The battlefield had finally gone quiet—but not empty.
Cinders drifted in the wind like black snow, and the air still carried the taste of ozone and burnt memories. The Hollow Choir was gone. The Mouthless King's silence no longer gnawed at the edges of the world. Yet Rose couldn't quite call it peace.
She stood slowly, her limbs aching, her boots crunching over scorched moss. Mortain rose beside her with a grunt, brushing ash from his coat.
"What now?" he asked.
That was the question, wasn't it?
The world didn't miraculously repair itself after victory. There were still broken ley lines to mend, villages haunted by half-sung spells, and magic that would never behave the same again. But for the first time in a long time, there was space—to breathe, to rebuild, to choose.
Rose turned her gaze skyward. The sun had started to peek through the smoke, pale but stubborn. She liked that. "Now we go home," she said. "And by home, I mean wherever we can put our feet up and not get cursed for five whole minutes."
Basil the goblin popped out from a scorched bush, holding a pie that was still somehow steaming. "I've got celebratory snacks! One has cherries, the other might explode. Mystery keeps things spicy."
Nimbus floated down from the sky, edges crackling faintly. "I've catalogued seventy-two possible post-battle emotional responses. You both appear to be in category eleven: victorious dread."
Mortain blinked. "That... actually tracks."
They all laughed—tired, frayed, but real.
Rose looked at the ragtag trio of goblin, cloud, and god, and felt something stir in her chest. Not magic. Not vengeance.
Something softer.
Hope.
They began the slow walk down the slope where the final battle had ended, leaving behind the crater of silence. As they passed through the trees—brittle and scorched—green began to show beneath the soot. Life returning. Not fast, but stubborn.
"Think the world will let us rest?" Rose asked.
Mortain glanced sideways at her. "Doubt it. But we could take a break before the next apocalypse."
"I'll take it," she grinned.
They reached the edge of the Bramblewood, where the path forked—one toward Emberfen, one toward the wilds. Behind them, the sky was clearing. Ahead, who knew?
Mortain offered his hand again, no lightning this time—just warmth. "Wherever you go, Rose... I'll follow."
She took it without hesitation. "Same, storm boy."
Their fingers laced together, like fire wrapping around a steel rod—chaotic, unbreakable.
Basil scurried ahead, still carrying the potentially explosive pie. "If you two start kissing, I'm throwing this at you. Romance is fine, but not near baked goods."
Nimbus giggled. "The probability of detonation-based affection is high."
Rose laughed as they walked on.
The war was over.
The scars would stay.
But so would they.
Together.
And the world, broken as it was, would burn a little brighter for it.