The morning of Aria's fifteenth birthday dawned with a sky that was finally clear.
Vaelor stood on the balcony of the palace, watching the sun rise over Cinderhall. The shattered sky had healed. The wound had closed. The realm was at peace. For now.
But he knew it was fragile.
The sword at his hip pulsed with faint light. The blade had been quiet since the battle with the Infinite Void. But it was never truly silent. It was always watching. Always waiting.
Lyra appeared beside him. Her hand found his. Their daughter Aria was inside, still sleeping, still dreaming of the future.
"Fifteen years," Lyra said. "It feels like yesterday."
"Fifteen years of peace. Fifteen years of hope. Fifteen years of building."
"And the darkness?"
He looked at the horizon. At the unknown.
"It's still t
