The sun had begun to dip beyond the horizon when Elira and Caelen finally stepped out of the sanctuary.
The air outside was crisp, carrying the scent of rain-soaked earth and blooming wildflowers. The sky above the Temple of Aerthalin blazed in shades of amber and rose, as if the heavens themselves honored what had been lost—and what had been found again.
Elira paused at the threshold, letting her eyes adjust. Her hand brushed the Weeping Blade at her hip. Its runes were quiet now, almost reverent. For once, the curse hummed not with torment, but with something gentler—like memory.
Caelen walked beside her, his cloak fluttering in the wind. Though only a week had passed in the waking world, it felt like years lay between them. The illusion had etched itself into her bones. Not just as pain—but as purpose.
She turned to him. "I keep wondering why it felt so real."
He looked thoughtful. "Because it was real. Not by time, or place, but by heart. You lived it, Elira. Every sorrow, every joy. It made you stronger."
She gave a faint smile. "Stronger… or hollow?"
He reached for her hand, lacing their fingers. "Never hollow. The world didn't take from you. You gave—again and again—and you survived."
They walked along a gravel path that wound through the gardens surrounding the temple. Real gardens, this time. Not the silver-bloomed graveyard of her vision, but something humbler: patches of soft grass, thorny rosebushes nurtured back to bloom, and seedlings pressed lovingly into the earth by gentle hands.
She stopped near a blooming tree—an ashwood sapling that hadn't been there when they first arrived. Its leaves rustled in the breeze, and for a moment, Elira could almost hear the whisper of her dream again.
"He saved you. Now live for him."
Caelen watched her closely. "You're thinking of the illusion again."
She nodded. "There was a girl in it. Lira. She came to me, said she'd heard my stories. She wanted to build a sanctuary. A place for the kindhearted." She looked down, wistful. "She wasn't real. But her hope was."
"Then we make her real," Caelen said softly. "Find others who remember kindness. Build what you saw."
Elira turned to him. "You'd do that with me?"
He smiled. "Elira… there is no world I want to build without you in it."
For a moment, the past slipped away, and there was only the present—the weight of his gaze, the warmth of his hand, the quiet vow nestled between them.
But peace, as always, was fleeting.
A faint bell rang from the temple's northern tower—three slow chimes.
Elira stiffened. "That's a summons."
They turned, walking quickly to the overlook above the valley. There, gathered at the courtyard's edge, stood the three remaining high priestesses, their robes wind-tossed and faces grim.
One of them, a dark-skinned woman with silver-threaded braids, stepped forward.
"Elira. Caelen. We have felt it again."
Elira's stomach sank. "The echo?"
The priestess nodded. "A village near the forest of Surn has sent a rider. Three children born without tears. They do not speak. They do not feel."
Caelen clenched his jaw. "But the curse was broken. We destroyed the last shadow."
"No," Elira murmured. "We destroyed one. But he… Eredan-Mir… he wasn't the only one to believe in that vision of numbness."
The priestess added gravely, "These new symptoms—soulless eyes, absence of grief—it is spreading like a whisper across the land. Something beneath the surface is still alive."
Elira felt her pulse quicken. She looked to Caelen.
He met her gaze. No hesitation.
"We go," he said.
She nodded. "Tonight."
As they turned to prepare, the priestess stopped them with a final word. "One more thing," she said. "While Elira slept, the blade wept. Not with sorrow—but with memory. It sealed her illusion, held it intact. That world you dreamed, child… may not be only your own."
Elira froze. "You mean—?"
"Dreams are gifts," the priestess whispered. "But sometimes, they're warnings."
And with that, the winds shifted.
Elira tightened her grip on the Weeping Blade. The dream had ended—but its echo was real. And now, she would walk forward not to forget it, but to fulfill it.
For Lira. For the silver garden. For all the ones who would never feel pain—unless someone reminded them how.
For Caelen.
And for herself.