The jungle released them at dawn.
Mist still clung to the roots and low branches when Theomar stepped onto the stone road, his stride unbroken, his presence cutting a clean line between wilderness and order. Midarion followed a step behind, the rhythm of civilization returning to his senses in fragments—distant smoke, metal ringing faintly somewhere beyond the hills, voices carried by the wind.
Keel shifted inside the sling strapped across Midarion's back, claws scraping softly against leather. He was heavier now. Longer. His wings pressed awkwardly against the fabric, restless as if he could already sense stone and walls instead of bark and sky.
Four months.
That was how long the jungle had kept him.
Four months of running until his legs stopped shaking, of climbing until his palms hardened into something closer to leather than skin. Four months of fire, fruit, hunger, silence—and the quiet understanding of what it meant to take a life.
Smoke appeared first—thin, gray lines curling into the sky. Then the sound of metal. Human voices. Life compressed into walls and routines.
The Black Post.
Midarion's chest tightened.
He hadn't realized how much he missed it until it stood before him.
The secret gates groaned open.
And then—
"Mida!"
The sound hit him before the shape did.
Reikika sprinted across the courtyard, boots slapping stone, her training staff clattering forgotten behind her. She didn't slow down. Didn't hesitate. She crashed into him with a force that knocked the breath clean out of his lungs.
"Kika—!" Midarion laughed—a real laugh, loud and unrestrained—and held her just as tightly.
"You're heavier," she accused, pulling back to glare up at him.
"You're still short," he shot back, grinning.
She punched him in the ribs. He didn't even flinch.
"Hey," she said, narrowing her eyes. "You're not allowed to get tougher without me."
Keel chose that moment to poke his head out, wings flaring indignantly.
Reikika gasped and dropped to her knees instantly. "Keel! Look at you!"
Keel puffed his chest and gave a proud rumble, wings twitching as she crouched to his level, eyes wide.
"You were tiny," she said, laughing softly as she touched his neck. "What did you feed him? Rocks?"
"Mostly fruit," Midarion said. "And my sanity."
Before she could reply, slow footsteps echoed from the gate.
Calm. Measured.
"Looks like the wild didn't swallow you after all."
Midarion froze.
That voice—
He turned.
"Elhyra…"
She stood there as if she'd always belonged to the morning—golden hair catching the light, eyes warm and endlessly calm. The sight of her hit him harder than anything the jungle had thrown at him.
"Elhyra!" he shouted.
Midarion didn't think.
He ran.
She barely had time to open her arms before he crashed into them, gripping her robes like they might disappear if he let go. His voice broke despite himself.
"I thought you wouldn't come."
Elhyra held him firmly, one hand resting against his back, the other threading through his hair.
"I promised," she whispered.
"It's been far too long," she murmured. "Look at you. Taller. Stronger."
Reikika hovered nearby, suddenly unsure, until Elhyra opened an arm and pulled her in too.
For a moment, the world shrank to warmth and breath and familiarity.
Selina cleared her throat from a respectable distance. "I'm going to pretend this isn't happening so it feels less sentimental."
Midarion laughed.
Selina approached then, composed as ever, book tucked under her arm.
"You tracked dirt across half the courtyard," she said calmly.
Midarion winced. "Sorry."
She handed him a cloth. "Wipe your face. You look like you wrestled the jungle and lost."
"I won," he muttered.
Theomar snorted.
They gathered beneath the spire, sharing bread Elhyra had brought—real bread, warm and soft. Honey. Fruit that tasted like sunlight instead of survival. Keel curled at Midarion's side, blissfully occupied.
For a moment, it felt unreal. Like the jungle had been a dream.
Then Theomar spoke.
"Midarion completed his first cycle."
Elhyra listened closely.
"No spirit. No aid. Only endurance, discipline, and instinct," Theomar continued. "His Kosmo remains quiet. But his foundation is solid."
Midarion shifted, embarrassed.
Elhyra smiled. "That matters more than you think."
Ren cleared his throat.
"As for Reikika."
Reikika straightened immediately.
"She adapts faster than expected," Ren said. "Too fast. Her control was unstable at first."
Reikika frowned. "Hey—"
"But," Ren continued, "she stabilized it."
Silence fell.
Selina's eyes widened slightly.
Theomar's gaze sharpened.
Elhyra's breath caught.
Midarion blinked. "Stabilized… what?"
Selina smiled. "Reikika has completed her awakening. And she didn't just awaken her Kosmo. She stabilized it."
The words fell into the courtyard like a dropped blade.
Midarion blinked. "Completed… what?"
Reikika's face turned crimson. "It's not a big—"
Midarion was already laughing, stepping forward and grabbing her shoulders.
"That's amazing! Reikika, that's incredible!"
Keel chirped excitedly, flapping his wings.
Reikika laughed, breathless. "You're crushing me."
"I don't care," Midarion said, still grinning. "I knew you'd do something amazing."
Something twisted in his chest.
He ignored it.
Theomar spoke at last. "Awakening in less than a year is rare. Stabilization even more so."
He looked directly at Reikika. "You'll need discipline now. Power demands it."
She nodded seriously. "I know."
Elhyra's smile softened. "You should be proud. Both of you."
Midarion nodded.
He was.
Truly.
And yet—
Later, as laughter echoed through the halls and Selina handed Midarion a broom with malicious delight, the feeling returned.
Small.
Sharp.
Unwelcome.
They worked together, cleaning stone corridors thick with dust and echoes. Reikika chatted easily, recounting training mishaps, Ren's impossible drills, Selina's terrifying standards in the kitchen.
Midarion listened.
Smiled.
Laughed when expected.
But the words fully awakened echoed in his mind.
That night, as they lay beneath unfamiliar ceilings, Midarion stared at the dark, breathing slow.
I felt it, he told himself. Just for a second.
But seconds didn't glow.
Reikika did.
The next days passed in brightness—markets, laughter, children's games, Elhyra's stories. Keel caused chaos. Reikika shone. Midarion stayed close, proud and smiling and hollow in a way he didn't fully understand.
On the third evening, Theomar stood beside him on the balcony.
"You're quiet," he said.
Midarion shrugged. "Just tired."
Theomar didn't respond immediately.
His gaze stayed on the stars.
"You're proud of her," he said.
"Yes."
"And you're angry."
Midarion stiffened.
"No."
Theomar turned to him fully now. "You are."
Midarion swallowed.
"I'm happy for her," he said quietly. "I really am."
"I know."
"But I—" His voice faltered. "I trained just as hard. I survived alone. I changed. And still…"
He stopped.
Theomar watched him carefully.
"That feeling," he said calmly, "doesn't make you weak."
Midarion looked away.
"It makes you human."
Theomar placed a hand on Midarion's shoulder, firm and grounding.
"Do not rush to silence that feeling," he said. "Sit with it. Learn its shape."
Midarion frowned slightly.
"Because one day," Theomar continued, voice low, "you will need that fire—not to compete, not to prove yourself—but to choose who you become when no one is watching."
The stars burned silently above them.
And somewhere deep within Midarion, the ember of Kosmo flickered again—dim, stubborn, waiting.
Not gone.
Just… patient.