The dawn after Aeris's passing was too quiet.
They buried him where the rift had once bled darkness into the world, beneath a willow tree that had somehow survived, its leaves trembling in the soft wind that carried the promise of rain. The forest was alive with the hush of recovery, small shoots of green pressing through the burned earth, soft moss reclaiming the blackened stones.
Liora stood by his grave, clutching the fox pendant he had carved for her so tightly it left bruises on her small hand. She didn't speak as the wind moved her hair across her tear-streaked face, didn't look up as Mira placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.
She had stopped singing.
The bell on her waist was silent, and the forest felt emptier for it.
Mira's hands shook as she set a small charm on Aeris's grave, a soft blue glow pulsing from the rune as she whispered a blessing for him, for herself, for all of them. Her eyes were dry now, the tears having burned themselves out during the long, endless night.
She didn't have the luxury of breaking.
Liora needed her, and so Mira kept moving, kept speaking softly, kept making tea the way Aeris had shown them, kept placing blankets around Liora's shoulders when she trembled in the night.
Sometimes she would step away from the small camp, into the forest's edge, pressing a hand to her chest where the grief was sharpest, breathing in the clean dawn air, whispering his name to the wind as though it would carry her words to him.
Evin stayed for three days before he packed his bag.
"I can't stay," he said quietly, kneeling by the small fire where Mira and Liora sat, the girl's head resting against Mira's side. "There's too much of him here."
Mira looked at him, her dark eyes tired but kind. "Be safe, Evin."
He nodded, looking down at Liora. She didn't look at him, but her small hand slipped into his, squeezing once before letting go.
He left at dawn, the forest still damp with dew, the path ahead quiet and endless.
In his pack, tucked between his journal and his rations, were Aeris's letters.
He opened the first one on the second night, sitting by a small fire beneath the stars, the sounds of insects whispering around him.
"Evin,
If you are reading this, it means I am gone, or I am changed. You were always stronger than you believed. Don't let the weight of this world stop you from living in it. Swing your blade for what you love, not what you fear. And take moments to look at the stars, even when you feel lost."
Evin closed his eyes, letting the words sink into the quiet of the night, the ache in his chest sharp but warm.
He kept reading, one letter at a time, as he walked the long roads, letting Aeris's words guide him back toward something like hope.
Mira found her letter tucked in the side pocket of Aeris's bag as she cleaned it out to give to Liora, who insisted on keeping it.
"Mira,
I don't think I ever said thank you. You held us together when I didn't know how. You reminded me there was more to this world than survival. You gave me hope, and you never let me give up on tomorrow. Take care of yourself, and take care of Liora, but don't lose yourself in it. You deserve to find peace too."
She read it in the moonlight, sitting outside their small camp with a blanket around her shoulders, the forest breathing softly around her. She pressed the letter to her chest, letting the tears come, letting herself break, just for a moment.
Then she wiped her face, tucked the letter into her pocket, and went back to Liora, who was sitting quietly by the cold fire.
Liora found her letter tucked in Aeris's small notebook, the one he had always kept at his side, filled with half-songs and half-formed sketches of plants and stars.
"Little fox,
You made me smile when I thought I had forgotten how. You sang to the dawn, even when it was dark. Thank you for reminding me what laughter felt like. If you ever feel alone, look at the dawn. I will be there. Keep singing, even if it hurts. The world needs your light."
She read it with Mira beside her, her small hands clutching the paper, tears dripping onto the ink, smudging it slightly.
"I can't sing," she whispered, voice breaking.
Mira wrapped her arms around her, holding her tightly.
"Not yet," Mira said softly. "But one day, when you're ready."
They stayed near the grave for a while, tending the small patch of green that grew there, planting herbs and flowers that Aeris had loved, letting the wind carry the scent of mint and lavender across the clearing.
They spoke to him sometimes, in the quiet moments, telling him about the small things—about the way the foxes had returned to the clearing, about the new shoots on the willow tree, about the way the dawn looked when the mist rolled over the hills.
Sometimes Mira would catch Liora sitting by the grave, humming softly to herself, the bell at her waist chiming, so quiet it was barely there, but enough.
Enough to know she was still here.
Enough to know she was still trying.
Evin returned months later, his hair longer, his eyes softer, his hands steady as he knelt by the grave, pressing a small bundle of wildflowers onto the earth.
"I found the ocean," he said, smiling a little. "You would have liked it."
Mira smiled, sitting beside him as Liora picked small white flowers to add to the bundle, braiding them into tiny crowns that she placed on the grave, her small fingers steady.
"Do you think he's still here?" Liora asked quietly, looking up at them.
Evin looked at Mira, then back at Liora, his eyes warm.
"I think he's everywhere," he said softly. "In the dawn, in the wind, in the way the world is healing."
That night, Liora sang again.
It was quiet, a small, trembling song that caught in her throat, but she kept going, her voice rising softly into the night as Mira held her hand, as Evin sat beside them, eyes closed, breathing in the sound.
The bell on Liora's waist chimed softly, a bright, clear sound that danced across the clearing.
And in the leaves above them, the ember flickered, a soft glow in the darkness, pulsing once, twice, before settling into the hush of the night.
Never truly gone.