Seraphine still held my hand, trembling, torn between the remnants of her greatness and the destruction of her faith. In her eyes, I saw not just pain… but emptiness. Like someone who had lost the map of the world she had believed to be absolutely true. "What should I do now…?" she whispered softly, barely audible over the roar of the battle. "Stand," I replied. "Not as a high priest. But as Seraphine. The one who once taught me that true light never forces itself to be seen." She lowered her head. Tears fell, not luminous, not majestic. But true. Behind us, the fighting slowly died down. The shouts of orders turned into cries for help. The remaining Order troops began to lay down their weapons—not out of fear, but because they saw their high priest kneel not to power… but to undeniable truth.
Lysette approached us, her body covered in dust and blood, but her smile was bitter. "This field is ours. But if we want a new world… we must not act like its owners." I nodded. "Build a house on wounds, not on graves." That day, there were no songs of victory. Only the sound of architects and protective mages rebuilding the fortress that became a hospital. Only the cries of children who found their parents in refugee camps. Only silence… no longer feared, but celebrated.
Seraphine chose to remain among her people. She renounced her title, burning her sacred robe in the square as a symbol of the end of the era of forced priesthood. "If there is holy light," she said in her final speech, "it will be reborn from hearts willing to acknowledge its darkness." I, Raelzar von Valladolid, whose former name was Arven de Elion, did not return to the palace of darkness. I refused to become king in the name of revenge. Instead, I became the protector of a cross-racial people's movement: the Union of the Three Dawns. Elves, beastkin, and humans who chose to make peace not because they were weak, but because they were tired of seeing the next generation inherit hatred that was not theirs. One night, atop an old tower that the Order had once used to execute "deviants," I stood looking up at the sky with Lysette. The stars shone brightly, no longer obscured by the smoke of war.
"Do you think… this world can really change?" he asked quietly. "Not now," I answered honestly. "But maybe one day, someone will be born, read our story, and believe that they can continue on this path without having to become a demon… or an angel." He chuckled. "And what will you do until then?" I looked down at my hand, which had been burned saving an enemy. "To keep the world from forgetting… that change always comes at a cost. And it's worth it." The sky gave no answer.
But there was no need. For the first time, the world was no longer blinded by light… nor covered by darkness. The world was learning… to see. It had been months since the last fog of war had cleared from the valley of Arvellis. We did not write victory in stone tablets, we did not erect statues of heroes. Instead, we planted trees in the scorched earth, naming the fallen not on tombstones… but on the roots of life that would grow.
One of those trees grew right in the middle of the field where Seraphine and I had once challenged each other. A young Arhel tree, a rare species that only bloomed when planted by a hand free from malice. And on the 73rd starry night since the battle ended, the tree had sprouted its first bud.