The night beca the gentlest reward Aurdis and Erend had known in months. The burdens of war, disastrous prophecy, and responsibility had pressed them apart for too long, stealing monts that should have been theirs.
But when the chamber doors closed and the world finally fell silent, they reclaid that ti.
Moonlight spilled across the room as they ca together, slowly at first, as if afraid the mont might break.
Their touches carried relief as much as desire. Their hands lingering longer, they shared their breaths, the tension of countless days easing with every closeness.
The night deepened, and restraint faded into warmth and need. They moved together again and again, guided by familiarity and longing for each other’s embrace rather than urgency.
They were not rushed, nor gentle the whole ti, but honest and full, stretching long into the night until exhaustion claid them.
When they finally rested, entwined beneath the sheets, the weight they carried felt lighter, if only for a while.
—
The morning light spilled softly into the chamber. It was pale and gentle, barely bright enough to chase away the shadows, but Erend was already awake.
He lay on the bed with one arm wrapped around Aurdis as she slept with her head resting on his chest, her breathing slow and even.
He looked out the window for a while, watching the city stir far below, then lowered his gaze to her.
Aurdis rested peacefully, her silver hair falling across her face.
Erend lifted his hand and brushed the strands aside with his finger, careful not to wake her, wanting to see her sleeping face more clearly.
He did not want the mont to end. So he stayed still, simply watching her with a quiet smile settling on his face.
Aurdis opened her eyes anyway.
She looked up at him, unfocused at first, then smiled faintly. "You’re already awake."
"Yeah," Erend replied softly.
She shifted closer instead of pulling away, resting her head against his chest again and letting out a small, tired whimper.
Erend frowned slightly. "Why are you making that sound?" he asked, noticing the sadness beneath her voice.
"I don’t want you to go," Aurdis said without hesitation. "When you fought before... I was very afraid."
"But I’m fine, right?" Erend replied calmly.
"But..." Aurdis hesitated, the word lingering before she stopped herself. She drew a quiet breath. "Never mind. You’re right. You’re fine. You’re always going to be fine."
She lifted her head, looked at him, and kissed him. Erend kissed her back, slow and reassuring, until the world outside the chamber no longer mattered.
They ca together again in the early morning, not driven by urgency, but by the desire to hold onto what little peace they had found.
When it ended, they remained close for a while longer, sharing warmth until the day finally demanded their attention.
—
After so ti, Erend stepped out of Aurdis’s chamber and made his way down the corridor.
He entered the room where Aesa stayed.
Aesa already stood near the window, staring out with her usual flat and cold expression.
"Are you ready to go?" Erend asked as he closed the door behind him.
"Yes," Aesa answered curtly. She turned to face him. "How long do you think this peace will last?"
The question caught Erend off guard. He did not want to think about when disaster would co again.
"I hope for a long ti," he said after a mont, forcing a small smile. "Honestly, I hope no danger appears again."
Aesa did not return the smile. Her gaze stayed steady on him.
"You know that’s not possible. The Void Architect... and their creations, are still out there."
Erend sighed. She was right. There were still problems they could not solve. Forces they barely understood behind everything Zerathul had brought to them.
But he looked away, choosing not to dwell on it.
"Not today," he said quietly.
)))
Aesa studied him for a mont longer. She could feel his reluctance, the way his mind turned away from the subject instead of confronting it, and she chose not to press further.
"Very well," she said simply.
She said nothing else, but the understanding lingered between them. Erend, Aesa, and Eccar all knew the truth. If danger rose again, if the Void Architect or its creations moved once more, they would feel it. Krono’s fragnted power remained with them now, a quiet awareness of threads stretching forward through ti.
Aesa lifted her hand and began forming a portal. Light bent inward, space folding into a familiar circular shape.
"Aren’t you going to wait for Eccar?" Erend asked.
"No," Aesa replied without hesitation. "He will take a long ti before he wakes up."
She stepped toward the portal, then paused and glanced back at him.
"Give my thanks to the Elven kind," she said. "For everything."
Erend nodded. "I will."
Aesa stepped through. The portal closed smoothly behind her, leaving the room silent once more.
Erend let out a slow breath. Her words echoed faintly in his mind, brushing against thoughts he did not want to linger on. He shook his head, pushing them aside, and left the room.
—
Breakfast passed in a calr atmosphere than the days before.
King Gulben sat at the head of the table, his presence steady and composed as always.
Aurdis sat nearby, speaking quietly with Aerchon while Saeldir discussed preparations and tilines with practiced ease with the king.
Erend sat with Arty, Adrien, and Billy, listening more than he spoke.
The conversation drifted between their farewells, assurances that they will aid each other, and promises that bridges between worlds would remain open.
When the al ended, the mont of departure ca naturally.
Erend and the others gathered their belongings, exchanging final words with those who remained behind.
Aurdis stood with Erend a little apart from the rest, her expression calm but thoughtful.
"Co back again soon," she said.
"I will," Erend replied, eting her gaze. "I promise."
Arty hugged her next, followed by brief farewells from Adrien and Billy.
King Gulben offered them his blessing, and Saeldir gave a small nod of respect.
Soon after, the portal was opened.
With one last look at the Elf Palace they stepped through together, returning to their own world, carrying both the weight of what had ended and the quiet certainty that sothing else still waited ahead and they would need to gather again soday.
—
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