Three days had passed since the battle finally came to an end—the confrontation with Darken at the Valley of Wolves and later within the Elven Lands. Despite spanning two different battlegrounds, the actual combat lasted barely an hour, excluding the time spent moving between them. Yet, the devastation left behind was immense—so overwhelming it would seem unbelievable to anyone unaware of what had truly transpired.
In those three days, events unfolded rapidly. Despite the heavy toll in lives and property, the people of the Valley of Wolves and the inhabitants of the Forbidden Lands began working tirelessly to rebuild what had been lost. At the top of their priorities was the restoration of the magical barrier concealing their lands deep within the mysterious forest. Thanks to relentless efforts, the elves managed to restore their barrier within a single day, while the Valley required two full days—their losses had been far greater.
And despite everything, King Kazlir did not forget his promise. He sent the White Hunting Wolves to the Elven Lands, carrying a medium-sized vial filled with his blood, which Sage Lupo required to craft the antidote that would save Princess Eirl's life. In return, and as a gesture of gratitude, King Toras dispatched a team of his finest craftsmen and engineers to the Valley of Wolves, aiding them in reconstruction and helping them rise again.
As for the fallen, the warriors of the Dire Wolves gathered the bodies in a secluded place within the valley, hidden from wandering eyes. There, the dead were burned in silence, in the presence of King Kazlir himself. He personally lit the flames with his own hands, beginning the funerary rites to honor those who perished undeservedly.
"My brothers in blood… my children by blood… I apologize for every failure, for every moment of helplessness on my part. I pray you find a death free of pain and filled with serenity, that your souls may reach the peace you deserve."
With those words, King Kazlir bid them farewell before releasing a powerful, mournful howl, declaring the mourning of his kin. Larveo was also present but left shortly thereafter, sent by royal command to represent King Kazlir in the upcoming tribunal at the Elven Royal Court.
There, the trial began. Archer confessed to his crimes and admitted to every act he had committed, including those carried out alongside his accomplices—chief among them, Arldir. He revealed how Arldir had met mysterious outsiders who gave him the strange black pill, the very source of his overwhelming strength during the confrontation with Darken.
Archer was sentenced to thirty years of imprisonment, yet retained the right to live within the lands—a gesture of mercy from King Toras, granted in recognition of Archer's role in aiding Sovric and his men to protect the weak during the chaos caused by Darken and Arldir.
As for Toril, he returned to the Elven Lands with his head bowed, weighed down by shame. He had been among those who aided Arldir's schemes. He confessed everything, fracturing his bond with Adinis until they felt like strangers, while Laro, though deeply disappointed, bore him no hatred—he merely redrew the boundaries between them.
Upon hearing Toril's testimony, King Toras chose a lighter sentence. Since Toril had committed no direct acts of violence under Arldir's command—despite playing a role in dragging Darken into these events—the king sentenced him to ten years of imprisonment, granting clemency in honor of Toril's past contributions to his people.
On the third day, Sage Lupo announced the successful completion of the antidote to save Princess Eirl, and a wave of relief swept through the land. Even amid their hardships, the news of their beloved princess's recovery was like a single, precious drop of water falling upon parched hearts, breathing hope back into their weary spirits.
Meanwhile, Darken remained isolated from it all. Three days of silence. Three days spent unmoving in the same place, after King Toras insisted he remain within the great tree. He sat where he had before, upon the same deep red carpet, leaning against the inner wall of the colossal trunk.
Darken sat with his back pressed to the wooden surface, head bowed, eyes closed. The soldiers guarding him exchanged uneasy glances; he neither moved nor spoke. He ignored the food they brought and the water they offered. Had he not occasionally raised his head, they would have mistaken him for a lifeless corpse.
It was then that King Toras arrived. At the entrance, he gave the guards a subtle gesture, dismissing them before stepping inside. His footsteps were soft, making no sound as he approached. For a long moment, he studied Darken—his torn clothes, the expanse of his exposed chest, his slightly longer, messier hair. It was clean now, free of bloodstains, though only because Toras had ordered him to be washed, despite Darken's constant refusal of anything offered.
The king spoke gently as he lowered himself to sit beside him: "Darken… young one, I've heard you haven't eaten since you came here. Tell me—does the food displease you? Or… do you desire something else?"
Darken did not respond immediately. He inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, and finally said without raising his head:
"I have no appetite."
