Weeks had passed since the battle at the Heart of Hollow.
The chamber now stood quiet, transformed into a sanctuary for those who could feel the Weave. Songmages and dreambinders had begun to return, pulled by the Heart's new resonance. It no longer pulsed with war—but with potential.
Aeren stood beneath the crystal, watching young apprentices etch their first glyphs into air. He smiled.
"They've got no idea what's coming," he said.
Behind him, Elira leaned against a column. "That's the best part."
Across the Divide, the world was shifting. Old cities were rebuilding, magical academies reopening, and the once-isolated mage schools had agreed to gather for the first Unity Conclave in over two centuries.
Bryn had already left for the frontier to help train elemental defenders. Kaelen, now wearing the Seer's mantle, wandered between leyline posts with Lyra at his side, ensuring the Weave's new balance held.
Zephren was alive, scarred, and somehow moodier than ever. But he had taken up the mantle of Guardian of the Gatewatch—a network of Weave-sentinels who protected against void corruption.
Aeren and Elira remained at the Heart.
They had become its keepers, its bridge to the world.
One night, as starlight shimmered across the chamber floor, Elira stirred beside Aeren. "You think it's really over?"
"No," Aeren admitted. "But we've changed the ending."
He reached into the Heart with his thoughts, and it responded with gentle warmth. A thousand threads of song, memory, and light wrapped around him.
From deep within, he felt something stir—a vision.
A tower in a frozen land. A woman of glass. A voice whispering from a place beyond the stars.
Elira watched his eyes narrow. "Another vision?"
"Yeah," he said slowly. "A big one."
She smiled. "Then I hope you weren't planning to retire."
Aeren laughed. "Retire? I haven't even written the second verse yet."
Far to the north, in a realm untouched by sunlight, a single shard of void hummed.
A figure approached it—a girl with silver eyes and laughter like bells.
She reached out. And smiled.
The world was healing.
But stories, like magic, never truly end.
Only shift.
Only spark.
Only begin again.