Belligarde stirred to consciousness beneath the fractured rafters of the Long Hall. Slivers of golden light filtered through gaps in the ruined roof, warming the ash-stained floor. Her first thought was confusion, swiftly replaced by pain—a dull, persistent throb radiating from her leg. She shifted, grimacing, and the memory returned in waves. The fall. The wyvern. Talyri's frantic voice. The weapon's pulsing light.
She remembered Talyri's arm around her waist, helping her crawl through broken stone. Belligarde had insisted they reach the Long Hall, heart pounding with the hope that Nerissa and Fen would be there. Her niece—the last fragment of Lirabelle, her beloved sister.
Their path had been perilous. She recalled Talyri bracing her from behind, shouting through the din as she fired the strange weapon with both hands, helping clear their way when wyverns strayed too close. Belligarde, fueled by desperation, ignored her leg's pain, dragging herself toward what she hoped would be a reunion.
But when they arrived, the Long Hall stood empty but cluttered. No sign of Fen. No sign of Nerissa. Just the echo of their own footsteps and the cold realization that they were too late. She had collapsed in despair, tears soaking into the dusty floorboards. Talyri had hurried to the back, rummaging for calming herbs—bitter green stalks that numbed the panic but did little for the ache in her soul.
Near the cliff's edge, where Thareon's ringlight spilled emerald and gold across the sky, the survivors gather in uneasy clusters, eyes darting between the sky and the waves, as if expecting death to follow them even there.
Nerissa stirred beneath a woven blanket. The salty scent of the sea and the soft crash of waves welcomed her into the waking world. Blinking against the ringlight, her young eyes caught a blur—a warm smile, dark hair, and the soft voice of her mother.
"Mama?" she whispered.
But as her vision cleared, the illusion dissolved. There was no Lira. Only the wide expanse of the sky and a growing camp of weary survivors. Some mothers sat nearby, whispering in hushed tones while their eyes lingered on Nerissa. She didn't understand their words, but she felt their gaze—confused, sharp, wary.
They blamed her.
Nerissa turned toward her father. Fen lay curled and sweating, his brow furrowed, breath shallow.
"Papa?" she said softly, nudging him. "Papa, wake up."
Inside his nightmare, Fen relived the moment of Lira's death. The thunder of the boulder. Her scream—his name. The push that saved his life and cost her own. The iron tang of blood in the air. Her body… gone.
He woke with a strangled gasp. Nerissa's arms wrapped around him.
"I'm here, Papa," she whispered.
And for that fragile moment, her embrace tethered him to the world.
Not far from them, Maelhan stood alone at the cliff's edge, the wind tugging at his worn cloak. He let the ringlight bathe his face, remembering another time—another moonrise. The first time he'd dared venture beyond the valley. When youth and pride made him blind to risk.
He remembered how Belligarde, so bold even then, had been punished for the same wanderlust. And how he had kept his secrets better.
He thought of the village he found. The friend he made.
And the promises still unfulfilled.
Kaevran — Elder Healer, the youngest of the five elders, finished his morning rounds and joined Maelhan, crouching beside him with practiced ease. His dark hair, streaked with white, fluttered in the ocean wind. Striking a flame from two dull crystals, he lit his pipe, the scent of forest leaves curling into the morning air.
"It's peaceful here, Maelhan," he said between puffs. "But the people wonder—can peace really be found here? Or is this just the eye of the storm?"
Maelhan's eyes didn't leave the horizon. He let the silence stretch before answering.
"Do they wonder for themselves, or are you speaking for you?"
Kaevran chuckled, a stream of smoke escaping his lips.
Maelhan gave the faintest smile. "Let's just stay here. For now. Find peace where we can." A peace that feels almost unnatural after so much turmoil.
Back at the Long Hall, Talyri returned carefully, cradling a basket of exotic fruits. Before entering, she paused to glance at the field outside—dozens of wyverns curled in sleep, their scales absorbing the star and ringlight. Their bellies full. Their wings still.
She treaded lightly, not daring to break the silence. Inside, Belligarde rested against a broken beam, her leg braced with the bones of a giant fish tied with cord.
"How's the storm feeling?" Talyri asked with a crooked grin.
Belligarde offered a weak smile. "A bit better," she said, stroking the makeshift splint. "You're surprisingly good at this. Thank you."
Talyri sat beside her and passed the basket. "You must be hungry."
Belligarde picked one of the fruits—violet with silver specks—smelled it, then bit into its tart flesh.
"I've been meaning to ask," Talyri said gently. "That weapon you used… where did you get it?"
Belligarde chewed thoughtfully before answering. "Found it ten offerings ago. Abandoned camp, outside the outer ridge."
"Who else knows about it?"
"Maelhan does," Belligarde said without hesitation.
Talyri fell silent. She searched her memory—there had been no mention of this weapon in any of Maelhan's reports to the council.
"Forgive me," Talyri continued. "I examined it while you slept. I couldn't help myself."
Her eyes flicked to the weapon resting nearby.
"Do you know anything about the Starborn?"
"Starborn?" Belligarde echoed.
"That's what Nerissa called those runes etched into the weapon."
Pride bloomed on Belligarde's face. "She really is a gifted star."
Then she frowned. "I always thought it read 'Starburn.'"
Talyri stifled a laugh. "Star—burn?"
"Yes," Belligarde said with a smirk, "which fits. It does burn like a star."
Their laughter was quiet but honest. In the ruins, amidst slumbering monsters, two women found an ember of peace.
Talyri leaned back, watching light spill through a crack in the door.
"You've survived so much, Belligarde. It's as if something's guiding you… keeping you alive for a reason."
And as her words faded, the winds drifted out across the tranquil valley, where shadows still stirred beneath the ground, waiting for the light to pass.