Chapter 31: New Dawn

The sky was painted in the pale hues of morning, the river whispering softly against its banks. Joren stood at the edge of the water, his breath shallow, his fingers curled into fists at his sides. The bridge was gone—vanished as if it had never been. And with it, Lyria.

The last moments replayed in his mind, a cruel echo that refused to fade. The way she had stepped forward, unwavering, offering herself to the spirit as the price for breaking the curse. The way her voice had trembled when she vowed they would meet again. The way the mist swallowed her whole, leaving him grasping at empty air.

He had screamed. He had fought. But the bridge had crumbled, and she was gone.

Now, in the silence of dawn, the reality settled over him like a shroud. He had returned to Caldris with nothing but the weight of his failure, the knowledge that even victory demanded sacrifice. He had ended the cycle of hatred between the two nations, but at what cost?

A breeze stirred the river's surface, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and something else—something faint, something almost unearthly. Joren stilled. He could feel it, deep in his bones. A presence. A lingering thread of the magic that had once bound the bridge.

Then he saw it.

A faint glow shimmered atop the water, rippling outward like the first touch of sunlight on glass. Joren's breath hitched. It was weak, barely more than a flicker, but it was there.

His heart pounded as he stepped forward, the cold water lapping at his boots. He dared not blink, afraid it would vanish like a dream. Was it real? Or was it his grief manifesting illusions?

He reached out, fingers hovering over the glow. The air crackled against his skin, sending a shiver down his spine. It felt familiar. It felt alive.

"Lyria?" he whispered.

The river remained silent, but the glow pulsed, ever so slightly. Not an answer. Not yet. But a sign. A possibility.

Hope.

Joren exhaled shakily, pulling his hand back. If there was even a chance—if there was even the faintest sliver of a path leading back to her—he would find it. He had lost too much already. He would not lose her forever.

He turned back toward the city, determination hardening in his chest. Caldris and Velmora teetered on the edge of something new. The war had paused, the bridge was gone, and the people were left to reckon with the truth of their history. Some believed the curse had been a warning. Others called it a myth. But the story had spread, and with it, the seeds of change had been planted.

It would not be easy. Decades of bloodshed could not be undone in mere days. But he would fight for it, as Lyria had. He would find a way to unite the two nations—not through war, not through force, but through understanding.

And he would not stop searching. Not until he knew the truth of what lay beneath that glow.

The sun breached the horizon, bathing the river in gold. A new dawn had come.

And Joren was ready to meet it.