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In the days that followed, the world stitched itself together. Slowly, quietly. Rebuilding huts. Replanting fields. Healing.

But for Seren and Hagan, it felt like they lived inside a bubble. Time didn't quite move the same for them. Hagan would pull her into the woods just to walk, just to press her against a tree and kiss her breathless. They explored each other's bodies like explorers of the uncharted, learning every shift, every sigh, every spot that made the other come undone.

And then, one morning, Hagan said, "Come with me."

He led her back to the cottage. This time, he opened the door first.

"I want to show you something."

Everything was as it had been. Except... the room to the left was transformed.

The light poured in through tall windows, golden and soft, touching every corner like a blessing. Canvases were stacked along one wall, brushes lined in delicate jars, and the air carried the faint, familiar scent of linseed oil and pigment.

Near the window sat her camera, perched on the tripod exactly how she liked it. A long desk stretched beneath the glass panes, holding her laptop, stacks of photo paper, rolls of washi tape, and the small lightbox she used for detail work. Above it, a string of her favourite prints hung on twine, tiny wooden clips holding memories in place—sunsets, candid portraits, wild river shots, one of Hagan asleep with his wolf ears twitching.

It was everything she had once imagined in stolen daydreams. A mirror of her longing.

Her art studio. Her sanctuary.

And Hagan had built it for her.

"Do you like it ?" he asked anxiously from behind her as she turned a slow circle.

She nodded, unable to speak, her heart full.

"Lets move back" , she whispered.

Later, Seren made her way to the Oracle's cottage.

The path was lined with trees, all in full bloom—blushing petals and green-gold leaves waving gently in the breeze. The herds hadreturned to the hills. The river bubbled again with laughter as if it remembered how. The village had changed, but the spirit of it—the heartbeat—was back.

Two females were expecting.

Her friends of the forest had returned.

The whispers in the wind had returned.

And with each step, it felt like the world was exhaling, unfurling after too long clenched in pain.

The Oracle's door was ajar.

Inside, the air smelled of herbs and rain-soaked earth. The Oracle sat by the fire, but she looked different—smaller somehow. Fragile. As if the weight of visions and grief had caught up with her in one long, brutal night.

She looked up slowly as Seren entered, her silver eyes dimmer, but warm.

Seren approached and placed the pendant in her outstretched hand.

The oracle looked down at it for a long moment.

"It belonged to my fated," she said softly, almost to herself, her voice heavy with regrets. "Lilja's father. She always said she wished they had met."

The Oracle closed her hand around it. Her fingers trembled.

"She carried it every day," the Oracle added.

" She was your daughter," Seren said, knowing what she was thinking. "And you are allowed to grieve her."

The old woman nodded, holding the pendant close to her chest. "At least now," she whispered, "I hope she gets to meet him."