Peace had bloomed in the kingdom of Vastelune like a long-lost flower—tender, delicate, and precious in its rarity. After so much war, power, and prophecy… life had, for once, become quiet.
And in that silence, the extraordinary lived like the ordinary.
They returned to Sanctum not as students, but as legends.
Cerys Aetherrose walked the polished halls with her silver braids and dignified step, still training the top duelists who dared challenge her. Yet those who knew her saw the soft way her eyes wandered whenever Ari was near—not romantic, but tethered. Like a knight watching their sun.
Eluin Velastra spent most of her time in the dreaming towers, scribbling paradoxes into her journal, or vanishing into astral simulations. She didn't need to be near Ari to feel his presence; they existed in parallel, like twin stars with different orbits.
Primira Vastelune never abandoned her pride, but she laughed more now. She taught political rhetoric and spell defense to noble heirs, her icy crown softening just slightly when Ari passed by. Her rivalry had long since transformed—into something complicated, unspoken, and quietly loyal.
Lysira Cindergale? She sparred with anyone dumb enough to talk trash and trained the flame corps like a general with too much caffeine. Her fire had matured into focus, but she never outgrew elbowing Ari and calling him "Threadless freak" with a smirk hiding… something deeper.
And Saphielle of Aurelion—still a political envoy on paper—had become something more in truth. She sat in on diplomacy lectures with Ari, challenged him to verbal duels, and sometimes simply followed him with that gaze full of questions.She wore no crown, yet carried herself like someone who'd rejected one.
There were quiet lunches by the floating lake.Training in the gymnasium where they almost died once.Late night debates on philosophy and power.Even once—just once—a snowball war that nearly ended in another magical treaty.
They were still more than ordinary. But they were young.And they let themselves be young.
Years passed as easily as breath.And when Ari Solen turned 19…
He had changed.
No longer the thin, quiet boy they once knew, Ari now stood tall with the physique of a honed weapon—lean muscle forged by constant battle and deeper discipline. His face had sharpened, carrying both wisdom and burden, yet his expressions remained soft for those he trusted.
His obsidian-gray eyes now held even more layers: glyphs within glyphs, rings upon rings—like a thousand rewritten truths waiting to be spoken.And when he walked, even the wind adjusted.
He no longer just carried the legacy of the Compiler—He became it.
But most striking of all?
He smiled more.Just a little.
Ari sat at the top of the old Spellweaver's Tower, legs hanging over the edge.
Saphielle appeared beside him silently.
"Do you ever miss the chaos?" she asked.
"Sometimes," he admitted. "But not the blood."
"You seem older now."
"I am older."
She tilted her head. "Do you ever wonder if you lost something along the way?"
He looked out at the stars.
"Maybe," he said. "But I gained something else."
"What?"
"The time to wonder."
Primira was writing in her journal by moonlight.Cerys was polishing her staff beneath the Aetherrose bloom.Lysira was yelling at trainees who couldn't dodge fire properly.Eluin was dreaming beneath a tree made of starlight.
And somewhere in between them all, Ari sat quietly…no longer just a Threadless miracle.
But a man.The Compiler of peace.And perhaps… something more yet to come.