In Salomi's consciousness, her new mythological name still resonated.
The Echo Weaver.
The Mirror Judge.
It was not just a title.
It was a second birth.
A rewriting of her place in the world's history.
With this name, she had changed nature.
But immediately, another thought took shape—heavy, human, essential:
— And for Arcane… and for her mother? Should I… leave them here? Or… free them?
Morlük, watching from silence, gave that strange slight smile that only gods possess—a mixture of irony and absolute understanding.
— Remarkably… what they have become no longer disturbs the gods.
Neither their hybrid existence.
Nor their form.
Nor their right to be.
He tilted his head slightly, as if it were a natural truth.
— They have already paid a price no divine punishment could surpass.
Salomi breathed deeply, without even realizing it.
— Then I know what remains for me to do.
She reopened her eyes—leaving the inner space—and turned toward Arcane and Zara, still entwined.
The entire world of Limbo seemed to hold its breath.
Millions of formless, opaque, fractal creatures waited—prostrated.
This world no longer belonged to Saï.
It belonged to Salomi.
The laws, the forms, the limbal identities—everything bent beneath her presence.
She could have kept this domain.
Added it to her legend.
Made it a kingdom in her name.
But she looked at Arcane.
This child born of a fault she did not commit.
This daughter who had begged, screamed, persevered, then was broken.
And she looked at Zara.
This mother who had accepted erasure rather than abandonment.
Then Salomi spoke—with a softness that could never be mistaken for pity:
— This world… will be yours.
Arcane lifted her eyes, trembling.
Zara, silent, brought a hand to her mouth, as if struck by the inconceivable.
— Its laws, its forms, its memory, its creatures.
Everything now belongs to you.
You do not have to return up there.
You do not have to submit to those who rejected you.
She laid down this realm as one lays a child in a mother's arms.
With care.
With finality.
The Limbo shivered.
The creatures collapsed even lower, acknowledging two new sovereigns.
For the first time since her birth, Arcane felt…
She was no longer a "half" something.
She was whole.
Zara took her daughter's hand, and they both bowed before Salomi—not out of submission, but with deep, heavy, unforgettable gratitude.
— Salomi… said Zara, her voice broken.
You have repaired what even the gods abandoned.
Arcane added, eyes still shining:
— One day… I will go free father. I want… to find him again.
Salomi simply nodded.
— Go where your heart leads.
My role is not to prevent, but to make possible.
Her mission here was finished.
She turned—and tore herself away from the world of Limbo.
The surface of the real cracked before her, like a door only she could open.
And when she emerged into the World of Myths…
Her brothers awaited her.
They saw that she was not broken.
That she was not marked.
That she was greater than before.
They felt her new name—even without her speaking it.
They welcomed her with pride, respect, and profound silence, as one greets a being returned from shadow with the fire of the world in their hands.
Salomi breathed.
She was finally ready—
—to return home.
In the world of existence, in a Garden, in the place where it all began for Sakolomi and her brothers and sister, Amu cared for her sacred flowers. Her hands brushed pale gold petals, absorbed in crafting a new healing infusion. The air was soft, crossed by a silent wind carrying ancient scents.
Then something made the surface of the world waver.
She raised her eyes.
In the distance, four silhouettes slowly advanced on the white stone path. Light surrounded them, as if the sky itself held its breath. Amu squinted… her heart stopped.
— No… she whispered. No, it can't be… tell me I'm dreaming…
She stood still, the flower still in her hand, unable to breathe. The silhouettes drew closer, and finally the faces took form.
Sakolomi.
Bakuran.
Salomi.
And the one she had not seen for nine long years.
Bakuzan.
Amu stepped forward a few paces, as if pulled by an invisible thread. Her eyes trembled. Her breath broke.
— Bakuzan… is it… really you?
Bakuzan didn't find the words at once. His lips trembled, then he smiled—a fragile smile, heavy with fatigue, regret, and lost years.
— Yes, mother… it's me.
Amu brought her hand to her mouth, then gently placed it against her son's cheek. Her gaze filled with a soft and terrified pain.
— It's been almost nine years, my son. Nine years since you disappeared without a word. Do you have any idea… of the worry that has gnawed at me? Of the void you left?
Sakolomi, Bakuran, and Salomi bowed their heads.
The silence weighed like a whole night.
Bakuzan closed his eyes. Tears came.
Not loud tears.
Silent tears.
The kind that burn inside.
— I… I meant well, mother…
Amu stepped back slightly, joining her hands over her chest, her voice trembling.
— Meant well? To do well, you had to abandon us? Make us believe you were dead? That you were suffering somewhere without us? You broke your own heart… and ours with it.
Bakuzan stifled a sob.
So did his brothers and sister.
Then Amu came closer still, more gently than the light.
She caressed his cheek as when he was a child.
— What hurts me most is not your leaving.
What hurts me is imagining the loneliness you carried all this time. Because I know, Bakuzan. I know you all better than anyone. I am your mother.
The suffering you endured… it's exactly what you left us.
The ground seemed to give way under their feet.
Bakuzan finally broke.
And his body, so hard, so strong, bent under the weight of years of guilt.
— Mother… sorry… I'm so sorry…
Amu wrapped him in her arms. Then she opened her arms to the other three.
— Come. You too, Salomi. Sakolomi. Bakuran. All four of you. Come.
They fell against her, as if the whole world tightened around a single heart.
Tears. Breath. Old jealousies. Silent solitudes.
All dissolved.
— I love you… I love you more than gods, more than worlds, she whispered.
Never make me suffer like that again.
They stayed there a long time, embraced.
A lost family, finally reunited.
Under the mythic flowers that wept with them.