Elara stood at the edge of the cliffs of Selyth, where land met sky without hesitation. Below, the sea shimmered—not with sunlight, but with woven reflections. Threads of Elsewhere still touched the tides, painting memory across the waves.
It had been three years since the mending.
The world hadn't settled, not exactly. But it had *learned*.
Villages once afraid of Elsewhere now hosted festivals under its light. Children trained with Keepers not just to guard against danger—but to understand the unknown. And Naelith, reborn from ash, stood as both beacon and sanctuary.
Elara had grown.
Not taller, not older in any measurable way.
But *steadier.*
---
She felt it before she saw it.
A ripple in the wind. A subtle vibration beneath her skin. The *pull*.
Not of danger.
Of *calling*.
She turned, already knowing who stood behind her.
Rin.
His cloak was dust-streaked, his boots worn to the stitching. A single feather of Elsewhere-blue was tucked behind his ear.
"You felt it too," he said.
"Yes." She didn't need to ask what.
There was no tremor in the land, no new fire. This was something quieter.
A door, not opening—but *waiting.*
"Where?" she asked.
He pointed toward the distant north. Beyond the Lantern Marshes, beyond the abandoned spires, into territory even the stars had not mapped since the world broke.
"No one's crossed that way in centuries," she murmured.
"Maybe it's time someone did."
---
By evening, the others had gathered.
Sira arrived first, blades still gleaming, but smile softer now. "One last story?" she asked.
Kael brought maps and theories, insisting he was "too old for this," while packing every enchanted gadget he'd invented.
Maris appeared at twilight, cloak lined with flowers that grew only where Elsewhere kissed the soil. "If this is the edge," she said, "I want to see what lies beyond it."
Even Thalen came.
He said nothing. Just nodded once—and they understood.
---
They left at dawn.
Not in secrecy. Not in haste.
But with farewell songs sung from Naelith's towers, and ribbons tied to their wrists—each thread a blessing, a promise that stories never truly end.
As they walked, the sky seemed to breathe with them. The Heart, now housed within the Hall, pulsed once—as if offering its final word.
*Go.*
---
No legends would be written of this journey.
No prophecies foretold it.
It was not a quest.
Not a war.
Not a salvation.
It was simply *what came next.*
A new thread, waiting.
And together, they stepped across the threshold—
**into the unknown, beneath the splintered sky.