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We scramble from the hollow, Vaelin leaning heavily on me, illusions weaving a stabilizing swirl around him. Rejoining the plateau, we find the allied forces on high alert. The Matriarch stands with a group of purnas, illusions at the ready, facing a cluster of defeated Red Purnas. A hush echoes across the ravaged stone field. The Overlord is nowhere in sight, though I spot some of his officers bound in arcane shackles, or fleeing in disorganized clusters.

The moment the purnas see Vaelin walk—alive—they gasp, illusions flickering in shock. The Matriarch’s eyes widen. She glimpses the runic patterns across Vaelin’s arms, then flicks her gaze to me with a troubled mix of awe and dread. “Elira,” she says, voice taut. “What have you done?”

I swallow, illusions dancing around me in trembling shapes. “He died,” I reply, forcing calm. “I couldn’t let him go. I used a forbidden ritual… a resurrection that bound him to me.”

Gasps ripple through the onlookers. I sense Olyssia stepping forward, illusions flicking defensively. “Don’t blame her,” she says. “We owe Vaelin a debt. This was the only way to save him.”

The Matriarch’s gaze wavers between condemnation and compassion. Ultimately, she exhales slowly, illusions dimming around her staff. “You’ve defied the natural order,” she murmurs, “but perhaps we owe him that debt, indeed.” She shifts her attention to the ring of statues beyond. “The gargoyles remain sealed. The Overlord’s forces are broken, many captured or fled. The Red Purnas are scattering. We hold the field… but at great cost.”

Vaelin stands tall, though I feel him trembling. My illusions twine around his waist like supportive tendrils, helping him remain upright. He addresses the gathered coven and allies, voice rasping. “If the Overlord survived, he’ll regroup. The Red Purnas might lurk in the shadows. But we can stand united—Dark Elves who reject tyranny, purnas who embrace freedom, humans, orcs… all forging a new balance. This time, we do it without the Overlord’s leash or the gargoyle threat overshadowing us.”

A subdued ripple of agreement passes among them. The orcs nod, some murmuring that they’ll negotiate further cooperation with the coven. Humans glance at each other, hope easing their tension. The purnas, though wary, seem reassured by Vaelin’s calm presence, despite the unnatural magic pulsing in his flesh. The Matriarch lifts her staff, illusions shimmering in quiet acknowledgment. “Then let us rebuild. We will rest, heal, and see what the future holds.”

I step forward, illusions shimmering gold, mindful that I too bear the weight of this new era. “We’ve driven back the Overlord and sealed the gargoyles once more,” I say softly, voice echoing in the hush. “We must remain vigilant, for old enemies may return. But together, we can shape a safer Protheka, free from monstrous curses and cruel overlords. That’s what Vaelin sacrificed everything for.”

A hush settles, then cautious applause, or the equivalent among orcs pounding weapons on stone. Purnas bow their heads in relief. The battered plateau—once a scene of slaughter—feels charged with the possibility of renewal. The petrified gargoyles, locked in slumber, stand as a warning of the cost.

Finally, the Matriarch lowers her staff. “We will gather the wounded, bury the dead. After that, we convene in the coven halls to discuss the next steps. Elira, you and Vaelin rest. The entire coven owes you both a great debt.”

I nod, illusions reflecting a subtle glow of gratitude, though grief still weighs in my chest. “Thank you, Matriarch,” I whisper. “We’ll help however we can.”

That evening, under a bruised sunset, we make camp on the plateau’s edge. The allied forces claim the terrain as a temporary base, forging rudimentary shelters among the shattered pillars. Makeshift pyres burn for the fallen, their smoke spiraling into the twilight. Though sorrow lingers, the tension of war has eased, replaced by cautious hope.

I stand beside Vaelin in a secluded corner, near a solitary pillar that remained unbroken. A gentle breeze carries the scent of ash and healing salves. He leans against the stone, chest heaving, illusions shifting softly around him as I support him. His new body glows faintly in the dusk, the runic lines beneath his skin catching the firelight.

