The sky above the ruins had no color.
It wasn't the gray of ash, nor the gold of rebirth — it was something in between, soft and endless. The air no longer shimmered with mana; it simply breathed, natural for the first time in centuries.
Lyn stood alone atop the ancient gate, his cloak brushing against the cracked stone. Beneath him, the City of First Bonds lay silent — its illusions finally gone, its ghosts finally still.
Umbra hovered nearby, little more than a silhouette against the pale horizon. —You've done it, the spirit murmured. The seals are gone. The gods have fallen. The world breathes again.
Lyn's voice was quiet. "And yet it still feels empty."
—Freedom often does. Chains give shape. Remove them, and the shape collapses until it learns to stand again.
He watched the faint glimmer of dawn stretch across the dunes. For the first time, it wasn't crimson, or divine, or tainted by memory. Just light.
Rhea climbed the slope toward him, her boots crunching softly. "You've been up here since nightfall."
He smiled faintly. "Didn't realize it was that long."
"You always lose time when you're thinking." She joined him, gazing out over the ruins. "Hard to believe this is where it all started."
Arden appeared moments later, his armor cleaned but dented — the kind of wear that spoke of survival more than victory. "So… what happens now?"
Lyn exhaled slowly. "Now? Nothing. For once, we let the world decide what it wants to be."
Umbra's form stirred, the edges flickering faintly. —And if it decides poorly?
Lyn looked up at the fading stars. "Then we remind it again. But next time… maybe it won't take fire to do it."
Rhea's tone softened. "You're talking like this is the end."
He glanced at her — tired, but with a warmth she hadn't seen in him before. "Maybe it is. Or maybe it's just the first day without gods."
A quiet breeze passed through them. The ruins below began to hum faintly again, not with power, but with life.
Small figures emerged in the distance — people wandering through the sands, drawn by instinct or memory. Survivors. Tamers without crests, spirits without masters. They moved through the empty streets, not rebuilding altars, but planting seeds where temples once stood.
Rhea smiled faintly. "They're already starting."
Arden chuckled. "Can't help it. Humanity doesn't wait for permission."
Lyn watched them for a long moment. "Good. That means they've finally learned."
Umbra drifted closer, its voice a low hum. —You could stay, you know. Become something more than a shadow in rebellion. A teacher. A guardian.
He shook his head slowly. "If I stay, they'll start looking at me the way they did at the gods. The cycle will start again."
Rhea's voice caught. "You're leaving?"
"Someone has to walk beyond the old world," he said quietly. "See what's left past the horizon."
Arden frowned. "You think there's anything left out there?"
Lyn's faint smile returned. "There always is."
He turned to Rhea, his gaze steady. "Take care of them. Make sure they build something that doesn't need to be burned down."
She nodded, eyes glimmering. "And you?"
He stepped down from the gate. "I'll find what comes after chains."
Umbra followed as he began to walk east — toward the faint shimmer of dawn, where the light met the sand in endless promise.
—Do you think they'll remember your name? Umbra asked softly.
Lyn didn't look back. "Maybe. But I'd rather they remember why it all happened."
—And if they forget?
He smiled faintly. "Then they'll have to learn it again. That's how the world grows."
The light brightened as he walked, washing over him until his form blended with the horizon — tamer and shadow vanishing into the dawn, leaving behind only a single whisper of mana in the wind.
No gods. No chains. Just the endless path beyond.