Lior emerged from the dispersing crowd, his new cloak settling around his shoulders with each step. Cel’s attention shifted, grateful for the interruption.
Lior’s parents turned immediately. Their focus transferred from Cel to their son with the particular intensity of people confirming that someone was truly alive and whole after thinking they might lose them.
His mother’s hands reached out, touching the cloak’s fabric with tentative fingers. “This is what the Moon Goddess gave you?”
“It’s an armor,” Lior said. His voice carried pride mixed with residual shock. “Sacred grace. With a trait that helps me avoid notice.”
His father circled slowly, examining the cloak from different angles.
Cel used the distraction to step back. To put distance between himself and the gratitude that still pressed against his chest like a physical weight.
“We should check on the hut,” Lior said after his parents finished their inspection. His gaze cut toward Cel, including him in the suggestion.
“Good idea.”
They moved through streets that had transformed overnight from familiar paths into something foreign. Debris scattered everywhere - splintered wood, torn fabric, abandoned possessions that nobody had retrieved yet. Other residents moved with similar purpose, heading toward their homes to assess damage.
Then Cel’s attention caught on a figure.
Sylvaine sat in the middle of the street. Cross-legged, spine perfectly straight, hands resting palm-up on her knees.
Her eyes were closed. Her breathing had fallen into a rhythm that looked deliberate - measured inhales and exhales that matched some internal count. The exhaustion that had marked her features earlier remained visible in the paleness of her skin, the shadows beneath her eyes. But something about her stillness suggested active work rather than simple rest.
Cel had seen this before. Hestia sitting exactly like this in quiet moments between training sessions. A meditation pose, but not for clearing the mind.
For recovering divine energy.
His gaze swept across the area. Other students had found similar positions scattered throughout the village. Not many - perhaps three or four visible from where he stood. But enough to establish a pattern. All of them were Life Chosen, he realized.
They were replenishing their divine energy. Using the environment to restore what they’d spent during the night’s fighting.
Cel’s attention tracked across the village with new understanding. Residents moving between damaged homes. Students helping with repairs. The forest pressing close beyond the gates, trees and undergrowth thick and vital.
For Life Chosen, this was probably an ideal environment. Being surrounded by living things, their divine energy would return steadily.
The thought turned his attention inward, seeking the sensation he knew he wouldn’t find.
Cel tried to feel for any difference. Any indication that his repeated use of Frostmark had depleted something internal that now needed restoration.
But he felt nothing beyond ordinary exhaustion.
Even the pain from using his authority had vanished. Sylvaine’s healing had erased that along with his other injuries, leaving him whole and functional.
A familiar frustration built in his chest.
“Cel.” Lior’s voice cut through his internal assessment. “Are you alright?”
Cel blinked, realizing he’d stopped walking. Lior stood perhaps three steps ahead, sky-blue eyes carrying concern.
“Yes, I’m fine.” Before Lior could press, Cel tilted his head toward Sylvaine’s motionless figure. “You used your authority last night too. How are you feeling?”
Lior’s expression shifted. His hand came up, pressing against his chest in an unconscious gesture. “Drained. Like... like there’s a well inside me that got emptied.”
“What about you? How do you feel?”
“I’m fine.” The words came easier this time. Practiced deflection that didn’t technically lie while avoiding the truth.
Lior’s eyes widened. “Really? You must really have a huge divine energy pool.” His tone carried undisguised envy. “I wish I’d been born with that too…”
The assumption landed with uncomfortable weight. A huge pool. Cel almost laughed.
“The Moon Goddess will expand your pool if you master divine energy use. That’s what Esrin taught us, remember? About ascending to the next stage of being a Chosen.”
Lior’s expression brightened, then dimmed just as quickly. “That’s easier said than done.” His hand drifted to his chest again.
“It takes time.” The words came out steadier than Cel felt. The conversation had moved off him, which was what he wanted, but it left a sour aftertaste. He’d just handed Lior a hope he had no way of testing himself.
He let the silence settle and started walking again. Lior fell into step beside him, and they continued toward the hut.
The structure materialized through the morning haze. Still standing, which immediately set it apart from most of the village’s homes. But damaged. Visibly, unmistakably damaged.
Holes gaped the walls. One where Cel had been thrown through during the initial impact. And more where the Skullcharger had charged through. Splintered wood framed the openings, edges jagged and raw. The roof had held, though sections sagged where supports had been compromised.
Lior slowed until he came to a halt just short of the broken doorway. His gaze tracked across the destruction, expression tightening with something that went deeper than concern about shelter.
This was his home. The place he’d grown up. Where his childhood had happened in whatever form it took before Cel got to know him. And now it bore wounds that marked how close they’d all come to losing everything.
“At least it’s still here,” Cel said, trying to comfort him.
Lior’s attention didn’t shift from the damaged walls.
“And you’re getting a new home anyway. A proper one. With real walls and a bed. Everything the merchant promised.”
“That’s true.” Lior’s father had approached from behind, his mother beside him. Both carried the practical acceptance of people accustomed to loss. “This place served its purpose. Our new home will be better.”
His mother moved to stand beside Lior, her hand finding his shoulder. “I just hope the merchant remembers his promise after...” She gestured vaguely toward the destroyed village. “After everything.”
“He will.” Lior’s father’s tone carried certainty. “He’s a businessman. His reputation depends on keeping his words.”
They stood in silence for a moment longer.
“We need materials,” Lior’s father finally said. “Branches and leaves to patch the holes. At least temporarily.”
“I’ll help,” Cel offered.