My throat tightens with emotion. “How do you feel?” I ask, voice hushed.

He lifts his gaze, eyes shimmering with an uncanny brilliance. “Alive,” he says softly, “but different. My gargoyle side doesn’t rage like before. It’s… tempered, entwined with your magic.”

I nod, brushing my fingertips over the faint runes on his arm. A surge of warmth passes between us, illusions entwining. “The resurrection changed you. You’re not fully Dark Elf or gargoyle. You’re a new balance.” My lips curve in a trembling smile. “Bound to me, but free from the Overlord’s chains.”

His hand covers mine, pressing it gently to his chest. A heartbeat thuds beneath. “I can’t quite put it into words,” he murmurs. “But I feel more at peace than ever. Like my soul found an anchor instead of tearing me apart.”

Tears well in my eyes again, but this time they’re tears of relief. “It’s all I wanted,” I whisper. “To free you. To bring you back.”

He draws me closer, illusions swirling around us in a soft dance of color. “I’m sorry for the cost,” he murmurs, voice heavy with concern. “That forbidden ritual could’ve killed you.”

I exhale, resting my forehead against his. “I’d risk anything for you. I think you know that.”

He smiles faintly, stealing a gentle kiss that burns with quiet devotion. My heart swells, illusions brightening around us in a hush of reverent color. The battered plateau fades from my immediate awareness, leaving only the warmth of his presence, the assurance of our bond, the knowledge that tomorrow we face a new era together.

Later,we gather near a central fire with Olyssia, the Matriarch, a few orc chieftains, and a handful of human representatives. The conversation revolves around the next steps: how to secure the sealed gargoyles, how to push back against any Overlord resurgence, how to unify orcs, humans, and purnas to maintain peace. Vaelin sits beside me, occasionally gripping my hand beneath the table. His presence reassures me when doubts threaten to cloud my mind.

Though the meeting is somber, I notice sparks of camaraderie: orcs exchanging respectful nods with purnas, humans offering bandages to wounded dark elves who defected from the Overlord’s legion. A fragile unity, forged in shared struggle. The Matriarch addresses Vaelin with a new measure of respect. She asks for his insight into possible Overlord movements, and he provides earnest answers, no sign of the tortured enforcer who once bowed to Orthani’s commands.

When the session ends, the group disperses into the flickering shadows of campfires. I linger by Vaelin’s side, illusions flickering across my staff. The Matriarch touches my shoulder as she passes, expression conflicted yet softened. “Elira, your actions defy many coven laws. But we owe Vaelin. I see now the love that fuels you both. We won’t hinder it.”

My throat constricts. I bow my head, relief and gratitude surging. “Thank you, Matriarch,” I manage. She walks on, illusions trailing in subdued arcs behind her.

Night descends fully,the sky a tapestry of stars over the broken plateau. Quiet murmurs drift through the camp, survivors finding pockets of rest or whispering about the future. Vaelin and I wander away from the main fires, illusions lighting a path among collapsed stones. We reach an outcrop overlooking the silent ring where Bladrik fell. That place is empty now, the petrified gargoyle remains carefully sealed by fresh wards.

I take a trembling breath, illusions shifting with my heartbeat. “It’s surreal,” I whisper, “to stand here victorious, having sealed the gargoyles and thwarted the Overlord—yet at such a cost.”

Vaelin nods, sliding an arm around my waist. “We lost so many. But we saved countless more from Bladrik’s wrath.” His expression darkens. “And from me, if my gargoyle side had run wild.”

I press a hand to his chest, illusions flaring in gentle sparks. “You never were the monster. You were shaped by monstrous forces, but you chose something else. That’s who you are.”

He searches my face, eyes reflecting sorrow and relief. Slowly, he leans in, pressing a tender kiss to my lips, a silent thank you. Our illusions mingle, weaving a soft glow in the darkness. My heart pounds, recalling the terror of losing him.I won’t let fear overshadow us now.