The four of them made camp at the mountain’s base, the Sun Vault now only a dim, fading glow behind the jagged cliffs.

  Here, the air was warmer—gentle even—and the snow had thinned into a soft silver frost that coated the stones like quiet starlight.

  A small fire burned at the center of camp, its orange glow flickering across tired faces and dulled armor.

  For the first time in weeks, none of them expected an ambush.

  Lira tended a pot over the flames, humming softly—something warm and melodic that didn’t quite belong to high mountain air.

  “It’s not fancy,” she said, offering a tired grin, “but it’s hot. And not snow.”

  Kael, stretched out beside the fire with his hood pulled low, lifted an eyebrow.

  “If it’s not snow or jerky, I’ll call it a feast.”

  Ronan sat sharpening his sword in steady, rhythmic motions. The rasp of metal on stone grounded the quiet. He looked up at Eis through the firelight.

  “You’ve been quiet since the Vault.”

  Eis watched the flames for a moment, expression unreadable.

  “We survived. I don’t have much to add.”

  Kael didn’t look up from the arrow shaft he was inspecting.

  “She always says that. Means she’s thinking too much.”

  Silence hovered between them until Eis finally said, “That last pulse from the sun vault…was different.”

  Lira passed her a steaming tin cup, her voice gentler.

  “I was different but it could also be nothing.”

  Ronan nodded once.

  “She’s right. Even if it is something. We will face it together.”

  Eis stared into the cup—at the faint steam rising, catching moonlight—and didn’t argue.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  As they ate, conversation softened. Kael launched into another embellished story—something about frost wyverns and nearly being eaten twice.

  Lira groaned halfway through.

  “You add an extra wyvern every time you tell this.”

  “That’s how legends grow,” Kael said.

  “For you, maybe.”

  A faint smile tugged at the corner of Eis’s mouth—small, fleeting, but real. Lira noticed and wisely didn’t call attention to it.

  By the time the fire burned low, the group fell into familiar rhythms.

  Kael fletched more arrows, humming off-key.

  Lira dozed near the dying flames, staff resting across her knees.

  Eis stood at the edge of camp, watching the sky. Stars shimmered like cold silver dust scattered across the heavens.

  Ronan joined her after a moment, folding his arms. The faint aurora of lingering ley energy rippled across the horizon.

  “Doesn’t feel real,” he murmured.

  “No.”

  “First real peace in months.” He exhaled. “I don’t trust it yet.”

  “Neither do I,” Eis answered.

  Ronan studied her profile in the moonlight.

  “You did good in there. This time… you made the impossible look easy.”

  “It wasn’t easy.”

  “I know. That’s why it meant something.”

  Silence settled again—warm, not heavy. Ronan shifted slightly.

  “When we get back to Lumaire… if you ever get tired of running headfirst into impossible things—”

  Eis cut him a sharp look. “You’ll miss me?”

  He huffed a quiet laugh.

  “I was going to say you’d have a place with us. But… yeah. Probably that too.”

  Eis held his gaze fully for the first time. Under the moonlight there was a quiet understanding—unspoken, steady.

  “I’ll think about it,” she said.

  “That’s all I ask.”

  Kael eventually drifted off mid-hum. Lira’s breathing evened out into soft sleep.

  Ronan took first watch, but his posture for once lacked tension.

  Eis lay down beneath the stars, the faint hum of distant ley lines pulsing far beneath the mountain—gentle now, no longer calling.

  For the first time in a long time, she felt no pull, no warning, no weight.

  Only peace.

  Tomorrow, they would return to Lumaire.

  Heroes, maybe.

  But tonight, under quiet stars, Eis was something rarer—

  at rest.