The walk back to the village feels longer than the entire fight.
Riel's legs ache with every step. His ribs throb. Even breathing feels like wading through broken glass. Behind him, Seris limps with the stubbornness of a woman who refuses to let pain win. Varen walks with one arm pressed tight to his side, squinting through the lingering dizziness of his ritual. And Kaelith… well, Kaelith is upright through sheer Scion discipline, but he looks like one good breeze would knock him flat.
The four of them must look like they crawled out of a battlefield—then lost the follow-up match.
"Next time," Seris mutters, "we save a bakery. Or a library. Or a kitten. Something that doesn't try to kill us."
Riel wheezes a laugh. "You say 'next time' like I agreed to another one."
"Oh, you're agreeing," she fires back. "No take-backs."
Kaelith glances over his shoulder. "Both of you hush. I can feel the headache forming."
"That's just your skull remembering how many times you got hit," Varen says dryly.
Kaelith glares. Varen smiles. Seris cackles.
Riel almost smiles too.
The weight on his shoulders is still there—everything that happened in that collapsing temple, everything he felt staring into the Shade's heart—but for the first time since the nightmare began, the world feels… lighter.
Like dawn is finally coming.
⸻
The village sits quiet at the base of the hill, lanterns glowing warm and soft in the dusk. A few villagers stand guard at the entrance, tense expressions frozen in place—until they see the four of them stumbling down the path.
Riel raises a hand in greeting. It's a pathetic gesture; he barely gets his arm past shoulder height.
One guard runs forward. "Are you—did you—?"
Kaelith clears his throat, straightening despite the pain. "The temple is gone. Whatever held you all in its grasp… it's ended."
A stunned silence spreads through the group.
Then cries break out—relief, disbelief, half-sobs muffled behind hands. The guards usher them inside, calling for water, bandages, food, anything and everything.
Within minutes, villagers pour from their homes, gathering around them. No one touches them—the four look like they might fall apart if someone breathes wrong—but the gratitude is palpable.
"You're safe now," Riel says, surprising himself with the certainty in his voice.
And just like that, the village exhales.
A feast is declared before any of them can protest.
⸻
It's not grand — just tables dragged into the square, lanterns strung between poles, bowls of warm broth and freshly baked bread. —but after the last few days, it might as well be a royal celebration.
Riel sits beside Kaelith, stretching his sore hands around a steaming cup. Across from them, Seris leans her chair back with her boots propped on the table's edge. Varen scribbles furiously in his notebook, somehow eating, drinking, and theorizing all at once.
Seris elbows Riel. "So. Be honest. You thought we were going to die."
"I think we did die," Riel answers. "And we're currently hallucinating soup."
"It's good soup," Kaelith says.
"That's how hallucinations get you," Riel mutters.
Varen doesn't look up. "If this is the afterlife, it's underfunded."
Seris laughs so hard she spills her drink.
Riel leans back, letting the laughter around him soak in. The air smells like herbs and firewood. Lanternlight flickers across familiar faces—Kaelith's warm calm, Varen's overactive focus, Seris's wild grin.
They didn't start this mission as a team.
Hell, Riel had barely spoken to Seris before they were tossed together. And Varen? Riel thought he was too stiff, too formal, too… Varen.
But they bled together.
Stood against death together.
And now, somehow, they're sitting here laughing like they've known each other forever.
Kaelith sets down his cup. "Listen… all of you. I don't say this often."
Seris gasps dramatically. "Kaelith is showing emotion—everyone remain calm."
Kaelith ignores her. "You three fought well. I would've died without you."
Riel lifts a brow. "Just us?"
Kaelith's mouth twitches. "Fine. We all would have died without each other."
Seris raises her cup. "To survival."
Riel clinks his cup against hers. "Barely."
Varen joins in. "And to future success."
Seris looks at him. "Midterms?"
Kaelith nods. "You three should strive to become Scions."
Riel snorts. "We're Hands, Kaelith. You're the one with talent."
Seris elbows him. "Speak for yourself. I'm amazing."
Varen pushes his glasses up. "And I would appreciate formal recognition of my intellectual brilliance."
"But Riel?" Seris nudges him. "You're doing this with us."
Riel blinks. "Why?"
Varen answers simply. "Because you seaver to be recognised as well"
Kaelith raises his cup again. "The three of you rise to Scions. I'll be cheering you on the entire time."
Riel opens his mouth to argue.
Closes it.
Then lifts his cup. "Fine. Scions. Us three. Together."
Their cups meet with a soft clink.
Not dramatic.
Not heroic.
Just honest.
And it feels right.
⸻
Later, when the villagers disperse and lanterns dim, the four walk to the edge of the village where the hill overlooks the place the temple once stood.
A bare circle of earth.
A ring of black runes breathing faint blue.
Nothing else.
Varen crouches beside them. "Still no reaction to my sigils."
Kaelith folds his arms. "Whoever made these… didn't want them understood."
Seris sighs. "Great. Another mystery for us to stress about."
Riel doesn't answer.
He can't shake the feeling…
that the runes aren't a leftover.
They're a signature.
⸻
As the three talk, Riel steps away, the night air brushing cool across his skin.
Fog curls slowly at the treeline. Moonlight rests on the hill.
For a moment, everything is peaceful.
Then—
A pressure touches his mind.
Soft.
Ancient.
Patient.
Not like the Shade. Nothing violent or hungry. But old—older than the temple, older than the ruin, older than the land beneath his feet.
Watching him.
Only him.
Riel doesn't move.
Doesn't breathe.
The presence lingers—
—then withdraws back into the fog, dissolving like a receding tide.
Riel exhales shakily.
Behind him, Seris calls, "Riel! Come on—we're heading back."
He turns.
The lanterns glow warm. Kaelith and Varen stand beside her, framed by moonlight. Tired, bruised, but alive.
A sunrise after a long night.
Riel joins them.
But as they walk back toward the lights of the village, he glances once more at the empty hill.
Something saw him tonight.
And whatever it was…
it isn't finished.