Chapter 25 : what still waits
- - -
They left the monastery two days later.
Not because they were ready, but because they had to be.
Arinthal remained behind. She smiled more now—soft, fleeting things, like petals stirred by wind. When Aria kissed her forehead goodbye, she didn't flinch. She held Aria's hand and whispered, *"Don't forget who you are."* Then she turned back to the sea.
Aria didn't cry. Not until they were past the cliff, past the gates, and walking beneath trees that sang with distant birdsong.
---
They took the eastern road through the Velnar Valley, where spring came early and the fields stretched out like green oceans. Aria walked in silence most of the time. Lyrien didn't press her. He never had. Not when it mattered.
"What are we going back to?" she asked on the fourth day.
Lyrien glanced at her. "Whatever still waits."
A vague answer, but somehow the right one.
---
By the sixth day, they reached the edge of the old world—the lands that had once burned under Xandros's shadow. The air changed here. The wind had a memory. The trees leaned inward, as if listening. And the soil, though healed, still carried the faint scent of ash beneath the roots.
They passed the ruins of Estharion. Only the spires remained now—moss-covered and half-swallowed by vines. Once, they had stood tall enough to scrape the belly of the sky.
Aria paused in the center of the square. This was where she had made her choice.
Where she had become more than what the prophecy demanded.
And nearly lost herself for it.
She knelt and ran her fingers over the stone. It was cracked, but warm. Something lived beneath it still. Not magic. Not echoes. Just time.
"I don't know if I'm strong enough to face it again," she said quietly.
Lyrien crouched beside her. "You don't have to be strong. Just willing."
She looked at him. "And what if I fall apart?"
"Then I'll be there. Same as before."
---
That night, the dreams came.
Not visions. Just memories, broken and rearranged.
Arinthal standing in a field of stars. Lyrien bleeding on a temple floor. Xandros whispering through a mouth full of flame.
*You were never meant to survive me.*
She woke gasping, cold with sweat.
Lyrien was already awake, sitting by the dwindling fire.
"You too?" he asked.
She nodded. "He's still in the air somehow. Even gone."
"He was never just a man," Lyrien said. "He was an idea. And ideas leave long shadows."
---
By the eighth day, they reached what was left of Thalara.
The city was rebuilding. Slowly. Cautiously. Half the towers were wrapped in scaffolding, and the old temple had been replaced with a wide stone plaza. Market stalls lined the edge of the square, but there were no statues, no shrines.
Not anymore.
They crossed the bridge Aria once leapt from. The guards at the gate stared but said nothing. Some recognized her. She saw it in their eyes. The recognition. The hesitation. The quiet awe.
They didn't bow.
They just stepped aside.
Aria exhaled. That was enough.
---
They stayed in a small inn near the outer walls. Lyrien took the room closest to the window. Aria chose the one nearest the stairs.
The innkeeper brought them bread and soup and didn't ask questions.
That night, they sat in the courtyard, watching the lights of the city flicker like restless fireflies.
"You know it won't stay quiet for long," Lyrien said.
"I know."
"There's talk of a new council. Realms merging, not dividing. Some think you should speak at the Summit."
Aria raised an eyebrow. "Me?"
"You're the one they remember. The one who ended it."
"I didn't end it," she said. "I just survived it."
Lyrien looked at her. "That might be the most powerful thing you did."
---
The Summit was three days away.
Held not in Thalara, but in the high city of Aevareth—once neutral ground, now the place where the future would be shaped. The invitation had arrived weeks ago, delivered by hawk, but Aria hadn't answered it.
Now, as she stood at the edge of the balcony, watching dawn bleed over the hills, she knew she would go.
Not for them.
For herself.
---
When she turned back, Lyrien was already packing.
"I was hoping you'd say yes," he said, without looking up.
"You knew I would."
"No," he said with a quiet smile. "But I hoped."
She stepped beside him and placed her palm against the wooden table. For the first time in years, it didn't feel like the mark was burning. Just… resting.
---
They left the next morning.
Two shadows walking toward a new fire.
Not to fight it.
But to make sure it never rose again.
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