The fires of war had cooled, but their echoes remained. Smoke no longer choked the horizon, nor did the sound of clashing steel ring through the valley. The Raven's forces had fled, their banners torn, their reign shattered. The rebellion had won.
Yet, victory was not a feeling Arkanis had expected to wrestle with. It sat uneasily in his bones, not in celebration—but in realization. They had fought so long, so fiercely, that they had never truly imagined what came after.
Now, there were no more battles to plan. No more ambushes, no more counteroffensives.
Only the weight of peace.
Arkanis stood atop the fortress walls, his gaze sweeping over the encampment below. The war council had dissolved, replaced by small groups gathered in quiet conversation. Some worked to rebuild homes, securing wooden beams where flames had torn through rooftops. Others spoke of the future—not as rebels, but as architects of what was to come.
Elara approached, stepping lightly across the stone parapet. The wind pulled at her cloak, though she wore no armor today. The daggers remained at her belt, but she hadn't drawn them since the final battle.
"It doesn't feel real," she murmured.
Arkanis exhaled. "No."
She studied him, searching for the answer he had yet to give. "And the relic?"
His fingers brushed the metal pendant at his chest—once a source of power, of temptation, of battle. But now, it no longer whispered. It no longer pushed him forward or pulled him back.
"It's silent," he admitted.
Elara's lips curved slightly. "Then maybe it knows, just like we do."
He gave her a look. "Knows what?"
"That the fight is over."
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he turned back toward the encampment, watching as former warriors began their first steps toward normalcy. "We spent years surviving. Now we have to learn to live."
Elara shifted beside him, her fingers tapping against the stone. "Zyre wants to convene a council. A real one, not just one built for war."
Arkanis smirked faintly. "He's probably writing out the structure already."
She chuckled. "He is."
For a moment, neither spoke. The silence between them was comfortable, necessary. A breath after years of suffocation.
Finally, Elara nudged him lightly. "Are you ready to be part of something else?"
He exhaled, glancing toward the horizon.
"For the first time, I think I might be."
A New Council
The next evening, the first gathering of the new council took place.
It wasn't held in a war tent, nor was it surrounded by drawn weapons and whispered tactics. Instead, it was in the center of the encampment, beneath the open sky. A symbol that this was not a conversation of war, but of building something greater.
Zyre stood before them, arms crossed, his mind already shaping the pieces that needed to be put into place. "Leadership cannot be a throne," he began. "We did not fight for one ruler to replace another. We fought for something more—something stable. A council built on balance, on wisdom, not dominance."
Elara nodded. "If we want peace, we need healers, builders, scholars. People who understand something beyond war."
Arkanis listened, but he did not speak yet.
Not until Zyre turned to him directly. "Arkanis. You fought for this more than any of us. What do you think?"
The murmurs quieted.
He had always been their leader in battle. But now?
He let out a slow breath.
"I think war made us all believe that strength came from swords. But power is not a blade. Power is knowing when to use it—and when to let it go."
The council listened.
And finally, agreement spread through them.
They would not rule by force.
They would rule by choice.
And that choice was peace.
The Weight That Remains
That night, Arkanis stood at the edges of the encampment, staring at the relic one last time. He had carried it for years. He had fought with it, resisted it, listened to its whispers in the darkest hours.
But he did not need it anymore.
Elara stepped beside him, watching. "You could keep it."
He shook his head. "Or I could let it go."
She didn't try to change his mind. She only waited.
Arkanis pressed the relic into the earth, burying it beneath the roots of an ancient tree, deep enough that no hand would find it easily.
Elara watched.
And when it was done, he exhaled.
He felt lighter.
He felt free.
A Future Forged
In the weeks that followed, the rebellion became something else.
Builders replaced soldiers.
Farmers replaced warriors.
Knowledge replaced secrecy.
And slowly, the land healed.
Arkanis walked through the village one morning, nodding to those who passed. They did not look at him as a war leader.
They looked at him as someone they trusted.
Someone who had led them through darkness—and now, into something better.
And for the first time in his life, he believed it.