Luenor knelt in silence, his hands at his sides, and around him the newly awakened tribe began to move, slowly, tentatively, uncertain that the nightmare was truly over. Small children clung to their parents. Warriors began to retake fallen blades. Even the injured had color returning to their faces.
Thalanar moved to his daughter first. Lyssari opened her eyes fully, and her lips moved slightly. "Father…" she whispered.
"I'm here," he said softly, smoothing back her hair.
She turned her finger to point to Luenor. "Was that… him?"
Thalanar nodded.
Many elves were watching from a distance, murmuring among themselves. Some with awe. Some with caution. Some with wonder. They had seen forest magic, and even ancient rituals, but what they had seen from this boy had not come from any elven tradition. It was raw. It was human. It was unknown.
Telmar was limping toward them, holding his side. His voice was hoarse. "He saved them all. He saved us all."
"I didn't save anyone," Luenor muttered, hardly raising his head. "It was the mana. the core."
"No," Thalanar said. "The core is a beast's heart. You guided it. You didn't explode, didn't burn out. You became its vessel—and more."
Luenor responded, blinking, eyes haunted. "You said I don't have a mana heart."
"You don't," Thalanar said. "Not the same as us, at least. But, perhaps, perhaps that is what made this possible."
There was a long silence.
Luenor bit his lip. "My parents never told me."
"They probably didn't know how," Thalanar said gently, "or, perhaps, they were afraid of the world."
The tribe's elder healers approached and began to deal with the worst wounded that had been unconscious. One of the healers bowed before Luenor—awkwardly, but sincerely—before proceeding to Arwin.
Valdrak released a long yawn and sauntered off towards the edge of the glade, looking satisfied. As he walked by Luenor, he stopped. Luenor met his eyes.
For a moment, tiger and boy regarded one other.
Then Valdrak uttered a low grunt. Not of aggression.
But of recognition.
Thalanar watched with a weary smile. "You've earned his respect. That is rarer than any magic."
The glade around them began to swell with activity. Life began again. Conversations began again. But it was all slow, gentle, quiet—like the air after the wind had stopped blowing.
In the middle of the glade, and still kneeling in silence, was the boy without a heart—
Who gave life to the dying.
As the sun fell below the contorted crest of the forest canopy, the golden light streamed in through the leaves and fell across the glade. It revealed a moment of surreal stillness as if the forest had let the breath it had long held, finally escape.
Hera stepped forward quietly and placed a soft hand on Luenor's shoulder. He did not flinch. He just looked up at her—tired, uncertain, and still tubidly glowing.
"You scared me," she said softly.
"I scared myself," he said. "I didn't think I would be able to live through it."
Hera gave him a small smile. "You didn't just live, you returned our lives."
He took in the faces around him – warriors helping children to their feet, Lyssari embracing her father, healers blessing the earth in thanks. He didn't know what it was that surged to the forefront of his chest. It hurt—although not like it once did. It was… warm.
"Think they'll accept me?" he asked.
"Maybe not all of them," Hera said. "But enough will. They saw what you did."
In a distant corner, Thalanar stood with Telmar, who appeared to be whispering. Thalanar turned back towards Luenor.
"We will depart at dawn," Thalanar spoke aloud. "The forest isn't safe anymore. Yet, it appears we are not entirely neglected by the winds..."
He stepped forward, and put his hand over his heart before bowing low, "Thank you, Luenor Sureva. In the old tongue – we call such a one: 'Seiránna'… to be called 'one who brings balance where there is none'…"
And on that very glade, as twilight fell and mana lingered in the air, Luenor stared upward—
For the first time—he thought he could be more than a survivor.
He could be a representation.