MasukThe wind that morning was softer than it had ever been.It moved through Duskwind like a sigh—tender, weightless—brushing through the new leaves that shimmered on the trees reborn from ash. The lake mirrored the sky without a single ripple, as if even the water had decided to rest.I stood on the shore, barefoot, the earth cool beneath my feet. The air carried the scent of rain and pine, and something else—something faintly sweet, like memory lingering in sunlight.For a long time, I said nothing. There was nothing left that needed to be said.The guardians were gone.The gods had fallen silent.And for the first time in years, I didn’t feel the weight of anyone else’s voice inside my head.Just my own heartbeat.Just the quiet.Behind me, Duskwind had begun to live again. Wolves moved through the village with laughter in their throats instead of fear. Children ran through the rebuilt square, their voices bright against the morning air. The tower had been repaired enough to stand—not
The forest didn’t end, it softened.The trees thinned until their shadows turned translucent, the air rippling with faint threads of silver that clung to our skin like dew. Somewhere ahead, the western horizon flickered—soft at first, then pulsing, like breath moving through the ribs of the earth.Riven slowed beside me. His hand brushed mine, calloused and steady, the way one touches something sacred. We didn’t speak. Words would have been too heavy for this kind of silence. The light ahead wasn’t frightening. It was familiar, the kind that hummed in dreams, in prayers we never said aloud."The western woods," he murmured, voice low. "They shouldn’t be glowing.""They’re saying goodbye," I said before I even realized it.The words came out fragile, trembling, but true. I could feel it—the same presence that once stirred the wind, that had guided us through ruin and blood, now lingering for a final breath.The path opened to a clearing where the trees leaned outward, bowing to somethi
The silence after the spirits left was not empty.It was alive—breathing, listening—like the world itself was waiting for someone to speak first.I stood at the edge of the lake, the surface still trembling from the light that had vanished moments ago. Mist floated above it in slow curls, silver beneath the faint moon.Behind me, Duskwind slept. No whispers, no cries, no prayers. Just the hush that follows when everything has been given, and there’s nothing left to fear.Riven didn’t move.He was beside me, a quiet shape against the pale horizon, the outline of his shoulders softened by the fog. For a long time we said nothing. We simply breathed, and the world breathed with us.When I finally spoke, my voice sounded smaller than I remembered."Do you think they’re gone for good?"He turned his head, and the faint smile that crossed his face carried both weariness and warmth."They were never meant to stay," he said. "They came to remind us what was already here.""What was here," I e
The first morning after peace still felt like a secret.Duskwind breathed softly beneath the pale sky. Smoke rose from new chimneys, curling through the mist like quiet prayers. Wolves moved between half-built dens, their laughter blending with the rhythm of hammers and voices. It was strange to hear joy again—tentative, raw, but real.Riven and I stood on the ridge overlooking the valley. From here, the world looked almost whole. The forest shimmered with dew, and the river carried silver light through the heart of the land like a living vein."Looks different from up here," Riven murmured."It feels different too," I said, my gaze tracing the distant hills. "No scent of blood. No tension in the air. Just… breath."He nodded, his hand brushing against mine. "Then let’s keep it that way."We descended the path slowly, the morning air cool on our faces. Wolves greeted us as we passed. Some with quiet respect, others with open warmth. I recognized many of them from before the Veil’s fal
The first thing I noticed was the wind.Not the violent kind that once tore through Duskwind’s ruins, but something softer—an exhale from a world that had finally decided to breathe again.The air smelled different now. Not of ash or blood, but rain-soaked soil and pine. The sky above was pale silver, scattered with clouds that moved like slow, thoughtful creatures.For a long time, I didn’t move. I simply lay there, my cheek pressed to the earth that hummed faintly beneath my skin. It wasn’t just alive—it was calm.When I finally sat up, the horizon looked wrong and right all at once. The old citadel was gone, swallowed by vines and roots that glittered faintly with gold. The lake had returned, quiet and wide, its surface reflecting a world that had decided to start over.A few meters away, Riven was already awake. He stood by the water’s edge, the morning light tracing silver across his hair, his reflection joining the ripples that reached for the shore.When he turned, the mark on
The world’s first breath was not wind.It was memory.It rippled through the air—soft and wide—like a sigh carried by a thousand voices that had been waiting too long to be heard. The trees bent as it passed.The light fractured, then rejoined itself in new colors that didn’t exist before. The sky, once gold, deepened into something more—an ocean of pale warmth that shimmered with faint threads of blue fire.For a moment, there was peace.And then, awareness.The ground beneath us pulsed once, then stilled. I could feel it listening.Riven’s hand was still in mine. His heartbeat echoed through the mark that now split between us—two halves of the same light. We stood in the middle of a field that looked both ancient and newborn.Grass brushed our ankles, glinting faintly like morning dew made of dusted gold. Far in the distance, mountains rose where none had been before.He looked around slowly. "Is this still Duskwind?"I exhaled. "Yes. And no."He turned to me, his eyes still wide wi







