One year later, Kael returned to Vaelmor.

  The wheatfields had regrown, golden and endless once more.

  He stood where the sky had first split open.

  The wind moved gently through the stalks.

  Peacefully.

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  For a moment, he felt foolish standing there.

  Then the air shimmered.

  Only slightly.

  A warmth brushed across his skin—not heat like fire, but something steady.

  Balanced.

  He closed his eyes.

  “You stubborn fool,” he murmured softly.

  The wind carried the words across the fields.

  Somewhere beyond mortal sight—beyond stone and sky—a faint thread of light pulsed.

  Not fading.

  Not weakening.

  Holding.

  Kael exhaled slowly.

  For the first time since his village burned, he felt something close to peace.

  Not because the demon was destroyed.

  But because someone chose to stand in its place.