The sun had risen fully now, casting long golden beams across the clearing as the last of their supplies were packed away. The hot springs steamed behind them like a dream dissolving into morning, the smell of moss and smoke still clinging to their clothes.
The wagon stood ready.
So did the silence.
They gathered one final time in a loose half-circle, the hush between them thick with weight. No one rushed it. Their eyes flicked across the group—hesitant, reluctant, full of things unsaid.
Boo broke the silence first.
"Well," she said with a half-smile that didn't quite hold. "Guess this is the part where the tragic music swells and we all ride off into our respective side plots."
Eurydice laughed, but the sound was small and cracked. She stepped forward without a word, moving through the group like a prayer: one arm around Boo's shoulders, another around Nyxia, and finally a long, tight squeeze for Miri, her glowing hand resting between the dracthyr's wings like a blessing.
When she reached Perseus, she lingered.
One glowing hand came up to his jaw.
"Take care of her," she murmured.
He nodded, unable to trust his voice.
Eurydice turned next to the pale mare, brushing her flank with quiet reverence. "You deserve more than war wagons and burning towns," she whispered.
Then, without fanfare, she climbed into the wagon's driver's seat, her cloak catching a beam of sunlight. With a soft click of her tongue, the mare trotted down the forest path—light trailing behind them like a holy afterimage.
Miri stood next.
She looked at each of them in turn—her eyes sharper than usual, as if etching them into memory. Then she stepped back, drew a breath, and shifted.
Bones stretched. Wings flared. Her form unraveled into full Dracthyr glory—sleek, lithe, and crackling faintly with veins of void and stormlight. The tips of her horns shimmered with a memory of magic.
She didn't speak.
She just flew.
Up, through the trees and into the clouds. Gone.
Perseus turned to the temple gryphon that waited near the tree line. He rested his hand against its feathers, whispering something meant only for the beast. Then he moved to Boo, grasped her forearm with quiet respect, and turned to Nyxia.
She met him halfway.
No kiss. No farewell.
Just foreheads pressed together, breath shared between two people who'd lived through too much to need words now.
When they pulled away, his hand lingered at her wrist.
Then he mounted the gryphon. Wings thundered—and he rose, chasing Miri's silhouette toward the horizon.
Only Boo and Nyxia remained.
They stood side by side, shoulders nearly touching, eyes on the vanishing trails above.
"Well, kitten," Boo murmured. "Looks like it's just us now."
Nyxia turned her head, a faint smirk blooming. "Not for long."
Boo's grin softened. The lines around her eyes didn't.
"You gonna be okay?"
Nyxia paused. "I think so. You?"
Boo gave a light shrug. "Debatable." Her voice cracked slightly, betraying the bravado. "But I've got unfinished business."
Nyxia looked over, surprised. "In the riverlands?"
Boo's eyes flicked away. "Something like that."
They didn't hug.
Didn't need to.
Just a nod.
Then they turned—Nyxia toward the woods, Boo toward the riverbend.
Opposite paths.
Same sky overhead.
The wind shifted gently, curling around the clearing like it, too, was reluctant to move on.
And in the hush that followed, the world seemed to hold its breath.
Long enough to honor the parting.