Two years had passed since the fall of the Weever, yet the echoes of war still hummed softly in the corners of the world.
The cities had begun to heal—brick by brick, root by root. Nature bloomed with new life as communities came together, forging peace from the wreckage. Flags of old nations were lowered while new ones were stitched by hand and heart. The scars were still there, but so were the signs of growth.
Aria stood atop the ridge near Evercrest Hold, her hands laced behind her back, the wind catching the ends of her cloak. The Lumina Shard pulsed gently at her chest, warm, alive, and silent—for now.
She had changed.
So had everything.
From behind, footsteps crunched the gravel. "You're always up here lately," Kael said, stepping beside her.
Aria smiled faintly. "Hard to believe this was once a battlefield."
"Now it's just a good view," Kael replied, crossing his arms. "But I get it. This place… it reminds us."
Kael had grown quieter with time—not with sadness, but with strength. He was now training under Sorin, the legendary former Warrior, studying discipline and control. His once solitary silence had become a centered calm, and when he spoke, it carried weight.
Finn appeared next, hopping up from the lower trail. "Took forever to find you two," he huffed, brushing dust off his new Healers' Guild robe. It was light green with gold thread, tailored and clean. "Head Healer duties are no joke, you know. You should see the paperwork."
"You like the power," Aria teased.
"I like the tea breaks," Finn grinned. "And the title. 'Master Alderwyn'? Has a nice ring to it."
He looked proud, and he should be. Finn had rebuilt the Healers' Guild from its shattered remains. Under his leadership, they not only healed wounds but trained new generations of empathic menders. He worked closely with his mother Elyra, one of the most brilliant Healers of her time.
"Speaking of titles…" Finn smirked. "Did I mention Lyric and Quinn are finally official now? Took them long enough. I almost had to lock them in a room to make it happen."
Aria's eyes lit up. "They finally made it official? That's amazing!"
Kael nodded. "Yeah. It's obvious when they're around each other. They just fit."
"Quinn's training under Sirius now," Finn added. "He's taking it seriously, too. The whole intense focus, shadowy hero vibe."
"Lyric's thriving," Aria said softly. "It's good to see."
Her closest friend had stepped into her role as Scholar with bold confidence, no longer hiding behind sarcasm or secrets. With Quinn at her side, the two made a formidable pair—brains and intuition, woven together like threads in a book of legends.
And Aria?
She was now a Seeker of Balance.
Not just in title—but in spirit. Her role was to travel, to mediate, to preserve peace where power threatened it. After the Weever's defeat, the Council had entrusted her with the Shard and with it, the burden of legacy. She felt it always—alive within her chest.
And then there was Dorian.
He was not far. In fact, she sensed him before she saw him.
The group made their way back down the trail toward the restored village of Emberreach, where trees bowed with golden leaves and children laughed in the distance. Dorian was waiting near the old bridge, arms crossed, wearing something simple—unassuming.
He looked up and met her gaze. No smirk. Just quiet warmth.
"You've been busy," he said.
Aria stepped closer. "So have you."
"I heard about your peace talk with the Riverbound," he added. "You're really doing it—keeping the balance."
Aria nodded, searching his eyes. "You helped make that possible."
Dorian shook his head. "All I did was survive."
She reached for his hand, gently curling her fingers around his. "You did more than that. And I'm proud of you."
He blinked, a hint of vulnerability in his eyes. Slowly, he leaned down and kissed her forehead, hands cradling her face. "You made a difference," he whispered. "Whatever comes next… we'll face it together."
Their fingers stayed entwined.
Behind them, laughter echoed as Lyric chased Quinn through the market, books under one arm, her other hand tugging him toward a pastry stand. Quinn, still in training but no longer brooding, smiled in a way that softened his entire face.
Finn waved to a group of apprentice healers, calling out instructions like a proud big brother. Kael lingered by a forge, where Sorin hammered a blade, nodding slowly at his apprentice's progress.
Everything wasn't perfect.
But it was growing.
Aria stood among them, heart full. Celeste watched from a distance, her mother's smile proud and patient. Elyra and Adric walked together toward the council hall, bickering about something historical.
And though Eira Winters was nowhere to be seen, Aria could feel her presence—like a star just out of sight. The Keeper had told her once, "Trust the shard, but trust yourself more."
The Lumina Shard pulsed again.
And with it, a whisper—faint, distant, from some other place.
Not yet danger.
But something else.
Something watching.
Something waking.
---
As the evening sun dipped low, casting golden streaks across the village rooftops, Aria wandered toward the quiet garden behind the council hall—her sanctuary.
She wasn't alone.
Celeste stood among the blooming starblossoms, her white cloak glowing in the amber light. She was humming an old lullaby, one Aria hadn't heard since childhood.
"Mom," Aria said softly.
Celeste turned, her eyes already glistening. "You've grown so much, my little star."
Aria moved into her arms without hesitation, the embrace long, silent, and full of all the words they didn't need to say. They stayed like that for a moment, just breathing.
"I still remember the day you first held the shard," Celeste whispered, pulling back slightly. "You were scared… but you faced it."
Aria smiled, eyes glinting with emotion. "Because I remembered you told me—'light doesn't ask for permission to shine.'"
Celeste chuckled gently, brushing a strand of hair from Aria's face. "You remembered that."
"I remember everything," Aria said. "I remember losing you. I remember the ache. And now, I get to remember this—having you here."
Celeste looked away briefly, her voice quieter. "Sometimes I feel like I missed too much."
"You didn't," Aria replied firmly. "You gave me strength, even when you weren't beside me. You've always been with me. And now… we finally get to live it. Not in memory. But for real."
Celeste's expression crumpled for a second with the weight of gratitude, of time stolen and time restored.
"I'm proud of you, Aria. Not because of your title or your victories—but because of your heart. You never gave up on people. Not even Dorian."
Aria laughed softly. "He's still a work in progress."
"Aren't we all," Celeste said with a smirk.
They sat together on the edge of the stone fountain, watching the stars slowly wake above them. For the first time in what felt like forever, they didn't need to talk about the past or worry about what was coming.
Just mother and daughter.
Together.
Alive.
At peace.
Even if only for now.