The sky above Kaeron seemed different that afternoon. Not brighter, not more radiant, but carrying an unusual calm, as though the air itself exhaled in relief after surviving a storm no one had chosen. Beneath that fragile peace, Akhon made his way back toward the sacred gardens where the Hesperides waited.
Every step he took carried weight—not of his body, but of the memories restored. The gods had recovered them, the mortals had recovered them, and so had he. Memories that bled with pain, betrayal, hope, and unity. The truth had returned to every mind like a flood smashing through a dam, unstoppable, merciless, and cleansing.
He paused before the threshold of the gardens. The golden light of the late sun draped itself over the trees, the air carrying the sweet fragrance of blossoms untouched by corruption. Yet even here, in this sanctuary, he could sense the heaviness of what the Hesperides now remembered. They too had seen and felt what had been taken from them.
