Elira's final journey was not through stone paths or scarred lands, but through the stars themselves.
A vision, gifted by the curse's last breath, pulled her into a realm beyond time—a meadow untouched by sorrow, wrapped in light as soft as silk and skies painted gold.
She stood barefoot in grass that shimmered like memory, air warm as a whispered promise.
And there, beneath a tree crowned in silver bloom,
stood Caelen.
Whole.
Unbroken.
His scar was gone. His eyes held the sky.
And his smile—the one she'd carried like a torch through grief—was waiting just for her.
"You did it," he said, voice like sunlight. "You kept them kind."
She ran to him, the Weeping Blade falling from her belt. Her tears were silent, her breath stolen, and when he caught her in his arms, he felt real—solid, warm, home.
"I miss you," she wept into his chest. "Every day."
"I know."
He brushed her hair, his fingers gentle. "But I'm here. In every act of mercy. Every hand held. Every kindness offered because of you."
The meadow pulsed with peace—not numbness, but presence. A world without weight. A rest he had earned.
She looked up at him, her voice trembling. "Are you… happy?"
His nod was quiet, his eyes bright with unshed tears.
"Because of you. Because you carried my light farther than I ever could."
She clung to him, and in that touch, the curse unraveled, its thread dissolving into golden wind. Its purpose fulfilled—not to break her, but to lead her here.
"I love you," she whispered, afraid to let go.
"And I love you," he said, pressing a kiss to her brow. "Now go, Elira. Live. For both of us."
She wanted to stay.
But she knew—this peace was not hers to keep.
Not yet.
The vision faded, soft as sleep.
She woke beneath Hearthollow's sky, the Weeping Blade beside her. Its runes no longer wept—they glowed, steady and still.
The weight in her chest had changed.
Not absence.
Not pain.
But completion.
She stood, the dawn washing the village in gold, and walked forward—no longer burdened by the curse, but bearing something stronger:
His memory.
His kindness.
His dream.
And through her steps,
Caelen lived on.
Not as sorrow.
But as hope.