There was something in his tone—cold, detached—but Toras sensed something more beneath it… regret. It became clearer with every word unspoken, every silence Darken left hanging between breaths. Toras realized Darken was blaming himself for the deaths of those who had fallen—both in the Elven Lands and the Valley of Wolves. He recalled the only words Darken had spoken three days earlier: "I was aware." Since then, he had said nothing at all.
Darken's voice was low when he finally continued:
"In that moment… when those people were dying by my hand, screaming in pain and terror… I heard it all. I saw it all. I felt it all. But my body… it was moving on its own."
Toras sat beside him in silence before replying softly:
"Your body carried out every act, while your mind remained conscious of what was happening… It's as though you were forced to do what you wished not to do."
Darken's reply was curt: "You could say that."
Toras nodded faintly and chose not to press further. Instead, he shifted the conversation, speaking in a warmer tone: "Our people have begun to move forward. The bodies have been buried… the sorrow still lingers, but they're starting to heal. Do you know why? Because Sage Lupo succeeded in creating the antidote. Eirl will recover. That alone was enough to restore joy to our hearts. Eirl… is loved by many."
He glanced at Darken, then added: "King Kazlir sent his blood with one of his White Hunters… and he also sent his greetings to you, personally. He wishes to thank you for lifting the cursed enchantments from his valley… and for freeing his son from that torment."
Darken's expression shifted slightly as he interrupted: "So… the raging wolf I killed… was King Kazlir's son? That explains why he couldn't control him."
Toras nodded solemnly : "Yes. His name was Angelo—the first and only heir to lead the Valley's people. The spell stripped him of himself entirely, until he became the beast you faced. Perhaps you wonder why I didn't tell you before you set out… In truth, I didn't know. During my last visit to the Valley, I was told he had gone wandering. I had no idea what had become of him. Honestly… I only learned the truth yesterday."
A faint smile touched Toras's lips as he recalled: "I remember how Angelo adored Eirl whenever I brought her with me to the Valley. He'd take her on little tours, playfully pretending to be the 'monster' in her hunting games. She loved those visits dearly… always asking me when we'd return again. Angelo… was like the big brother she never had."
As Toras spoke, Darken's expression shifted. His gaze hardened, and a suffocating weight pressed upon his chest as realization struck—he had killed someone precious. Not just to the Wolves… but to Eirl, the very person he had fought to protect. His head slowly lifted, a deep sigh escaping his lips, as Toras continued.
"The trials of Archer and Toril have concluded. Both were judged as Arldir's accomplices. Archer was sentenced to thirty years in prison—not too long for one who lives for centuries. Toril, however, received only ten years, owing to his past service and his immediate confession without resistance. I deemed it fair to lessen his punishment. Tell me, Darken… what do you think?"
Toras waited for a response, but Darken's answer came quickly, laced with quiet bitterness: "You're asking my opinion? Honestly… I don't know. If you believe the judgments are fair, then so be it. But don't ask someone who's lived his whole life without a voice… for his voice in this." His words carried weight—an echo of a past filled with silence, punishment, and buried rage.
Toras spoke softly, his tone carrying the weight of both authority and compassion: "Darken, the life you've endured was harsh… but what has happened to you recently marks the beginning of something new. You are no longer the same person you once were. You said you were ignorant of everything, yet what I've seen from you speaks of awareness and responsibility. You saved my daughter, even though you had no obligation to do so… you freed Lobo's wolves from the curses that nearly destroyed them, you released Angelo from his suffering, and you brought down Arldir before he enslaved the weak."
He placed a firm but gentle hand on Darken's shoulder, patting it three times before continuing: "You've stepped onto an entirely new path, one you don't yet understand. I know you're lost about who you are, unsure why you know things you were never taught, or why your thoughts are so sharp when you've spent your life in darkness and chains… but let me tell you something, Darken."
Darken turned to him slowly, searching Toras' face for even a trace of resentment or anger. He found none—only warmth and understanding. That silence urged Toras to continue: "There is no peace without cost. Yes, we lost some of our people… but because of it, the rest survived. Few died, so that many may live. It is a truth we cannot deny. Sometimes, sacrifice is the only thing standing between us and total ruin."
Darken's voice grew sharp, frustration rising within him: "So, you're telling me… that death is inevitable in every battle I fight?!"
Toras answered clearly, his tone steady: "Not necessarily, Darken. Death isn't a rule—it's a choice we face only when all other paths are lost. With the right strategy, any enemy can be defeated without shedding a drop of blood. But if death cannot be avoided, then let it be few… so that the many may live."
