A Desolation Called Peace 소설 & 이야기

I stroked my stomach absentmindedly, humming an old lullaby my mother used to sing. And for the first time in what felt like years, peace washed over me. Not the fragile, temporary peace of treaties and councils. Not the deceptive peace Mirage had once brought. But true peace. The kind I had carved for myself, far from the wreckage of my past. --- Still, I knew the truth. This peace would not last forever. Somewhere, across oceans and shadows, Mirage ruled as Alpha of Alphas. Somewhere, he smiled with Lilah at his side. Somewhere, war brewed still, even if the storm had quieted for now.

*****************************POV: Rowe************************ --- There were two kinds of quiet in the world. The first kind was peace—when birds sang, the air breathed easy, and the sun rose without hesitation. The wind howling like the only thing we needed at the moment. And the second? The second kind of peace was war. The kind that settled over everything right before the shot. The air stilled. The insects stopped. Even your heartbeat dared not make noise, as if sound alone might be the trigger.

There was literally no sign of him, it was like Ischavor vanished off the surface of the earth like a freaking ghost. I’m so tired and frustrated, everything I was doing wasn’t working. I’ve never felt so tired the way I am right now, I just wanted to die and be gone from this world. I crave peace so badly but the only thing I keep getting is chaos. If you ever wonder if there was a human in this world who has never known peace, Bruno is his name.

They left the building together in near silence. The city was alive in that restless evening way—sirens threading through traffic, laughter spilling from bars, lights reflecting off wet pavement like fractured stars. Normal. Loud. Unaware that a past long buried had just begun clawing its way back to the surface. “Do you ever feel,” Elias said slowly, “like peace makes you more afraid than chaos?” Aurora’s chest tightened. “Yes,” she answered before she could stop herself. He nodded, as if confirming something he already suspected. “Because chaos is familiar. Peace is… unknown.”

stronger, wiser, and finally at peace. THE END!

I used to believe endings came with noise. With doors slamming, papers flying, voices raised. But this one came gently. Like a sigh. Like the last note of a lullaby. And maybe that’s what peace really is—not silence, but softness. Not the absence of war, but the return of one’s self. The morning of Zaya and Micah’s joint birthday arrived with sunshine that filtered in like forgiveness. The sky was clear, the breeze was warm, and the smell of vanilla cake floated from the kitchen before the guests evern arrived.

“You call it heresy to evolve. I call it survival.” Their light flares again, but this time I don’t fight. I open. I let them see it—the pulse inside me, the flicker of life, the gold threaded through the dark. “This is what you fear,” I tell them. “That I’ve found peace where you’ve built walls. That the boy you would call ‘abomination’ taught me what it means to feel.” “Peace,” one of them spits, “is the language of the weak.” “Then weakness is divine,” I say. “Because even gods are lonely.”

And he always did. One morning, she found his journal open on the table. He had left it for her. Sitting with it, her heart fluttered, and she read the words in his neat, angled handwriting: I don’t know if peace is a location or a choice. Perhaps it is both. Maybe it is not a destination, but the decision to remain. With her. With myself. Maybe it’s waking up next to someone who understands your demons—and doesn’t flee. Maybe peace isn’t silence but being heard, even when unspoken.

Emma Volkov Peace is never silent. It hums. It settles into the cracks left behind by violence, vibrating with all the things that haven’t happened yet. That was what I felt in the days after Venice—not relief, not victory, but a low, constant awareness that the world was holding itself together with careful hands.

Time: A week after the war. ---- Peace. For the first time in months, I am waking up to an overwhelming sense of peace. Nothing matters anymore; nothing can bring me back. No death. No vengeance. Just peace. In this peaceful place, there is no fighting; there is no sorrow. In this calm world of peace, I feel complete. But there is one person that matters to me. This peacefulness cannot last forever. I sit up, careful not to disturb the peace around me. I stretch my arms out, feeling the muscles in my back and shoulders loosen.