It happened at first light.
A child gathering moon-moss near the western wall saw it first—a figure standing beneath the oldest oak in the city, where no one had walked since the siege began.
Tall. Cloaked in gray. One hand human, the other a shifting mass of ash.
When the child called out, "Who are you?"—the figure turned.
But there was no face.
Only a soft glow, like starlight seen through fog.
Then it vanished.
By noon, three more sightings were reported:
— A baker saw him watching the sunrise from the roof of the Sunfire Guild.
— A dwarven smith swore he felt a hand steady his hammer during a critical forge-blow—then looked up to find no one there.
— Prince Kaelin found footprints leading to the Heart Chamber… but none leading away.
In Elmara's Vault of Echoes, the black root had broken the surface.
It now coiled around a pillar of white stone, its tip brushing the ceiling. Where it grew, memories bloomed like flowers:
— Darien laughing as a boy, racing Lira through the library stacks
— Him kneeling beside a fallen soldier on the Ridge of Mourning, closing the elf's eyes
— His whispered oath: "I will guard the threshold between."
Lira spent every waking hour there, feeding it drops of Tree-sap, singing old lullabies their mother used to hum.
"He's coming back," she told Malrik, who stood guard at the door. "Not all at once. But piece by piece."
Malrik watched the shadows in the corridor. "The city feels him too. Last night, the bells rang at midnight—with no one to ring them."
That evening, King Aerion summoned the council.
"The First Fear stirs again," Elyar reported, eyes shadowed with exhaustion. "The cracks are returning. Slower this time… but deeper."
Thorin slammed his fist on the table. "If bringing him back wakes the beast, then we must stop it!"
"And lose him forever?" Lira shot back. "He saved us once by vanishing. Now he's fighting to return—and you'd deny him?"
Aelarion, who had rarely spoken since the ritual, finally raised his voice.
"You misunderstand. He is not returning to be remembered. He is returning to finish what Valenthis began."
Silence.
"What do you mean?" Kaelin asked.
Aelarion's void-eyes gleamed faintly.
"Valenthis became the cage. I became the key. Darien… will become the seal. Not by erasure. But by presence."
At dawn, Lira returned to the Heart Chamber.
She found Darien waiting.
Not fully formed. Not solid.
But there—standing in the center of the room, his outline shimmering like heat over stone.
He held out his human hand.
She reached for it.
Their fingers passed through each other—but for a heartbeat, she felt warmth. Memory. Love.
"I'm still unwritten," he said, voice like wind through dry leaves. "But I can walk the world again… if you keep remembering me."
Tears fell onto the floor. Where they landed, tiny white flowers sprouted.
"I will," she whispered. "Every day. Until the world remembers too."
He smiled—the first true smile since the war began.
Then he turned toward the eastern window, where the first rays of sun touched Lyothara's spires.
"They're coming," he said.
Below, the streets were empty.
But in the distance, beyond the plains, the drums began again.
Not marching.
Calling his name.
And this time, Darien did not flinch.
He stepped forward—into the light.