Chapter 13 – Aftermath of Fire and Wind

The battlefield was still.

What moments ago had been a storm of fire and abyssal corruption now lay blanketed in snow and ash. The wind that once screamed through Dragonspine's peaks now whispered like breath exhaled. The Fragment of Durin's Will was gone, and the mountain—for the first time in ages—felt quiet.

Kiana collapsed to one knee, bat slipping from her hand and clattering to the frost. Her breath came hard, and her right eye—just moments ago alight with a searing gold—dimmed back to its usual silver-blue. Power surged and then faded, like a tide pulling back to the deep.

Noah was already beside her. As Kiana began to tip, he deactivated the Void Archives' mimicry of Judgment of Shamash with a pulse of thought—the massive greatsword dissipating into golden light mid-air. With one hand free, he caught her just in time. "Kiana," he said softly.

"I'm fine," she muttered, shaking. "Just... dizzy."

Elysia knelt on her other side, hand resting over Kiana's. Her bow shimmered faintly, but there was no battle left to fight. "You touched it, didn't you? That power…"

Kiana gave a shaky nod. "She was there. The Herrscher. I felt her—furious and hollow. But just for a second… I felt stronger than her. Like maybe I could stand in front of that storm instead of running from it."

They were silent. The others stood nearby, watching, unsure of whether to approach.

Then Kiana looked up, grinned crookedly, and raised a weak fist. "Admit it. I was kinda awesome just now."

There was a beat.

Then Lumine broke first, a short snort escaping her lips.

Venti grinned, slinging his lyre across his back. "I was composing your victory ballad already. It's called 'Baseball Bat and Brimstone.'"

Alice burst into a laugh, loud and wild. "Only you would nearly explode with Herrscher power and come out bragging."

The humor faded just slightly. Both Noah and Elysia turned to her, subtle but sharp glances exchanged over the word.

'Herrscher' wasn't something people in this world should've known. Not unless they'd seen too much—or come from places where the skies cracked open.

Alice caught their eyes. Her grin softened, eyes twinkling like mischief hiding something far older. "Oh, don't look at me like that," she said, waving a hand lazily. "I dabble in forbidden knowledge and ancient cataclysms. Occupational hazard."

That didn't answer anything.

But it said just enough.

Even Noah, quiet and steady as ever, gave the faintest of smiles. "Yeah. You were."

The tension broke like ice under sunlight. Just for a moment, they were no longer warriors. Just people. Friends.

—

Later, as the winds settled, Lumine stood a little apart from the group. Her sword rested at her hip, and the Anemo around her still stirred—not violently, but with attention. As though the element remembered her.

She looked down at her hands. "The wind feels… different. Like it's watching me now."

Venti approached, slower this time, reverence in his gaze. But this time, there was no jest in his voice—only something older. "That's because it is. You've called it without knowing, and now it's listening."

Lumine turned to look at him directly, her gaze steady. "You've always known how to guide the wind, haven't you… Barbatos?"

For a moment, the mountain seemed to still.

Venti's smile didn't fade, but the weight in his eyes deepened. "Only because I've listened to it longer than most."

"Should I be worried?" she asked again, quieter now.

He stepped beside her, looking out over the snow. "No. The wind doesn't judge. It just remembers. And it carries those who are lost."

Lumine didn't speak again, but she let the wind lift a strand of hair across her face—and for the first time in a long while, she didn't feel alone in the silence.

—

A few meters away, Alice stood with her arms crossed, eyes locked on the Void Archives still flickering beside Noah. Its panels shimmered, rotating slowly in the thin air.

"You didn't just summon old memories," she said, voice lower than usual. "You channeled the imprint of something that should've been long gone."

Noah looked at her. "Judgment of Shamash."

Alice nodded. "One of the most devastating weapons from another world. And the Void Archives just… gave it to you."

"It remembered it," Noah said. "So I could, too."

Alice's brow furrowed. "Just be careful. Vill-V didn't build toys. That cube remembers everything—and it wants to be remembered."

Noah's gaze lingered on the golden cube, its silent flickering pages casting strange reflections in his eyes.

Then his voice, quiet but edged: "You know too much about this. About Herrschers, the Divine Keys… even about me." His eyes narrowed slightly. "You called me 'Captain' the moment we met. Just like the Void Archives did."

Alice's smile faltered—only slightly. "Maybe I did."

Noah stepped closer. "Are you from their world?"

Alice looked up toward the breaking sky, eyes distant, a rare stillness in her voice. "I'm from a lot of places, Noah. Some I remember. Some I don't. And some… haven't happened yet."

She turned her gaze back to him, a glint of something ancient hiding behind her usual mischief. "But if I called you 'Captain' before you were one, maybe it's because I've seen where this story leads."

Silence stretched.

Noah looked down at the Void Archives. "Then I'll carry it. Until someone stronger can."

Alice smiled again—soft this time, sincere. "You'd better."

—

As dawn crept over the ridge, the group gathered their gear. Venti knelt briefly beside a stone etched with the sigil of the Four Winds. He placed a hand over it and whispered something no one else heard.

Then he stood.

"The mountain sleeps again," he said aloud. "But not forever."

They all turned southward.

"Ready?" Noah asked.

Kiana raised her bat, now slung across her back. "Let's get out of here before my fingers freeze off."

Alice grinned. "Now you're starting to sound like me."

Venti played a final chord on his lyre—soft and clear.

"When the wind forgets your name," he murmured, "sing louder."

With that, they began their descent. Step by step, the frost behind them began to fade.

And somewhere in the wind, a new song began to form.