Silence hung heavy in the aftermath. Ash drifted from the sky like snowfall, coating the blood-soaked ground in a deceptive calm. The field outside the Blackthorne estate, once vibrant and guarded, now lay broken a graveyard of shattered blades, fallen warriors, and smoldering memories.
Raina stood motionless at the edge, her armor scorched, her eyes dull with exhaustion. The Eclipse had passed. The High Shadow was dead. The war was over.
But peace didn't follow. Not yet.
The mansion in the distance still stood, though cracked and bleeding stone. Smoke curled from its upper towers. Beneath her boots, the earth still pulsed faintly with remnants of corrupted magic.
Her mark had dulled to a smoldering ember on her wrist, but it still thrummed. Not pain, not power something deeper. A warning.
Behind her, Maeva moved among the fallen with solemn precision. No prayers. No tears. Just final mercy delivered to those who lingered. Elias helped carry the wounded, his face unreadable beneath streaks of blood and soot.
Lucien was gone.
He had dragged the High Shadow into the crypt after the final blow a scream splitting the sky as their clash ripped through the veil between realms. Hours had passed. He hadn't returned.
"I need to see him," Raina whispered, mostly to herself.
Elias glanced at her from the shattered gate. He gave a silent nod.
No one stopped her as she crossed the charred threshold and descended into the crypt. The walls flickered with unnatural blue flame, guiding her down to a throne of stone—and to the body sprawled at its foot.
Lucien.
She dropped to her knees, cradling him in her arms. He was cold, bloodied, but breathing. Barely.
"Lucien," she breathed.
His eyes fluttered open. A weak smile twitched his lips. "You came."
"Of course I did."
"Did we win?"
She managed a soft laugh through her tears. "You did."
"No," he whispered. "You did."
She pressed her forehead to his. "Don't leave me."
"Wouldn't dare."
They stayed there, locked in silence, as the first rays of dawn filtered through the broken earth above them.
Rebuilding was slow.
The survivors turned the mansion into a sanctuary. The halls echoed with new voices children, mages, exiles, and Huntresses seeking refuge or redemption. Raina trained them. Taught them how to fight, how to endure. How to believe in something again.
Lucien walked the grounds alone at night, gaze distant. Haunted.
"You miss it," Raina said one evening as they watched the stars together.
"I miss knowing what I was," he answered. "What I had to be."
She took his hand. "Then be something more. With me."
Three weeks passed.
One night, her mark flared.
She followed its pull into the forest, barefoot, heart steady.
Under the ancient ash tree, a woman cloaked in moonlight waited.
"You have completed the cycle," the woman said. "But your story is not done."
"Who are you?"
"The Watcher. Keeper of the Huntress Line."
Raina stood taller. "Then what comes next?"
The woman reached forward, cool fingers brushing her brow.
"Your bond with the Wolf King is sacred. But fragile. Guard it well. Or all this" she gestured to the world "-will burn again."
Then she vanished.
Lucien met her at the gate.
"More visions?"
"Warnings," she replied.
He exhaled slowly. "Then we change the ending this time."
Lucien's healing wasn't clean. Some days, he was the warrior she remembered. Other days, he barely spoke.
"You're not broken," Raina said as they walked the orchard path.
"No," he muttered. "Just reforged. Quietly."
She laced their fingers. "Then let them hear the steel in your silence."
A council formed.
Huntresses, scholars, mages, nightborn nobles. They gathered in the ruined hall, maps and magic scrawled across war tables.
"You called us for what?" a mage asked.
"Not for war," Raina replied. "Not for peace. But for something stronger."
Lucien stood beside her, the weight of a kingdom in his eyes.
"The shadows are fading," he said. "But what replaces them is up to us."
Silence.
Then Maeva stepped forward. "Then we build."
And they did.
Seasons turned. The land healed. The sky remembered how to shine.
One night, beneath a full moon, Raina held a scroll in her hand.
"What is it?" Lucien asked.
"A vow," she said. "That power will serve protection. Not pride. Not fear. Not greed."
He kissed her shoulder. "Then let's carve it in stone."
Together, they did.
In sleep, the final vision came.
Raina stood in a sea of fire but it did
not burn.
From the flame stepped a child. Their child.
Eyes like hers. Like his.
The past had been war.
But the future?
The future was legacy.