The days grew longer and softer. Spring melted into early summer, and the village brimmed with life—green vines climbing the stone walls, children splashing in the river, and petals scattering like whispers across the paths. Amidst this quiet beauty, Euryale's training slowed, not in rigor, but in pace. It became less about power and more about understanding.
Velin had departed. Kaelen too. They left without ceremony, only a final message scratched onto parchment: "You are watched. But you are also trusted. Choose wisely."
Euryale kept the note tucked between the pages of his practice journal.
Without Velin's structured visits, Amara took over more of the lessons. Not because she had to—but because she wanted to. Sometimes they practiced in the clearing beneath the willow trees, sometimes on the beach where waves taught their own rhythm. Sometimes, they didn't train at all and simply sat in the grass sharing bread and laughing at Lyra's attempts to steal fruit from the kitchen.
"I think I want to stay longer," Amara said one evening as they walked home. "There's a peace here that doesn't exist in the realms."
Euryale glanced at her, wind tugging at her hair. "You don't miss your brother?"
"I do. But I think he'd want me to learn, too. From you, from this village."
His lips curved into a soft smile. "Then stay. You're already part of this place."
Back home, life unfolded with its own magic. Xena's garden flourished, bursting with wildflowers and herbs. Salah taught Silas how to tie knots and repair fishing nets. Lyra insisted on 'training' with Euryale and Amara, which mostly involved running in circles and calling it wind magic.
That evening, around the hearth, Xena told them an old story—one about a star that fell into the sea and became a boy who could speak to the waves. Euryale listened with quiet awe. There was no truth or myth, only something deeply comforting in the story's warmth.
Later that night, in bed, Euryale stared at the mirror Velin had given him. He still hadn't spoken to it. He didn't yet have the answer. But the boy in the reflection smiled a little more now. He looked less lost.
He was not ready for destiny. But he was ready for tomorrow.
And that, perhaps, was enough.
Outside, the river whispered, and the stars—quiet, steady—kept their patient watch above the valley.