The aftermath was always the quietest.
After Ashir's soul had shattered in Arien's hands, the world outside returned—but not untouched. They woke beneath a violet dawn, the stars still blinking strangely above the high cliffs of Pyraeth.
Arien sat cross-legged on the grass, hands still trembling. Her sword—the one born from soulfire—lay beside her. It pulsed softly, like a heartbeat.
Kael approached slowly, his armor scraped and bloodied. "How do you feel?"
She gave a weak smile. "Like I'm still on fire. But... I'm here."
Maev stood nearby with Joss, who was chewing on a strip of dried meat like nothing extraordinary had just happened. But his eyes, sharp and shadowed, told a different story.
"We broke Ashir," Kael said. "So why does it feel like something woke up?"
Maev answered. "Because it did."
They all turned to her.
"What do you mean?" Arien asked.
"The god you shattered wasn't the end. He was a lock," Maev said, voice low. "And when you broke him… something older stirred."
That night, they made camp in the ruins of an old stone circle. Pyraeth was still too dangerous to linger in, but none of them had the strength to move on just yet.
Arien stood at the edge of the cliff, staring at the stars.
Kael joined her, silent for a long time.
"You're afraid," she said softly.
"I'm afraid for you," he replied.
She turned to him. "Why?"
"Because I watched you carry the weight of a dying god. And I saw what it almost made you do."
Arien looked away. "It's not over, Kael. I can still feel the voice. Not Ashir… something deeper. It whispers in dreams."
Kael touched her shoulder gently. "Then we'll face it together."
Far below the cliffs, in the blackened cracks of the world, a shape moved.
Something vast.
Something ancient.
And in its slumber, it smiled.