They moved as a group toward the village gate. Past other residents engaged in similar tasks - gathering materials, assessing damage, making decisions about what could be salvaged versus what needed complete replacement. The sounds of recovery had replaced the silence of grief. Hammering. Voices calling to each other. The scrape of debris being moved.
Beyond the gate, the forest waited. Unchanged by what had happened in the village. Trees stood in their patient formations, undergrowth thick between trunks, morning light filtering through leaves overhead in scattered patches.
The contrast struck Cel with unexpected force. Nature continuing regardless of human suffering. The same indifference that characterized the gods, maybe. Or just the reality that the world was larger than any individual tragedy occurring within it.
They worked methodically. Selected branches of appropriate size and flexibility. Gathered leaves that could be woven between wood to create barriers against wind and rain. Lior’s father demonstrated techniques he’d learned through years of maintaining their home - how to test branch strength, which leaves would hold up better, the proper thickness for effective patching.
The forest’s quiet felt almost holy after the chaos of the previous night. Birds called overhead. Small creatures rustled through undergrowth. Wind moved through leaves with sounds that had existed long before humans built villages in cleared spaces.
Cel’s blade bit into a green branch, and a bead of sap welled up at the cut. He stopped, watching it. The tree did not flinch. Above him, a dozen other branches kept reaching for the light as though nothing had been taken.
Sylvaine had sat in the street that morning drawing strength from places exactly like this. Life Chosen, serving the Life Goddess. He had never given her much thought. The Moon Goddess stood for honesty. He had learned that the hard way, and he trusted it more than he trusted anything else. But standing here, he wondered what the Life Goddess stood for. Peace, perhaps. Not stillness, since nothing in the forest was still. Everything here was growing, dying, feeding, and decaying in the same breath.
Yet none of it seemed to carry fear. The forest did not mourn what it lost. It simply made room for what came next.
Maybe that was what peace was. Not the absence of loss, but the willingness to let it pass through you without taking root.
Cel’s grip tightened on the branch until the bark bit into his palm. He wasn’t sure he believed it. Peace felt like a language he had never been taught.
But he understood, for the first time, why people prayed to the Goddess of Life.
They returned with arms full of materials.
The village had transformed during their absence. Not dramatically - the destruction remained obvious. But activity had replaced shock. Purpose had replaced paralysis. People moved with direction rather than wandering aimlessly.
Some residents were taking materials from collapsed homes. Salvaging usable wood, intact tools, anything that could be repurposed. Others had begun the grim task of claiming homes whose previous occupants wouldn’t return. Moving into structures that offered better shelter than their own destroyed dwellings.
Nobody protested these relocations. Practicality trumped sentiment when survival demanded it.
Lior’s father set to work on the holes. His weathered hands moved with practiced efficiency, weaving branches into frames that could be secured against the existing structure. Lior helped, following instructions, learning techniques he’d probably never needed before.
Cel assisted where directed. Held branches in position while they were secured. Passed materials when requested. The work was mindless enough that his thoughts drifted.
Days accumulated like this. Time marked by repetition rather than distinct events.
The instructors departed each dawn with their selected students. Scouted the surrounding forest in expanding circles, searching for any sign that creatures remained nearby. They returned each evening without having found evidence of continued threat. But the caution persisted. Nobody wanted to declare safety prematurely only to have another attack occur.
The remaining students helped the residents with repairs. Cel found himself patching roofs, clearing debris, reinforcing walls that had been weakened but not destroyed. The work was new and important, but it held a simplicity he appreciated. Clear objectives. Visible progress. No ambiguity about whether he was succeeding or failing.
Lior spent his nights sitting cross-legged outside. Attempting to recover his depleted divine energy through the meditation techniques taught at the Academy. But the process struggled. The moon remained barely present - still trapped in its thin crescent phase. The environment it provided was poor for Moon Chosen trying to replenish their reserves.
Cel kept him company during those nights. Pretended to also be recovering energy he didn’t possess.
The deception bothered him less than it probably should have. What else could he do? Explain to Lior that he was sitting there doing nothing while Lior struggled through actual recovery? That would require revealing his dysfunction. Would open conversations he had no desire to have.
So instead he sat in false meditation. Watched the village settle into nighttime quiet. Listened to Lior’s frustrated sighs when progress came too slowly.
The village improved incrementally. Roofs were patched. Walls were reinforced. Debris was cleared into organized piles that would be dealt with properly later. The physical scars began to fade, though the ones carried by the survivors remained visible in faces that had aged years in a single night.
Then, after what Cel estimated was roughly a week, Instructor Saren gathered the students.
Morning light painted the assembled group in shades of gold and amber. Faces that had grown familiar through shared labor looked back at her with varying degrees of exhaustion.
“The surrounding area is clear,” Saren announced. “We’ve found no evidence of creature activity. No tracks. No corruption signs. The immediate threat has passed.”
Relief rippled through the group, subtle but unmistakable.
“The imperial army will arrive within a few days to secure the region and see to the rebuilding. That work is theirs, not yours.” Her gaze moved across the assembled students. “Your task is the examination, and it has waited long enough. We depart tomorrow at dawn for Verdanthold. Prepare your equipment and say your goodbyes to the residents.”
The announcement settled over them with finality.
Around them, villagers who’d overheard the declaration showed mixed reactions. Relief that the students had stayed long enough to ensure safety. Sadness at losing the additional hands that had made recovery faster. Gratitude for protection that had saved those who remained.
Cel stood among the assembled students, Silent Moon’s absence at his side a reminder that combat could return without warning. That the next village might face similar attacks. That this cycle of destruction and recovery played out constantly across the Empire’s territory.
But for now, this particular chapter was closing.