Soft dawn light drifted through the newly cleaned windows of Avalon, bathing the familiar space in a warm, forgiving glow. The calm after last night's storm seemed almost sacred. It had been a long night—but even longer was the dawn that followed, carrying with it the promise of healing.
In the center of the room, a cluster of mismatched chairs formed a circle around a low table. Six mugs and glasses sat in relaxed formation on its surface. Two of them held ice-cold lemonade laced with mint—intended to soothe bruised bodies—while three others carried warm drinks: coffee, tea, and a sweet spice-infused broth that Lorna claimed was good for aches. One glass held nothing, waiting for John to wake.
Bob and Abe—the two veteran protectors—sat in reclined positions, shoulders cocooned in ice packs wrapped in kitchen towels. Their faces were pale but lined with quiet satisfaction. Stretch marks of pain lifted off with each thawing swell.
Danny stood nearby, leaning nonchalantly with his new friend's empty mug in one hand while gently patting the head of John, who had just woken, still groggy. "There you are," he said softly.
Lorna, standing behind the counter with a grilled cheese in hand, looked toward John. "I made some ginger tea, just the way I read your mom liked it," she said, offering a steaming mug. In the soft amber light, her tired eyes gleamed.
John blinked slowly, taking in the scene. "Ginger tea... thanks."
He accepted the mug, letting the warmth seep into his hands. "Good morning."
"More like good evening," Abe quipped from his chair, prompting a faint smile from John.
Lorna drew a breath, her expression solemn now as the story of the night's climax fell from her lips like a confession. "When you struck the final blow, the Ninja didn't collapse—he melted. Like beeswax under a hot lamp. He groaned—it sounded like relief or pain—and then something I still can't explain happened. The shadow collapsed entirely, and in its place…I saw a glowing orb, pale as moonlight, float upward, then shoot off into the darkness. It disappeared before even Danny could sense where it went."
She stared into John's eyes, searching. Across the circle, Danny's face was measured, almost emotionless, as though retelling a case he'd studied many times. "I could feel the rift collapse," he said. "The energy folded on itself along with The Ninja. That orb… was the last of it. I couldn't chase it—it was gone before I realized it was there."
John exhaled slowly, the ceramic mug shaking slightly between his hands. "Then it's gone," he said quietly. "All of it. Nothing remains."
Lorna let out a breath she'd been holding. John closed his eyes, pale relief softening his features. He lowered his head, and within moments, he was asleep—exhausted, and finally at rest. Danny, with gentle care, gathered John in his arms and lifted him, leading him upstairs toward rest before the day's calm was lost to pain and fatigue. Meanwhile, the others stood, bobbing groggy heads, as if in silent choir, before they too drifted upstairs to clean up and shave off the rough edges of the night.
When John awoke again, softer light touched his face, and his allies gathered around him—some nursing mugs of hot broth, others offering water. He sat, stretched, and took in their faces—etched with fatigue, relief, and cautious pride. He swallowed and looked at the empty space in the circle. "How... am I?" he asked.
Danny offered him a warm drink. "Sore. But you're standing. And you did exactly what had to be done," he reassured.
John drank, then set down the cup. "You all fought with me… saved me. I owe you."
Bob's voice was gentle. "We're even."
Abe nodded. "We're not here to collect debts. We're here because you're family."
John stood lightly, and the silence grew thick—an easy, unhurried quiet—as he looked toward the side table where the three Tiger Medallions lay, quietly resting after their fusion and separation in the battle. He swallowed, knowing the conversation that had to follow. "I think… I want to return them," he said simply, voice quiet but steady. "They split again after the final blow, so they can return to their bearers."
Abe ripped into laughter—deep and startling in the hush. Bob rolled his eyes and made a snapping sound with his fingers—mildly theatrical, as though he'd lost a coin toss. Danny laughed, too, exhaling soft relief. "You should've seen them," he said, smiling at John. "Abe bet you'd give them back. Bob bet you'd keep at least one. The loser paid the winner—big time."
Abe wiped tears from his eyes. "I wasn't betting on destiny—I was betting on character."
Bob sighed comically. "I should've known I underestimated him."
They all laughed again, lighter now, as if the story itself made the weight of the past twenty-four hours feel more like shared glory than pain. But then Abe grew serious. He leaned forward, removing his ice pack. "Kid," he said gently, "I want you to keep them."
"Here's the truth," Abe said firmly. "We can't take them back. We don't have the strength—they will kill our bodies if we do." His voice cracked slightly. "I can't do it anymore."
Bob nodded, rubbing at his temples. "Same for me. Those medallions… they give power—but they take power too." He gestured at Abe. "Time and time again, they demanded too much."
Danny stepped beside the table. "Chi is real. But it's not magic without cost. It's the power of spirit and body moving together—but if your body can't keep pace, it drains more than energy. It fractures you."
He paused, looking at them all. "You've both carried it for decades. You fought with so much heart. You're heroes. But it's time to let go."
A hush fell. Soft sun filtered in, dancing across the wooden floor.
John looked back at Abe and Bob. "You guys look older. Bob—your hair is white—the lines in your face... Abe, you look tired."
They met his gaze.
John nodded. "Thank you—for everything. I'd rather live peacefully."
Abe smiled sadly. "We understand. We just want them in good, capable hands."
John looked at Bob: more grey in his hair, more wear on his face. He looked at Abe: older than nineteen years, softer with pain and wisdom. "I… I'll keep them. But only for Avalon."
Lorna came forward and took John's hand. "That's all we need to know."
Bob sighed with relief. "That's all we ever wanted."
Abe laughed again—lonely, warm. "Now, about that hot dog cart…"
Even night's gloom couldn't dim their shared laughter.
Later, Bob, Abe, and Danny sat in the customer dining area, mugs of strong coffee cooling between their hands. On the small TV behind the counter flashed a news anchor speaking gravely about a "pipe explosion" in the neighborhood—no casualties, minimal damage, investigations ongoing. Bob shook his head. "They'll cover anything with a malfunction if they don't want the truth."
Abe poured himself another coffee. "Let them. I'm at peace."
Danny smiled. "Covering an arcane clash as infrastructure failure… that's classic."
They watched quietly, sipping, as the report shifted to weather. John, meanwhile, placed the Tiger Medallions gently into a wooden box in his third-floor den alongside his father's journals, family photos, and Hobbie's school papers. He closed the lid softly, pausing to take a breath that felt both heavy and free. Then he stepped down into the shop as a customer bell rang and the world moved on, unaware that Avalon's silent guardians had triumphed.
Nothing felt supernatural now. Just the hum of a freezer, the scent of fresh cans, the promise of normality. And for today—a hope that their quiet morning, drinking cool waters and planning for tomorrows, was enough.