Echoes of Truth

The moon hung high overhead, casting cold silver light through the trees. Samantha and Ron hadn't moved since Alaric, J, and M vanished. The clearing felt... thinner now. Like the air itself had stretched too far.

Samantha broke the silence first.

"Well," she said, staring into the dark, "that didn't feel ominous at all."

Ron snorted. "I give it a seven out of ten. Bonus points for the mysterious disappearing act. Very on-brand."

She looked down at the pendant in her hand. It had stopped glowing. Now it just felt like a rock—one with way too much pressure attached.

"I still think this is all a mistake," she muttered. "There's no way *I'm* some destined magical super-priestess. I once burned toast in the microwave."

"That shouldn't even be physically possible."

"And yet," she said dryly, "here I stand. Defying science and common sense."

They started walking, the grass crunching softly beneath their feet as the clearing melted into shadows behind them.

Ron glanced at her. "Do you want to, like… talk about any of it?"

"No," she said instantly.

"Cool, cool. Just checking."

A beat.

"I mean…" she kicked a small stick off the path. "What's there to say? One minute I'm stressed about my biology test, the next I'm being told I'm some reborn ancient priestess with god-tier powers and cosmic responsibilities."

"Honestly, still less weird than the raccoon-in-your-locker incident."

She rolled her eyes. "Don't bring that up again."

"I'm just saying, you handled that like a champ."

"I screamed and flung my lunch tray at it."

"Exactly. That tray never stood a chance."

A reluctant laugh bubbled up, and this time, she didn't fight it.

Ron grinned. "There it is."

They walked a bit more, the night settling around them like a weighted blanket full of secrets.

"Can I ask you something?" Samantha said suddenly.

"Always."

She hesitated. "Do you think I've changed? Since all of this started?"

Ron tilted his head, considering. "You've always been a little chaotic. But, like… the *good* kind. You still talk way too fast, and you still manage to trip over absolutely nothing at least once a day. But you also haven't run away from any of this. Not really."

"I've definitely *thought* about it."

"Thinking about it doesn't count. Action's where it's at."

She didn't say anything for a while. Then: "What if I'm not enough for this? What if I mess it all up?"

Ron stopped walking. "Sam."

She turned to him, expecting sarcasm.

Instead, she got something quieter.

"You're not supposed to be perfect," he said. "You're just supposed to be you. Honestly, if the world's gonna end or get saved, I'd *want* it to be someone who cries at cereal commercials and trips over air."

She blinked. "You're trying to be deep, but you're still an idiot."

He grinned. "I contain multitudes."

They reached the edge of the woods. Ron's house came into view, porch light casting a soft yellow glow in the distance. Familiar. Safe.

He pushed the door open gently. The house was quiet—his mom must've gone to bed already. The lingering scent of lemon tea hung in the air.

Ron tossed her a blanket. "Couch or floor?"

She caught it. "Couch. Obviously. I'm not a barbarian."

"I don't know. You did once try to eat cold spaghetti with chopsticks."

She threw a pillow at him.

They both laughed. It was light, easy. A relief.

Samantha curled up on the couch, pulling the blanket around her like armor. Ron plopped onto the floor beside her, leaning back against the coffee table.

"I'm scared," she said softly.

He looked up. "Yeah. Me too."

There was something comforting in the way he said it. Not dismissive. Not trying to fix it. Just *true*.

"I mean, what if this whole priestess thing turns me into something else?" she went on. "What if I stop being me?"

Ron tilted his head. "Nah. You're way too stubborn for that."

She gave a dry chuckle. "Thanks."

"No, seriously. I've seen you argue with vending machines. You think some ancient magic is gonna change who you are? Please."

She snorted. "You're the worst."

"Wrong. I'm the *best worst*. There's a difference."

A comfortable silence settled between them.

Samantha glanced over. "You know, I'm glad it's you."

Ron looked confused. "What is?"

"All of this. Going through it. Being hunted by hooded freaks, getting cryptic lectures, facing off with cosmic forces I barely understand… I'm glad I'm doing it with *you*."

Ron smiled. Not his usual lopsided smirk, but something real.

"Right back atcha, Priestess Toastburner."

She threw another pillow at him. It hit him square in the face.

"Don't get all mushy on me now," he muttered, batting the pillow away. "I will throw you off that couch and reclaim my throne."

"You wouldn't dare."

"I absolutely would. Sentiment makes me itchy."

They both dissolved into quiet giggles. The kind you only get after a terrifying day and too many unanswered questions.

---

Later that night, long after Ron started snoring from the floor, Samantha lay awake, staring at the ceiling.

The pendant sat on the coffee table beside her. Still and silent.

She didn't know what tomorrow would bring. She didn't know how she was supposed to save anything, let alone understand who she was becoming.

But at least she had one certainty.

She wasn't alone.

And even if her soul was some ancient cosmic thing wrapped in chaos and prophecy…

Her best friend?

Was still just Ron.

Even if they met under the weirdest of conditions, and she wasn't sure why he chose to stick with her. He was still Ron .Messy, loyal, ridiculous Ron.

And maybe that was enough to keep her grounded—even when everything else started floating away.