The sun hung low over Amaranth, spilling gold across fields that were still healing. Trees stretched toward the sky once more, rivers glittered with clear water instead of Riftlight, and the air carried a scent of earth and life rather than ash.
Kairo walked slowly through a valley reborn, cloak dragging softly behind him. The scars of the past were visible — charred earth, cracked stone, remnants of villages they had saved — but the world no longer throbbed with threat. It hummed quietly, like a heartbeat finally at rest.
Noel trailed beside him, now steady and strong, golden light soft in his eyes. The boy was no longer the vessel of an ancient king's fury; he had become his own, a guardian of hope, carrying the weight of memory without being crushed by it.
Reika and Taro followed behind, scanning the horizon. Reika's expression was soft, almost serene, her usual vigilance tempered by the peace that lingered here. Taro carried a small bundle of provisions, grinning despite exhaustion. "Honestly," he said, "I never thought surviving the Tyrant's memory would make the world look this nice."
Kairo glanced at him and allowed the faintest smile. "It's not perfect," he said. "But it's ours to shape now."
They reached a plateau overlooking a wide valley, sunlight pooling across villages and forests. Children ran along streams, laughter echoing faintly, and the faintest shimmer of Riftlight danced harmlessly in the air, as though the world itself remembered what had been lost and found.
Noel stepped forward, closing his eyes. "It feels… free," he whispered. "Like the world can finally breathe."
Kairo placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "It can. And it will — because people will remember, and because we've survived."
Reika joined them, blade sheathed but glinting in the sun. "And because some of us still choose to fight, even when the battle seems over."
Taro leaned against a rock, stretching. "Guess that makes us heroes, huh?"
Kairo shook his head, the weight of the past still in his eyes. "Not heroes. Survivors. Witnesses. And perhaps… caretakers."
The four of them stood together, watching the sun sink behind distant mountains. The wind carried warmth, not fire. Birds sang as if daring the world to remember joy. Kairo thought of the centuries, the battles, the weight of being Ashborn and Tyrant, and finally exhaled — letting the heaviness slip, piece by piece.
Noel nudged a small wildflower growing near the edge of the plateau. "It survived… even here."
Kairo nodded. "Life always finds a way. Even in the ashes."
Reika rested a hand on his shoulder. "And we'll make sure it does."
The sun dipped below the horizon. Shadows stretched long and golden light glimmered on the valley below. In that quiet moment, the four of them — Ashborn, boy, warrior, and wanderer — understood that endings were not just about closing doors but about leaving room for what comes next.
Kairo whispered to the wind, to the valley, to the ghosts of the past: "Amaranth… we're finally yours again."
And for the first time in centuries, the world felt at peace.