Life did not return to normal.
It settled into something quieter.
After the storm of months—of broken bones, shattered minds, and power pushed far beyond sanity—the days that followed felt almost unreal. The valley healed slowly. Mana stabilized. The sky no longer trembled at random hours. Even the system-provided house seemed… calmer, as if it too had survived something and learned restraint.
They continued living together.
Not as trainees.
Not as soldiers.
As people who had endured the same hell and come back carrying pieces of it inside their ribs.
Ash noticed the change first at night.
Sleep still came unevenly—dreams sharp with echoes of berserk rage and abyssal pressure—but whenever he woke, there was no longer the instinctive panic. No reaching for a weapon. No need to confirm he was alive.
Because Lunaria was there.
Sometimes sitting by the window, moonlight tracing sharp lines along his profile.
Sometimes standing silently, presence subdued but unmistakably real.
Sometimes already asleep—rare, but not impossible anymore.
It started without words.
One night, after Ash jolted awake drenched in sweat, breath ragged and chest tight, he found Lunaria sitting on the edge of the bed before he could even speak.
"You were drifting," Lunaria said quietly.
Ash swallowed. "…Did I wake you?"
"I wasn't sleeping."
There was no accusation in the words. No distance either.
Ash hesitated, then shifted slightly, making space.
Lunaria didn't ask.
He lay down beside him, not touching at first—just close enough that Ash could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing. Strong. Controlled. Grounding.
Ash's pulse slowed.
Neither of them spoke.
From that night on, it kept happening.
Sometimes Ash woke and found Lunaria already there.
Sometimes Lunaria entered silently, lying down as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Other nights, Ash wandered into Lunaria's room instead, exhaustion guiding his feet more than intention.
No one commented on it.
Not Riven, who noticed everything and said nothing.
Not Kael, who smirked once and wisely kept his mouth shut.
Not Juno, who observed, adjusted the household schedule slightly, and treated it as an established fact.
They slept better.
That alone felt dangerous.
One evening, Ash lay on his side facing Lunaria, watching the faint rise and fall of his chest. His hair was loose, dark strands spread across the pillow, expression unguarded in sleep. Without the abyss. Without the killing intent.
Just Lunaria.
"You don't disappear when you rest anymore," Ash said softly.
Lunaria opened one eye. "…You're supposed to be sleeping."
"Could say the same to you."
A faint pause.
"I used to," Lunaria admitted. "Disappear, I mean. It was safer."
Ash shifted closer, their shoulders brushing. "You don't have to do that here."
Lunaria studied him in the dim light, gaze sharp even when calm. "You're certain?"
Ash didn't answer immediately.
Then he nodded. "Yeah."
Something in Lunaria eased—subtle, but real.
"You're changing," Lunaria said.
Ash snorted quietly. "You say that like it's a bad thing."
"It's not," Lunaria replied. "It's just… noticeable."
Silence followed. Comfortable. Heavy in the way shared understanding often is.
After a moment, Ash spoke again, voice lower.
"When you went berserk," he said, "there was a second where I thought I lost you."
Lunaria's jaw tightened.
"I've never lost control like that before," he said. "Not completely."
"But you came back."
"Because you were there."
Ash blinked.
Lunaria turned slightly, their foreheads almost touching now.
"You anchored me," Lunaria said simply. "Even when you were barely standing."
Ash's chest felt tight again—but not from fear this time.
"…Then I guess," he said quietly, "we're even."
Lunaria's lips curved—not quite a smile, but something warmer.
They fell asleep like that.
Closer than before.
Not clinging.
Not desperate.
Just present.
The days followed the same rhythm.
Training was lighter now—maintenance, refinement, control. Ash and Lunaria sparred often, but the edge was different. Less about dominance. More about understanding timing, breath, intent.
Sometimes Lunaria corrected Ash's stance by placing a hand on his shoulder.
Sometimes Ash caught Lunaria watching him when he thought no one noticed.
At night, they shared space without question.
Not always touching.
Sometimes just sharing silence.
And in that silence, something deepened—not explosive, not rushed.
Forged the same way they had been.
Slowly.
Under pressure.
Unbreakable once set.
One night, as rain tapped gently against the roof, Ash murmured half-asleep, "You're staying, right?"
Lunaria didn't hesitate.
"Yes."
Ash smiled faintly and drifted off.
Lunaria remained awake a while longer, listening to Ash's breathing, feeling the unfamiliar but welcome weight of belonging settle into his chest.
For the first time in a very long existence—
The abyss within him was quiet.
Not sealed.
Not suppressed.
Simply… at rest.
And whatever came next—
They would face it
not side by side—
but together.