Night fell over Vailor like a heavy mantle, but different from the previous one. There were no public bonfires or improvised musicians in the squares. The celebration now was smaller, contained, almost intimate. The guild had reserved an adjoining hall for those directly involved in the battle. No official speeches. No ceremonies. Just tables, drinks, and people who had survived.
We entered without announcing anything. Even so, some glances turned toward us. Not with open reverence, but with that uncomfortable attention from those who don't know whether to treat someone as an equal or as something distant.
"They're whispering," Elara murmured, grabbing the first tankard she found.
"Let them whisper," Vespera replied. "It doesn't change anything."
It did. At least for me.
We sat at a more distant table. The drink was strong, stronger than I expected. Something made to celebrate and forget at the same time. I took the first sip feeling the liquid burn down my throat. The second came easier. The third without thinking.
Liriel watched everything in silence, drinking little, but not refusing. Her eyes moved calmly around the hall, attentive to the conversations, the forced laughter, the hands that trembled slightly as they lifted cups.
"They're relieved," she said quietly. "But not at ease."
"Neither am I," I replied.
Elara laughed loudly at some point, telling an exaggerated version of the battle. Some people approached, listened, laughed along. Vespera intervened here and there, correcting details, preventing the story from turning into too grand a legend.
The drinks kept circulating.
Time lost shape. Conversations began to blur together. One adventurer commented about future missions. Another spoke of losses. A third simply drank in silence. I felt the weight of the day slowly dissolving, replaced by something lighter and more dangerous.
"They're different," I thought, watching the three of them.
Elara was closer than usual. Liriel had relaxed her rigid posture. Vespera spoke less, but her glances lingered longer than they should have.
"You're going to fall if you keep this pace," Vespera said, touching her cup against mine.
"Maybe I need to fall a little," I replied without thinking.
She stared at me for a moment too long, then drank as well.
Music started at some point. I don't remember when. I only remember the muffled sound, the wood vibrating under our feet, the looser laughter. The table grew smaller. The distances shortened.
Elara leaned over me at some moment. "Have you noticed that no one here knows what to do with us now?"
"Neither do I," I replied.
She smiled. A tired, but sincere smile. "Even so, I'm glad."
Liriel came closer soon after. Her hand touched my arm in an almost distracted way. Almost. The touch remained a second longer than necessary.
Vespera watched. She always watched. But she didn't step away.
The drink demanded its price. The edges of the world softened. Words grew more honest. Defenses weakened.
"Takumi," Liriel said in a low tone. "Regardless of what they gave us today, nothing changes who we are here."
She touched her chest, indicating something deeper.
I nodded. I wanted to answer something better, something that made sense. I couldn't.
The gathering slowly emptied. People said their goodbyes, some leaning on each other. When we realized it, the hall was almost empty.
"We should go," Vespera said. "Before this turns into regret."
We left together. The night was cold, but not uncomfortable. We walked without a defined direction, laughing at small things, recalling irrelevant details of the battle as if they were old stories.
When we reached the inn, the silence fell again. We went up the stairs too slowly. Someone stumbled. Someone laughed. A door was opened.
After that, the memories became fragmented.
I remember low voices. Muffled laughter. Closeness. Warmth in the middle of the dawn's cold. Thinking, for a moment, that this was too dangerous to continue.
And even so, no one stepped away.
The night was long. And when it ended, nothing felt as simple as before.