty.

The road back home felt shorter with Tessa beside me, our steps matching naturally, our silences comfortable. She didn't press me for conversation or explanations; she just walked, quiet and steady, making me feel stronger simply by being there.

We stopped briefly at villages along the way, sharing meals and quiet laughter, but never lingering too long. My heart had already begun pulling me forward, eager to see familiar stone gates, gardens filled with memories, faces that had never truly faded from my heart.

And finally, just as twilight painted the sky in shades of soft pink and lavender once more, the familiar silhouette of the academy rose quietly on the horizon.

My heart quickened. It felt surreal. Like coming home after years away, yet somehow feeling as if I'd never truly left.

We paused together on the hill overlooking the grounds, drinking in the view. Golden lanterns lit pathways and corridors, gentle shadows danced behind curtained windows. It was beautiful and nostalgic, aching with quiet familiarity.

"Are you nervous?" Tessa murmured quietly, watching my expression carefully.

"Yes," I admitted softly. "But mostly...excited. Is that strange?"

She shook her head gently. "No. It just means you finally found what you were looking for."

"What was that?" I asked quietly, meeting her gentle gaze.

She smiled faintly, her eyes tender. "Yourself."

A soft exhale escaped me, carrying quiet laughter and gratitude. "You're too perceptive."

"It's a talent," she said, a playful warmth briefly lighting her eyes.

We descended slowly toward the academy gates, each step lighter than the last. The familiar iron gates loomed large, warm lanterns glowing softly. As I raised my hand to push open the gate, I paused just once more, heart trembling softly.

"You're not alone," Tessa reminded me quietly.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed the gates open, stepping inside the grounds I had once fled. Now, returning felt gentle—healing instead of painful.

As we crossed the familiar courtyard, voices suddenly filled the air, familiar and warm, achingly beautiful. A rush of footsteps, the fluttering of skirts, the warmth of bright laughter—

"Sera!"

I barely had time to turn before Claire crashed into me, hugging tightly enough to nearly lift me off the ground. Her laughter was warm, tearful, bright. "You came back! You really came back!"

Behind her, Diana stood elegantly, eyes shimmering softly, a tender smile on her lips. Camille was calm and beautiful, tears gently shining in her ice-blue eyes, warmth radiating quietly from her expression.

And then, from the shadows of the doorway, Lillian stepped softly forward, eyes full of gentle emotion and quiet joy.

My chest tightened softly, my throat thick with sudden tears. "I promised, didn't I?"

They drew closer, each one surrounding me, gentle touches, warm embraces, whispered words—soft apologies, tender welcomes, laughter and quiet tears mingling together beautifully.

"You kept us waiting," Diana murmured, her voice warm yet playfully reprimanding.

"Sorry," I whispered softly. "I had to figure things out."

Camille smiled gently, reaching out to squeeze my hand softly. "And did you?"

I nodded quietly, warmth filling my chest. "I did."

Lillian stepped closer, her green eyes soft and gentle, brushing a stray lock of hair from my face. "And now?"

"Now," I said quietly, holding each of their gazes in turn, "I want to stay."

Claire laughed through tears, squeezing me again gently. "Good! Because I don't think we'd let you leave a second time."

Quiet laughter rippled gently around us, and even Tessa's usually reserved expression softened into a rare smile.

Surrounded by their warmth and love, beneath the gentle glow of lanterns, in the place that had witnessed every part of my journey—both away from and back to myself—I realized something quietly profound.

This was home.

Not because of stone walls, familiar gardens, or corridors lined with memories—but because of them. Because they had never stopped believing in me. Because even when I'd lost sight of who I was, they had quietly, gently, patiently waited.

And now, as we stood together beneath the stars—hearts open, love quiet yet powerful—I finally understood the truth I'd been searching for.

Home was never a place.

It was these impossible, beautiful, stubborn heroines.

And I was finally, completely ready to embrace it.