Darken turned his head away, his tone bitter, laced with suppressed anger: "You speak as if nothing happened… What's the point of all this, then?"
Toras exhaled softly and replied with calm conviction: "Because I know you, Darken. I know you're drowning in guilt and regret. You wanted to save everyone—to be the opposite of the one who once enslaved you. That's why I speak to you like this… so you understand that pure perfection is impossible. This world is harsh and cruel. It takes from us those we love and treasure. Yet still… we stand, for those who await our help, and for those who accepted death so that others may live."
He paused, then added with quiet weight: "And if you didn't know already… refusing death at a critical moment can lead to something worse. Those who resist their fate risk becoming Stained, surrendering their will to Claridis—the Lord of Shadows and Black Sorcery. But those who pass on without defiance, without rejecting their destiny… leave this world in peace."
At those words, Darken froze.
A strange sensation surged through him, sharp and intrusive, like a memory forcing itself into his mind. Then, in the silence, an echo—an internal whisper, distant yet undeniably his own voice.
I must kill Claridis.
And then it was gone. The thought dissolved as quickly as it had appeared, leaving Darken blinking back into reality, his breath uneven. When his senses returned, he found Toras standing before him, watching him closely.
"Huh…?" Darken muttered, startled, as though waking from a brief daze.
Toras smiled warmly and said, his voice lighter than before: "Darken, I've just received word from Sage Lobo… Eryl has awakened. She has completely recovered from the poison's effects. Not only that, but her body and spirit have been fully cleansed. I can't describe how relieved I am."
He met Darken's eyes directly, his gratitude shining through: "Thank you, young man. Without you, Eryl wouldn't be alive right now."
Darken didn't reply. His thoughts spiraled, tangled in contradictions he couldn't untangle. Toras was thanking him for saving his daughter… yet he had killed Kazler's son to make that possible. And still, Kazler sent nothing but his regards and gratitude, believing his son's death a release from unbearable torment.
It was… difficult to comprehend—a fragile balance between loss and gratitude. But one thing was certain: Darken was no longer who he once was.
Toras' voice broke through his thoughts: "Would you like to come with me to see Eryl? I'm certain she'd be happy to meet the one who saved her."
Darken remained silent for a long moment. Then, slowly, he rose to his feet, towering slightly over the king. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, carrying an unfamiliar weight: "Your Majesty… despite everything, there's still heaviness inside me. So I'd like to ask you for a few… simple favors."
Meanwhile, inside the princess's chamber, Queen Erlsya sat gracefully on a carved wooden chair, her gentle smile softening as she watched her daughter regain her strength. Eryl stood by the window, the light spilling over her delicate features, her expression calm and composed despite everything she had endured.
"My dear," Erlsya asked warmly, her voice tender with maternal care, "how do you feel now?"
Eryl's reply was soft, like the whisper of a morning breeze: "My blood still feels as though it burns within me, Mother… but it's far better than the sensation of my whole body aflame."
Suddenly, two knocks sounded at the door before Toras stepped inside, his expression calm but filled with quiet joy. Behind him followed Eve, carrying a small bouquet of flowers. She approached Eryl with a bright smile and offered it to her.
"These are from Aria," Eve said, her voice cheerful. "A token of apology for what her brother, Arldir, has done. She wanted to come herself, but she's tied up with her father and couldn't leave."
Eryl managed a faint smile as she accepted the bouquet, replying softly: "There is no hatred between us. I know Aria well… she is kind and responsible. But when I learned that all this happened because of Arldir…" Her gaze darkened for a moment, tension flickering in her eyes, but she quickly steadied herself, turning to meet her father's warm expression.
"Father," she said gently, "I'm sorry I can't embrace you yet. Sage Lobo warned me that my body is still in recovery, and any strain might slow the healing process."
She moved back toward her bed, lowering herself carefully onto its soft cushions. Toras, however, paid her apology no mind—his relief at her safety far outweighed everything else. But before he could speak, Eryl's next question caught him off guard: "By the way, Father… where's Azreth? I haven't seen him since I woke up."
Erlsya answered with a warm smile: "He hasn't slept in four days. He stayed by your side the entire time. The moment he heard the treatment had worked and you'd wake soon… exhaustion finally overcame him. He's resting in his room now."
Eryl's lips curved into a tired but genuine smile. The thought of her devoted brother brought a quiet comfort to her heart.
