The village had quieted.
The Ridge Wall no longer rang with the clash of steel or the screams of charging goblins. Instead, there was the low hum of conversation, the creak of carts moving rubble, and the soft moans of the wounded resting in the temple. Even the birds seemed hesitant to sing, as if the forest itself held its breath.
Reivo sat alone on the temple's stone steps, elbows on his knees, hands laced together. His sword rested beside him, still streaked with dried black blood. He hadn't found the will to clean it yet.
His gaze wandered across the village square, now marked by scorched patches of earth and shattered wooden crates. The place where the boss goblin had fallen was still visible—a deep gouge in the ground, as if the earth itself remembered the battle.
"We really did it," he whispered to no one.
But the weight in his chest hadn't lifted entirely. Victory should've felt sweeter. They'd fought without an Awakened, closed a dungeon breach, and no one had died. Yet Reivo couldn't shake the unease crawling beneath his skin.
Maybe it was the way the boss had looked at him before charging. Not just hatred—it had been aware. Angry. Intelligent. He'd seen something behind those burning red eyes, something that hadn't belonged in a mindless beast.
He remembered the moment he buried the hatchet in its eye. The strength it had taken, the desperation in that final swing. The look on its face before it fell. A look that said: This isn't over.
"Reivo," came a soft voice.
He turned to see Mira approaching, a cloth in her hands. "You should get that cleaned," she said, nodding toward his side.
Reivo looked down. The side of his tunic was torn, a bloodstain spreading across his ribs from where he'd been backhanded. He hadn't even noticed it still bled.
"Right," he muttered, taking the cloth with a quiet thanks.
Mira didn't leave right away. She sat beside him in silence, watching the village breathe again.
"People are calling you a hero," she said after a while. "Saying the Will of the World must've smiled on you early."
Reivo gave a dry laugh. "If it did, it has a cruel sense of humor."
Mira didn't argue. She just leaned her head back and looked up at the sky with him.
For a long time, neither of them spoke. The breeze rustled the leaves gently, and the sound of rebuilding drifted through the air.
"I don't feel like a hero," Reivo said finally. "I feel… tired. Like something's coming. Like that was just the start."
Mira looked at him. "Then maybe it was."
Reivo met her eyes, and for the first time that day, he saw something that made the dread recede—a quiet certainty.
"We'll face it," she said.
Reivo nodded slowly. Not because he believed it yet—but because he wanted to.
And that, for now, was enough.