The jungle noticed first.
It was subtle. Almost imperceptible. The kind of change only living things could sense—the absence of something that used to be there.
Midarion still ran every morning. Still climbed until his hands burned and slid back down the bark of the giant tree with a frustrated grunt. Still gathered water, built fire, sharpened arrows, whispered to Keel before sleeping.
But his smile was gone.
Not entirely. Not erased.
Just… misplaced.
The animals noticed it immediately.
The small blue-furred mammal that used to hop near his feet kept its distance now, watching from behind a root. The long-necked bird that once let him scratch its beak tilted its head at him, uncertain, before flying away. Even the insects buzzed a little farther from his skin.
Midarion noticed too.
He didn't say anything.
He trained harder.
The days after the kill blended together like rain on leaves.
His body moved with discipline now, not curiosity. Running wasn't play anymore—it was measured. Efficient. Climbing was no longer an act of hope but of repetition. Fail. Adjust. Fail again.
He hunted when needed.
He never hesitated again.
That was the part that scared him.
Keel recovered fully, his appetite terrifying for something still so small. He devoured meat with enthusiasm, chirping proudly afterward, as if Midarion had personally slain a god instead of a forest creature.
Midarion smiled at him.
A small one.
Then it faded.
At night, when the fire crackled low and the jungle breathed around them, Midarion stared into the flames longer than before. He wasn't sad, exactly.
He was quieter inside.
The moment replayed sometimes—not as pain, but as clarity. The way the animal's eye had dulled. The instant the weight of life lifted from its body.
He didn't regret it.
That was the problem.
Meditation changed.
Before, it had been a struggle against noise—thoughts colliding, memories intruding, frustration bubbling up every time nothing happened.
Now, it was different.
The first morning he noticed it, he was sitting by the cascade, legs crossed, back straight, eyes closed. Water spilled endlessly over stone, a sound that used to distract him.
Today, it didn't.
His breathing slowed naturally.
He wasn't forcing anything.
He wasn't searching.
He was… present.
For a few heartbeats, the jungle vanished.
Not darkness.
Not emptiness.
Stillness.
Absolute calm.
Something answered.
It wasn't strong. It wasn't grand. It didn't explode outward like Reikika's must have.
It flickered.
A pulse, deep in his chest.
Warm.
Alive.
Midarion's eyes flew open.
His breath hitched.
"Did you—" he whispered to no one.
The feeling vanished instantly, like a startled animal darting back into hiding.
But it had been there.
His hands shook.
He laughed.
Actually laughed.
A sound so bright and sudden that birds scattered from the canopy.
Keel squeaked in alarm, then flapped toward him, landing on his shoulder.
"Keel!" Midarion exclaimed, spinning in place. "Did you feel that? I felt it! It was— it was—"
He gestured wildly, words failing him.
Keel chirped enthusiastically, clearly convinced this was excellent news.
Midarion stood, breathless, joy flooding back into him like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.
"I'm not broken," he whispered. "I'm not empty."
He laughed again, louder this time, lifting Keel into the air and spinning until dizziness forced him to stop.
That was when he noticed the silence.
Theomar's grey wolf was gone.
It wasn't there behind the trees.
Not at the edge of the clearing.
Not watching from the shadows like it always did.
Midarion's laughter faded.
"Hey," he called softly. "Grey?"
Nothing.
The jungle felt… lighter.
Unwatched.
A chill ran down his spine.
Then he felt it.
That familiar presence.
The weight in the air.
The sound of footsteps that didn't try to hide.
Midarion turned.
"Theomar?"
He didn't wait for confirmation.
He ran.
Straight into the tall, solid shape that caught him easily, one arm wrapping around his shoulders as Midarion crashed into him with all the force of four months of loneliness.
Theomar staggered half a step.
"Easy," he grunted. "You've gotten heavier."
Midarion buried his face into Theomar's chest, arms locked tight around him.
"I thought you were gone longer," he said, voice muffled and embarrassingly shaky.
Theomar rested a hand on the back of his head.
"I said maybe."
Midarion laughed and wiped his face quickly, pulling back just enough to look at him.
"You came back."
Theomar smirked. "I usually do."
He dropped to one knee so they were eye level.
"I know everything," he said calmly.
Midarion stiffened.
"The wolf," Theomar continued. "I saw through it's eyes."
Midarion swallowed.
"I killed an innocent," he said quietly.
"I know."
"I didn't hesitate."
"I know."
Midarion looked down at his hands.
"I didn't feel guilty. I felt… different."
Theomar's expression softened.
"Good."
Midarion looked up sharply. "Good?"
"You respected the kill. You prayed. You ended suffering. You survived."
Theomar placed a firm hand on his shoulder.
"I'm proud of you."
The words hit harder than any blow.
Midarion's eyes burned.
He nodded quickly, afraid his voice wouldn't hold.
"And your meditation?" Theomar added casually.
Midarion blinked. "How did—"
"grey," Theomar repeated. "Also, you're terrible at hiding emotions."
Midarion laughed weakly. "It reacted. Just for a second."
Theomar's eyes sharpened.
"A second is enough," he said.
They stood in silence for a moment, the jungle watching its child reunite with his mentor.
Then Theomar straightened.
"It's time," he said.
"Time for what?"
"To leave."
Midarion's heart skipped. "Already?"
"You've done what you needed here. For now."
Midarion hesitated. "The jungle—"
"Will still be here," Theomar said. "And so will you."
He paused, then added, "We're going back to the Black Post."
Midarion's breath caught.
"Reikika?"
"Yes."
"Ren? Selina?"
"Yes."
"And—" Midarion leaned forward, hopeful. "The Hand?"
Theomar smiled.
"It's a surprise."
Midarion groaned. "You always say that."
"And I'm always right."
They packed quickly.
Midarion moved through the clearing one last time, touching the bark of the giant tree, the stone near the cascade, the spot where he first built fire alone.
Animals watched from hiding places.
Some stepped closer.
The long-necked bird tilted its head.
The blue-furred mammal hopped forward and sniffed his boot.
Midarion knelt, smiling wide now, warmth back in his eyes.
"I'm not gone forever," he said softly. "I promise."
Keel chirped in agreement, puffing his chest proudly.
As they turned to leave, Midarion paused.
He looked back at the jungle—the towering trees, the endless green, the place that had stripped him down and rebuilt him piece by piece.
He raised a hand and waved.
"See you soon," he said.
The jungle answered with rustling leaves.
Then he turned and followed Theomar toward the path that would lead him back to people, to stone, to voices he hadn't heard in months.
Back to Reikika.
Back to the world.
And somewhere deep inside him, that quiet ember of Kosmo flickered again—patient, waiting, alive.