The world did not return all at once.
It came back in pieces
like shards of a broken mirror dragging themselves together after a storm.
First came the wind.
Then the rain-smell.
Then the crackling remains of torn earth.
And then the silence.
Not peace.
Not calm.
Just… silence.
The kind that settles after an enemy leaves because killing you no longer matters.
The kind that means you survived by accident, not by victory.
Khael blinked, still kneeling, still in Ceyla's arms, the golden haze in his eyes pulsing brighter with every unsteady breath.
Azael's warmth settled in his chest, deep and ancient, coiled like a sleeping sun that refused to fully go out.
Master Vince exhaled a long, ragged breath and slumped back against a broken tree stump.
His vision swam, but he forced himself to keep his eyes on the boy.
Everyone else the remains of their small, battered group stood frozen.
No Voidborn.
No Hollow Nine.
No Lucere.
No K.
