Chapter Forty : Embers of the New Dawn
The battlefield was quiet.
Not the kind of quiet that brings peace but the eerie silence after something ancient has died. Smoke coiled from blackened soil, drifting like ghosts across the ravaged plain. The sun crept over the horizon, hesitant and pale, as though uncertain it should rise at all.
Raina stood alone at the crest of the ridge, overlooking the ruins of what had once been the Coven's final stronghold. Her blade still warm from the blood of prophecy rested by her side. The crown of silver flame no longer burned above her brow, but its weight remained.
Behind her, footsteps crunched over the debris. Lucien.
His presence wrapped around her like a shield, even before he touched her. His fingers brushed her back, the contact gentle, reverent.
"You did it," he said softly.
"No," she replied. "We did."
Lucien stepped beside her. The bond between them pulsed quietly, no longer demanding, but present like the memory of pain and the echo of hope.
She looked up. "It's finally over."
He gave a tight nod, but neither of them moved. Below, Maeva and Elias were helping the wounded. The war-born spellcasters chanted healing incantations over the fallen. No celebration. No songs. Just work. Just silence.
Because too much had been lost.
The cost of peace was always steep.
"I saw her again," Raina said after a while.
Lucien turned to her. "The first Huntress?"
She nodded. "In the fire. Just before I struck the final blow. She was smiling… but crying, too."
"She passed the torch," he said. "And you carried it."
"I burned with it."
He cupped her chin, lifting her gaze to his. "And you're still standing."
She searched his eyes, and for a moment, there was no war, no prophecy just them. Raina and Lucien. Two souls who had bled through lifetimes just to find each other again.
"I love you," she said.
He kissed her without hesitation. There were no words, no vows only fire and memory. A promise renewed in silence.
They returned to the mansion days later, not as warriors, but as remnants of a storm.
The great hall was shattered. Moonstone pillars cracked. Stained glass ruined. But the people were there. Survivors. Children. Old men. Warriors who had shed their last drop of rage and now sought soil and seed.
A new council was formed. Maeva was named High Mage of the Eastern Borderlands. Elias, despite his reluctance, agreed to lead the rebuilding of the border gates. Raina, of course, was offered the throne.
She refused.
"I don't want a crown," she said. "I want a life."
And so they built a village instead near the ruins, among the ash. A sanctuary for anyone touched by the war. A place where stories could grow instead of scars.
One night, under a moon no longer bloodied, Raina stood on the balcony of what used to be the west wing tower now a library. Lucien joined her, wrapping a cloak around her shoulders.
"Thinking?" he asked.
"Always."
She pointed to the stars. "Do you think the old gods are still watching?"
Lucien smirked. "If they are, they better take notes. You rewrote everything."
She laughed, but it faded quickly. "Do you ever wonder… if we'll be pulled into it again? The curse? The power?"
His smile softened. "Then we'll fight again. But not as pawns. As people. As us."
A rustle behind them. A child a girl with red-streaked curls and wide, haunted eyes peeked out from behind the doorframe. One of the orphans from the war.
Raina held out her hand.
The girl ran to her, curling against her side without a word.
Lucien knelt. "Nightmare again?"
The girl nodded.
Raina pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Then stay. You're safe here."
And she was.
Because this was no longer a story of prophecy and blood.
It was a story of rebuilding. Of healing.
Of love that survived even the cruelest flame.