The mist did not dissipate. It only grew denser, as if the very air had decided to keep a secret.
The ancient stone bridge, covered in ivy and silence, did not shake. It did not sway. It simply… existed. As if it had been made to receive us.
No one spoke. No one moved.
Vespera, who would normally break the silence with a joke about "bridges that lead nowhere and charge in tears," remained quiet. Her fingers didn't play with her arrow. They were steady, as if she already knew the next step wasn't one of combat, but of decision.
Elara looked toward the mist on the other side, her eyes wide, but without fear. Only curiosity. As if she were trying to decipher a formula she had never seen before.
Liriel, who had been the first to speak about the threshold, now looked… small. Not physically. But in something deeper. Her necklace, which usually shone with an almost defiant light, now emitted a soft glow, almost uncertain. As if it hesitated to remember.
I looked at them. Three women. Three stories. Three reasons for me not to give up.
And then, for some reason, I remembered the first time I saw them together.
It was in a tavern. Elara, with her staff broken and her eyes full of shame, trying to hide the fact she had fainted after a protection spell. Vespera, laughing as if everything were a game, with an arrow stuck in the ceiling by accident — and another on the head of a cat. Liriel, sitting at the counter, drinking wine as if it were water, and saying, in the coldest voice I had ever heard: "If you're going to die, do it far from my sight."
And now, years later, we were here. Not out of obligation. Not out of destiny. But because, at some point, each of them had chosen to stay. For me. For us.
And me? I had chosen to stay with them.
Not out of love, as someone might say — because love is too simple a word for what we felt. It wasn't just passion. It wasn't just companionship. It was… belonging. The kind of belonging you don't explain. You just feel.
Vespera was the first to speak.
"So… who goes in first?"
No answer.
She looked at me. "You. You always go in first."
I didn't respond. I just looked at Elara.
She didn't hesitate. She walked up to me, stopped one step away, and placed her hand over mine.
"If this is a test," she said quietly, "I don't want to face it alone."
Liriel came closer, without saying anything. She simply rested her hand over Elara's. Then, slowly, over mine.
Our hands joined.
No words. No grand gesture. Just that.
And then, together, we crossed.
The other side was not a place.
It was a moment.
There was no ground. No sky. Only light — but not the light of a sun, nor of a moon. It was the light of a sigh. The kind that comes after crying. The kind that comes after an "I love you" that was never said.
And there, at the center, he was.
Zephyron.
But not as a general. Not as a ghost. Not as a poet.
As a man.
Sitting in a simple chair, with an open book on his lap. His hands rested on the pages. His eyes were closed. His breathing calm. As if he were asleep — but not from sleep. From peace.
The mist around him wasn't dark. It was golden. And it floated gently, as if woven from memories.
Elara let go of my hand. She walked toward him. Without fear. Without magic. Without weapons.
She stopped one step from the chair.
"Are you… alive?" she asked, almost voiceless.
He opened his eyes.
Not with force. Not with authority.
With tenderness.
"No," he replied. "But I am here. And that is enough."
Vespera approached, arms crossed.
"So… this is the end? You brought us here to tell us you gave up?"
He smiled. A smile without sadness. One with… relief.
"No. You brought me here. Because you didn't forget me."
He closed the book. Then opened it again.
On the next page, there were no words.
There were drawings.
One of them: Elara, with her broken staff, but her eyes shining as she tried again.
Another: Vespera, laughing as a misfired arrow hit the tavern ceiling.
And another: Liriel, sitting at the edge of a stream, her necklace glowing, looking toward the horizon — but with her hands intertwined, as if holding something she couldn't quite grasp.
"You didn't remember me as a general," he said. "You remembered me as someone who… still had worth."
Liriel stepped closer. Not out of pride. Not out of duty. But because she wanted to.
"You weren't a general," she said. "You were a man who forgot he could still be loved."
He blinked. And a tear fell — not from pain. From understanding.
"And you… you taught me that this was still possible."
None of us spoke.
Because there was nothing left to say.
He wasn't an enemy.
He was a mirror.
And we, at some point, had seen ourselves in him.
That was why we had come.
Not to defeat him.
To remind ourselves that, even after everything — even after the debts, the transparent clothes, the spells that failed, the arrows that missed — we still had something that no general, no king, no goddess could take away.
We had each other.
And when the silence became almost unbearable, Vespera spoke.
— "So… what do we do now?"
Zephyron looked at her. And then, slowly, raised his hand.
Not to attack.
To point.
Behind us.
To the bridge.
To the world we had left.
— "You will return," he said. "Because the world still needs you. Not as heroes. Not as saviors. But as… people."
He smiled.
— "And maybe… maybe someone needs to hear that chaos isn't a mistake. It's a choice."
And then, he vanished.
Not in light. Not in mist.
Like a falling leaf.
And when the wind passed, the book that had been on the chair disappeared.
Only a single sheet remained, floating in the air.
Elara caught it.
On the front, it read:
"The truth doesn't need a throne. It only needs someone to hear it."
On the back, in different handwriting — softer, more intimate — there was only one word:
"Thank you."
The mist parted.
And when we returned to the bridge, the world on the other side was exactly as we had left it.
The wind blew. The trees swayed. The sun was in the same place.
But something had changed.
Liriel no longer floated.
She was standing. With her feet on the ground. And she didn't seem bothered by it.
Elara wasn't holding the grimoire like a shield.
She carried it as if it were a friend.
Vespera no longer gripped her bow with tension.
She held it as if it were an extension of her hand — and not of her anger.
And me?
I no longer felt the weight of the backpack.
I felt the weight of the hands that had joined.
And when I looked at them, I realized that, for the first time, no one was looking at me.
Elara was looking at Vespera.
Vespera was looking at Liriel.
And Liriel… was looking at me.
But not with disdain.
Not with jealousy.
With something that had no name.
And then, without saying anything, Elara stepped forward — and hugged Vespera.
Not as a gesture of friendship.
As a gesture of… recognition.
Vespera hesitated. Just for a moment.
Then squeezed tightly.
And Liriel?
She approached.
And placed her hand on Elara's shoulder.
Just that.
But it was enough.
No kiss. No confession. No words.
Just a moment.
And when the wind passed again, I felt something I hadn't felt since everything began.
Peace.
Not the peace of a world without war.
But the peace of a heart that, finally, no longer needs to choose.
Because it wasn't about who I loved.
It was about who I was, when I was with them.
And even if the tavern bill was still there.
Even if Vespera had forgotten her bow on the bridge.
Even if Elara had fainted because of a "comfort heat" spell that only made the grass glow.
And even if Liriel, looking at the sky, had murmured:
"He was right. Chaos… is more beautiful when you're not alone."
I didn't say anything.
I just smiled.
Because, for the first time, I didn't need an answer.
I just needed them.
And for now, that was all the world needed from us.
The road continued.
But now, we walked together — not out of obligation.
By choice.
And perhaps, that was the beginning of something not even the gods could predict.
The end of an arc.
And the beginning of a new kind of story.
— A story that didn't need a villain to be valuable.
— Only three women, one man, and a silence that, finally, wasn't empty.