The afternoon stretched long and golden, the kind of light that made even the deepest forest shadows feel softer, less threatening.
Ed and Tia had moved inside after Mara and Tobin departed.
The treehouse felt different now—still safe, still theirs, but newly aware of the world pressing in at the edges.
Tia sat cross-legged on the floor near the open window, the folded map spread across her knees.
She traced one finger along the red-ink lines Mara had drawn: safe trails marked with tiny crossed swords, supply caches circled in careful Xs, three small red banners scattered like dropped petals across the western marches.
"These people," she said quietly, "they're still fighting. After everything. After Alexis, after Okasa, after… all of it."
Ed knelt beside her, one knee braced on the floorboards. He studied the map over her shoulder—the parchment smelled faintly of woodsmoke and old leather.
"They never stopped," he said. "Some people don't know how."
Tia's fingertip paused over the nearest red banner symbol, a rough sketch of a broken sword.
"Do you think they really remember us?" she asked. "Not the songs. Not the legends. Us."
Ed considered the question. Thought of the way Mara had looked at Tia—not with awe, not with pity, but with quiet recognition.
"I think they remember the hole you left," he said. "And they've been trying to fill it ever since."
Tia folded the map carefully, matching the creases, and set it aside.
She drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them.
"I keep seeing Alexis's face," she said. "The moment he pressed the crystal into my hand. He wasn't angry. He wasn't afraid. He was just… tired. Like he'd finally decided something, and it hurt less than he expected."
Ed sat fully beside her, shoulder to shoulder, back against the wall. The wood was warm from the day's sun.
"He chose you," he said. "Over the world. Over hope. Over everything we spent years bleeding for."
Tia rested her cheek on her knees.
"And I've spent ten years trying to prove he was wrong. Trying to be worth the choice he made. But every time I cast anything big, every time the marks spread farther, I feel like I'm failing him all over again."
Ed turned his head to look at her profile—sharp cheekbone, lowered lashes, faint silver scars of old spell-burns along her temple.
"You're not failing him," he said. "You're still here. That's more than most people manage."
She gave a small, broken laugh. "Barely."
He reached over and covered her hand with his. Her fingers were cold despite the warm room.
"Then let's stop barely," he said. "Let's do more than survive. Let's live loud enough that even Alexis can hear it, wherever he is."
Tia lifted her head. Looked at him—really looked.
"You still believe in happy endings," she said wonderingly.
"I believe in stubborn ones," Ed corrected. "The kind you have to fight for every morning. The kind that don't arrive on white horses—they arrive on foot, bruised and limping, and they stay anyway."
A tear slipped down her cheek. She didn't wipe it away.
"I want that," she whispered. "With you."
"Then we take it," he said. "One stupid, stubborn day at a time."
She leaned sideways until her temple rested against his shoulder.
He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. Her hair smelled of mint tea and sunlight and the faint green life of the elder tree itself.
They stayed like that until the light began to slant lower, turning gold to amber, amber to rose.
Eventually, Tia stirred.
"We should decide," she said softly. "Whether to stay hidden here… or go find that red banner."
Ed exhaled slowly.
"If we stay," he said, "we buy time. You heal. We figure out how to make the marks stop for good. We live quietly."
"And if we go?"
"We risk everything," he answered. "Varkis. Scouts. Old enemies who might still remember the hero's party. But we also get to stand with people who haven't forgotten what Alexis died for. We get to fight for something bigger than just ourselves."
Tia lifted her head and met his eyes.
"I'm tired of hiding," she said.
Ed nodded once.
"Then we don't hide."
He stood, offered her his hand.
She took it—warm, steady—and rose with him.
Together they stepped out onto the platform.
The forest stretched below them in every direction—green and endless, newly alive with possibility.
Tia leaned against the railing beside him. Their shoulders touched.
"Where do we start?" she asked.
Ed looked northwest, toward the distant red banner on Mara's map.
"We start by walking," he said. "And we don't stop until we find the people still carrying broken swords."
Tia smiled—small, fierce, alive.
"Together?"
"Together."
The sun dipped lower, painting the canopy in fire.
And for the first time in ten years, the future did not feel like a grave.
It felt like a road.