They met again in the outpost's north courtyard.
Not by ceremony.
Just by coincidence — or something close to it.
The sun was low, casting long shadows between the stone buildings. The air smelled of ash, oiled steel, and dry grass. Familiar smells. Real smells.
Ryliegh arrived first, helmet hooked to his belt, arms crossed as he leaned against a pillar. He wasn't waiting — not officially. Just standing.
Phoenix appeared next, slower. He moved like a man wearing borrowed strength — not limping, not straining, but aware of every step. His armor had been polished, slightly. The crimson still bore the bloodstains no one could scrub away.
He didn't say anything.
Ryliegh gave a nod.
Phoenix gave one back.
Soren and Bram arrived together, Bram's arm still in a sling but better set. Soren had a new scar under one eye — shallow, clean. They carried no weapons, just the kind of posture that said they'd learned how to stand straighter in less than a week.
"Ray," Soren said, nodding.
"Phoenix," Bram added, more carefully.
Phoenix tilted his head. "Glad to see you both walking."
"Glad to see you alive," Bram replied. "Still not convinced you're real."
"I'll trip in front of you if that helps."
"I'd believe it."
Elric came last — axe slung on his back, helmet tucked under one arm. He stopped a few paces away, looked them all over, and then said:
"We didn't die."
"No," Vale said, approaching behind him. "We didn't."
He joined the circle, his eyes sweeping the rest of them. He didn't smile. Not really. Just gave a slow nod.
"Six in. Six out."
Phoenix looked at them all, visor down now. "I keep thinking someone should say something profound."
"Please don't," Bram muttered.
Soren grinned. "I was working on a speech."
"No speeches," Ryliegh said. "No stories."
"Then what?" Elric asked.
Phoenix looked up at the sky.
The outpost banner fluttered in the distance. The world felt… quieter.
"Then we remember it. Not for glory. Not for others."
"For us."
Ryliegh spoke. "We remember that we stood. That we walked out. And that if it calls again…"
"We go back," Vale said.
"No," Ryliegh corrected. "We go together."
They stood in silence a little longer, the kind that doesn't demand words. The kind only survivors know.
Six knights.
No cloaks.
No ceremony.
No heroes.
Just names. Steel. Breath.
And the knowledge that some bonds were not forged by command or creed — but by fire, silence, and choosing not to fall.