Rebuilding a tavern sounds simple — until you realize that half the group thinks they know what they're doing.
The other half, in this case, is me, trying to keep the place from turning into a magical war zone.
"ELARA, I SAID NO MAGIC!" I shouted, as the entire ceiling turned into… cotton candy.
"It was a light materialization spell!"
"That's dessert, not a roof!"
Liriel, holding a bucket of nails (don't ask me why), laughed so hard she nearly fell off the ladder.
"At least it smells good," commented Vespera, eating a piece of the wall.
"YOU'RE ALL A PUBLIC MENACE!" yelled Torin from inside, already on the brink of collapse.
"Relax, we'll fix it," said Liriel, raising her hand.
"Don't cast anything!" we all shouted at once.
She sighed. "You really don't trust me."
"After three explosions, two fires, and one incident with a portal to hell? Not at all."
Rebuilding Torin's tavern was, ironically, the biggest challenge since the fall of Heaven.
Elara tried to coordinate the repair magic, Vespera was in charge of painting (though she kept shooting arrows at the paint buckets by accident), and I supervised everything — or tried to.
Liriel, as always, thought she was leading the project.
"We need a divine touch to make the place feel cozier," she said, snapping her fingers.
"Define 'divine touch,'" I asked, already suspicious.
"Something that inspires faith and joy."
"The last time you tried that, we ended up with an altar that sang by itself at three in the morning."
"It was a choir of blessings!"
"It was an auditory nightmare!"
Celine, who now seemed calmer and more human, watched everything from afar with a faint smile.
"Funny," she said. "In Heaven, buildings took ages to rise. Here, you destroy and rebuild in a week."
"It's the natural cycle," I replied. "Disaster, reconstruction, disaster again."
"Sounds familiar."
"Welcome to the team."
By afternoon, the sunlight hit softly on the freshly painted wood.
Vespera was painting the last wall — or trying to.
"Why is everything pink?" I asked, frowning.
"It's the paint that was left."
"But… it was supposed to be brown."
"Now it's brown with personality."
Elara giggled. "At least it matches the cotton candy ceiling."
"You still haven't fixed that?" I asked.
"I'm studying a way to harden sugar with magic."
"You're literally trying to invent sweet cement."
"If it works, I'll patent it."
Torin appeared at the door, holding a broom like a sword.
"I give up. Do whatever you want. Just don't turn the floor into chocolate."
Liriel winked. "No promises."
"I'M BEING SERIOUS!"
The collective laughter that followed was so spontaneous that even Celine laughed — a true, light laugh, the kind she hadn't had in centuries.
At night, the tavern — or what was left of it — was almost ready.
The tables were in place, the counter rebuilt (with some imperfections), and the ceiling… well, partially solid.
But there was something magical about seeing it all standing again.
Maybe because every flaw, every crooked board, every stain of paint told the story of who we were.
Liriel stood in the middle of the hall, looking around.
"It's crooked," said Vespera, crossing her arms.
"It's charming," replied Liriel.
"Charming like a temple after an earthquake."
"Exactly."
Celine approached. "To think this is now the most important place in the world."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"The meeting point between gods and mortals. Where the sky fell… and rose again."
"And also where the wine is way too expensive," added Torin, appearing with a tray.
He served glasses for everyone.
"A toast," he said. "To the end of chaos — and the survival of my sanity."
"Hard to say which is more impressive," I murmured.
"I still vote for his survival," said Elara.
Everyone laughed.
Celine raised her glass. "A toast… to freedom. To imperfection. And to the bonds Heaven couldn't break."
"That's beautiful," said Liriel.
"I learned from you."
"Then you're forgiven."
After the celebration, we stayed outside, looking at the sky.
The stars Celine had recreated now shone with new intensity, colorful — golden, blue, lilac.
"They're beautiful," said Elara, leaning on the railing.
"They're memories," replied Celine. "Each one represents a fragment of a soul, a choice, a life we've touched."
"And that one shining the brightest?" asked Vespera.
Celine looked at Liriel and smiled. "That one's special."
Liriel arched an eyebrow. "Why?"
"Because it's yours."
"I didn't ask for a star."
"You don't need to."
Liriel fell silent for a few seconds. Then she murmured, looking up at the sky:
"It shines crooked."
"It's the charm," I replied, mimicking her tone.
"Smartass."
Celine stood up, adjusting her cloak.
"It's time for me to return."
"Return?" I asked.
"Yes. The celestial plane needs someone to rebuild it. But this time, not as a distant goddess... rather as someone who learned from mortals."
Liriel nodded, not trying to stop her.
"Go, then. Heaven will need a bit of order after so much chaos."
"And the mortal world will need a bit of chaos after so much order," replied Celine.
The two embraced — this time without weight, without regrets.
"Don't disappear for centuries, okay?" asked Liriel.
"I promise to visit. From time to time."
"Better promise not to destroy anything when you visit."
"No guarantees."
And with one last smile, Celine dissolved into light — rising calmly, without pain, without drama.
The sky seemed to welcome her peacefully, as if finally acknowledging the change.
Hours later, the tavern was already silent.
Elara slept over her grimoire, Vespera snored on the couch, and Torin was cleaning the counter for the thousandth time.
Liriel sat outside, on the steps, gazing at the moonlight.
I sat beside her, and for a while, neither of us said anything.
"You knew she was going back?" I asked.
"I did. But I didn't know I'd miss her."
"You're terrible at goodbyes."
"I'm terrible at a lot of things."
She smiled, resting her chin on her knees.
"But I guess that's what makes me a little... human."
"You're still a goddess."
"Only on paper. Down here, I'm just another one trying to understand the world."
I looked at her for a moment.
The moonlight reflected in Liriel's eyes, and for some reason, time seemed to slow down.
"Thank you," she said suddenly.
"For what?"
"For reminding me that even chaos can have a home."
I stayed quiet. Sometimes, silence says more.
The wind blew softly, carrying the sweet scent of the cotton candy ceiling.
Liriel laughed to herself. "You know, I think I like the tavern this way. Imperfect. Weird. Alive."
"Fits us."
"Yeah. It does."
She stood up and looked at the sky.
"So that's it, Takumi. The end of the arc."
"Arc?"
"You know what I mean."
"Sort of. You mean it's over?"
"It's over... for now."
She held out her hand to me, with her usual smile — light, teasing, with a hint of melancholy.
"Shall we? I think Torin's going to kill us if we let the ceiling melt again."
"You mean when the ceiling melts."
"Details."
We walked back inside together.
The tavern was lit by candles, full of shadows dancing on the painted walls.
It was a home.
Messy, noisy, imperfect — but ours.
And somehow, it felt like the most sacred place in the world.
High above, the night sky shimmered.
The new stars seemed to form a shape — maybe a chariot, maybe a floating tavern, maybe just the chaos of fate.
But among them, one golden and blue light shone brighter.
Two lights that touched — as if Heaven itself were smiling.
Because, in the end, even the divine needs something to keep it tied to the earth.
And some bonds... not even Heaven can break.