When the moment felt right, Toras finally spoke, his voice carrying deep sincerity: "Those four days… they were the hardest of my life. I've never felt such weight upon my shoulders, knowing you were suffering and I could do nothing. But now… I am truly grateful you're safe. We all are."
His words rang honest and true. Those days had tested him like never before—sleepless nights, endless worry, and even flashes of anger that had nearly driven him to order harsher punishment upon the guilty. But his wisdom prevailed, as it always had.
Eryl, touched by his words, smiled softly and replied: "I'm sorry for worrying you all so much."
With delicate grace, she brushed a few strands of hair behind her long elven ear and continued, her voice quieter now: "Honestly… I still can't believe what happened. I was on a simple walk, and then suddenly, something struck my leg. I collapsed, hard… and then I saw Arldir. The rest… is a blur."
Toras immediately understood where her thoughts were drifting. Moving closer, he rested a gentle hand on her shoulder and said warmly: "Don't dwell on the past, my dear. What matters is that you're safe now. Leave those shadows behind… and keep moving forward."
He smiled softly before pulling her into a careful embrace, mindful of her fragile state.
Just then, the door opened again, and Azreth rushed inside, breathless and wide-eyed: "Eryl! Is it true? Are you awake?!"
Though his room was nearby, his hurried pace betrayed his anxious excitement. Toras stepped aside without a word, giving space for the siblings. Their eyes met, and Eryl's soft smile said everything. Azreth struggled to contain his emotions, stepping forward before dropping to his knees before her, gently taking her hand and placing it against his forehead.
"It's… it's so good to see you safe, Sister," he whispered, his voice tight with emotion. "I… I'm so happy you've returned to us." A few tears slipped silently down his cheeks.
Eryl's other hand rose to stroke his messy hair, her touch tender as she whispered back: "Thank you for watching over me, Azreth… you've truly proven yourself someone I can rely on."
The moment lingered, warm and still. Toras watched quietly, his heart swelling with gratitude. He thought of how much had changed… and how much could have been lost. He silently thanked fate for bringing Darken into their lives, for giving them this chance to see these smiles again.
But the silence was soon broken by Eryl's voice, her tone calm but edged with quiet resolve: "Father, Mother told me everything… what happened in our lands, and in the Valley of Dire Wolves. Arldir's betrayal, Angelo's death, the losses on both sides… all of it part of a plot orchestrated by strangers who sought to destroy us. But one man—one outsider—tore their plans apart, bearing the weight of everything. He was drawn into this chaos, blamed for it, and yet… he saved me. He saved us all."
She looked at her father intently, her eyes shining with quiet determination: "Who is he, Father? What is his name? Can I meet him? Please… I want to thank him. Personally."
Her words hung in the air, and Toras understood the depth behind them. He smiled faintly, his gaze softening: "Eryl… you've always believed in the legend of the Celestial Dragons, haven't you?"
The question caught not only Eryl off guard, but also Erlsya and Azreth.
"Yes…" Eryl replied slowly, frowning slightly in confusion. "The story says that Celestial Dragons can sense those in need of salvation… and descend to protect them, no matter the danger. That's what I've always believed."
Erlsya tilted her head, puzzled by his cryptic tone: "My love… what are you implying?"
Toras turned to the window, where soft rays of sunlight spilled into the room, his voice calm yet unwavering: "That story… isn't just a tale, my dear. The one who saved you—the one who saved us all—was no ordinary man."
He paused, letting the silence carry the weight of his next words: "He was one, Eryl… a Celestial Dragon."
Inside his thoughts, unspoken yet certain, Toras reflected
I wasn't sure at first… but now, after all I've seen, there's no doubt. The one who came to us… was never ordinary.
Darken, the Celestial Dragon… it was an honor to meet you, and to welcome you into my land and my family. I only hope, one day, you'll come to understand the truth of who you are—and wear it with pride.
Erlsya and Azreth were stunned into silence, their thoughts racing, but Toras stood still, his heart at peace, humbled by the truth he now carried.
Far away, Darken had already left the elven lands, his figure cloaked in new attire—sleek and refined, his black cloak trailing just above the ground. A simple longsword rested across his back, its weight unremarkable yet steady, and his hood shadowed his gaze beneath its dark folds.
He didn't look back, not even once.
His journey through the forbidden elven lands, the Valley of Dire Wolves, and the depths of the mysterious forest… had come to an end. But his true journey—the one he was born for—was only just beginning.