Julian stirred awake to the roar of celebration.
Lincoln had won.
The rain had passed, but the pitch still glistened, blades of grass slick beneath the floodlights. Damp air clung to his skin, heavy with the scent of mud and sweat.
His eyelids fluttered, heavy as stone, each blink dragging him back from the edge of unconsciousness.
The first thing he felt wasn't victory—it was the pounding in his skull, the dull throb of overdrawn power. His body screamed, but the world's roar reminded him that somehow, against everything, they had done it.
Crest sat beside him, knees drawn close, her sharp posture softened by the way her eyes clung to his.
"You okay?" her voice cut through the noise, low but steady.
Julian blinked, pressed a palm to his temple. "Yeah… just a headache."
A shadow loomed. Leo, hair plastered by rain, grinned as he crouched down.
"You good, dude?"
Behind him came Noah, Riku, Ricky, Cael—faces lined with exhaustion, joy, relief.
