The sun was real again. Its rays kissed the dunes, reflected on the glass-scorched sands where once an apocalypse had unfolded.
The air smelled like dust and morning.
All around Durkan, life stirred. Hunters and Homans, who had fought, died and vanished in madness were now alive. Their memories were hazy, fragmented. They looked at each other in disbelief, touching their arms, whispering names, crying, laughing, collapsing on their knees.
The nightmare had ended or so they believed.
Outside the bunker, Azmaik sat quietly on the sand. Barefoot. The black robe he wore was torn and heavy with dried salt and ash. His eyes, once piercing white, now carried a soft hue. Humanlike, almost tired. His hands rested loosely over his knees, tracing small circles in the sand.
He looked east, where the sun was still climbing. Its light hurt his eyes not because he was a vampire, but because he wasn't one anymore.
A faint crunch sound came behind him. Grace walked up, her shadow stretching long. She was pale but alive, hair fluttering softly in the morning air. She hesitated a moment before sitting down beside him. Neither spoke for a while.
Only the wind whooshed between them.
After a moment, Grace said quietly, "You always come here alone."
Azmaik glanced sideways, a half-smile appearing. "....Old habits. I used to…. think better when.... I could see the.... horizon."
Grace nodded slowly, studying him. "You mean, when we used to?"
He didn't answer.
The silence stretched again, but it wasn't empty. Grace picked up a small rock, turning it in her fingers. "We made it," she said finally. "The creature's gone. No more horrors. The world…. feels peaceful again."
Azmaik breathed deeply, eyes still on the sunrise. "Quiet feels strange, doesn't it?"
"Yes, strange," Grace admitted. "After so long fighting.… peace feels like another kind of battle."
He chuckled faintly. "I used to say the same."
Grace turned to him then, studying his face.
She saw a face beside him. The way he tilted his head, the tone of his sigh, the quiet steadiness behind his words.
Her eyes softened. "I might be hallucinating after this long mess." she whispered.
Azmaik looked at her, directly this time. "That's the point."
Neither of them explained further. Grace didn't ask what he meant, and Azmaik didn't clarify. Somewhere, beneath all the lies and exchanges of souls, a truth rested unspoken: Tom's story.
Grace looked back at the camp. At the Hunters rebuilding tents, the Homans laughing, some crying in disbelief. "They think you're him," she said.
"I know."
"You'll let them?"
Azmaik smiled faintly, eyes half-closing. "If believing that gives them peace.… then yes. Let them."
Grace leaned back on her hands, exhaling softly. "You know…. I think he'd like that."
Azmaik didn't respond. He only watched the light creep across the half-dead dunes.
The sky stretched wide and pale blue, clear, its edge still hazy from the chaos that had burned through the night.
Durkan was rebuilding.
Homans and Hunters worked together, for once not as soldiers but as people. Smoothing bricks, carving stone, cleaning the wreckage that still smoldered at the borders of the old bunkers.
Grace walked beside Azmaik, her boots pressing soft marks into the sand. Both had been silent for a long time, letting the calm speak first.
Ahead of them, a group of Homans stood around a wide marble slab. On it, they were building something, carving a name, shaping a figure. Children carried water buckets while others gathered wood for scaffolding.
Grace stopped when she saw it.
A tall statue, slowly taking form in the heart of Durkan—its pose was strong like a leader, one hand holding a grail which symbolizes a new beginning. The other hand resting by the chest. The name at its base read:
ELIOR JONES
THE SHINING SOVEREIGN OF LIGHTLESS WORLD.
Grace swallowed it down, hard. "They really are doing it." she said softly.
Azmaik's gaze followed hers. His voice was quiet but firm. "He deserved it. I think, he is joking. He will come back."
"Yes," she nodded, brushing hair from her face. "He will."
The workers nearby noticed them. A young Homan, face still smudged with dust, ran forward. "Miss Grace! Sir! You came back!" he said, grinning brightly. "We're almost done. Durkan will remember Elior forever."
Grace smiled faintly. "You're doing well. Keep at it up."
The boy beamed, saluted clumsily, then ran back to help his group.
As the voices faded, Azmaik's eyes stayed on the half-carved face of the statue. Something inside him twisted. A strange discomfort, an emotion he couldn't name. It wasn't jealousy neither any guilt. It was.… unfamiliarity.
He had never belonged anywhere before. Never had people smile near him, never had children run past without fear.
Grace looked at him. "You okay?"
Azmaik blinked, realizing she had noticed. "I'm fine," he said after a pause. "Hehe, the sun looks cool."
"Cool?" she asked.
He nodded slightly. "Peace, people, hope."
Grace gave a small, tired laugh. "None of us are. But maybe that's the point, huh? To learn it."
Azmaik smirked faintly. "I guess so."
They kept walking, past the workers, past the statue still being raised toward the bright morning sky.
For the first time, Azmaik didn't feel like a stranger passing through the world.
He felt…. part of it.
Even if only for this quiet, fragile morning.