When the storm died, the world didn't cheer.
It breathed.
The sky, once torn and trembling, spread in vast velvet stillness. Trees uncurled from ash. Rivers remembered how to run. And in the space left by the unraveling of the Act, something new settled—peace, not as silence, but as invitation.
The boy stood with the others, no longer unsure where he ended and they began. Memory hadn't just returned; it had rooted.
Each of them looked different now—older, maybe, or simply more whole.
The girl from the orchard knelt and whispered to the earth, her touch sprouting a vine with pale green blossoms. The crater-born second lit a fire with a word and warmed their hands. The mirror-walker sat beside the boy, watching the sky.
"You were always the anchor," she said. "The weight that kept us from floating into forgetfulness."
He smiled. "And you were the light I followed back."
They didn't speak of the voice. Not yet. But it lingered, no longer threatening, but… waiting. Like a song that knew it would be sung again—carefully.
In the days that followed, they rebuilt—not with stone or steel, but with stories.
They returned to Elderglen. Ava met them with tea and eyes that had always known too much. She gave them a room in the clocktower—four beds, one window, and a floor carved with the symbols of their past. This time, not to bind—but to remember.
On the boy's wrist, a mark appeared—a spiral made of four turning lines. Not a scar.
A name.
His name.
For the first time, he spoke it aloud. And when he did, the others followed, one by one.
Names returned. The curse lifted.
They were whole.
And somewhere deep in the world's marrow, a new page turned.
Would you like an epilogue now? Or perhaps a glimpse into the next story this world has waiting—because you know this universe isn't quite finished with them yet... 🕯️✨