The first sunrise after Erantis was... different.
The sun rose slowly, as if it had forgotten how, and the air felt new — a newly created world.
Celine was the first to wake up. She was sitting on a stone, watching the horizon.
The golden glow of the sky reflected in her eyes, and for the first time in a long while, she looked calm.
"The flame has stabilized," she said, without looking at me. "The world is in silence. A good silence."
"It's been a while since we had one of those," I replied, still half-asleep.
"Keep it. Silence is rare."
I stood up slowly. The wind blew warm, but serene — and the sound of the campfire's embers resembled breathing.
The fire inside me pulsed in peace. It didn't demand, didn't call. It simply existed.
Vespera appeared wrapped in her blanket.
"Can someone explain to me why the sun now looks like a painting? Because if it's the end of the world, I want to be well-combed."
"It's not the end," Elara answered, smiling. "It's just the world breathing again."
"Oh, great. So we survived the apocalypse... again."
Liriel carefully put away the grimoire. "Technically, it wasn't an apocalypse. It was a rebirth."
"Rebirth is exhausting," Vespera retorted. "You have to deal with existential trauma, fatigue, and in my case, burned hair."
I laughed. "Still better than being dead."
"Depends on the point of view," she muttered, returning to her blanket.
We spent the day walking through the lands of Erantis, now covered with small green sprouts.
The crystals that once glowed with golden light began to lose their shine, becoming part of the soil.
The world seemed to be gathering itself again, as if it knew it could move forward without needing the fire to remind it to exist.
"The crystals are fading," Elara commented.
"Not fading," Celine corrected. "Resting. The fire has stopped being a wound. Now it is a living memory."
"So the balance returned," Liriel said.
Celine shook her head. "Balance is never fixed. It only dances between extremes. Today, it chose to rest a little."
"And what about us?" I asked.
Vespera raised an eyebrow. "Us what? Are we opening an inn? Writing a book? Becoming walking entities of advice?"
"We could try something simpler," I suggested. "Living."
She smiled. "You're starting to sound like an enlightened elder, you know?"
"It's the excess of philosophical trauma."
In the afternoon, we arrived at a small village near the hills.
The place was modest but alive. Children ran, blacksmiths worked, and the smell of fresh bread came from the stone oven.
Nothing supernatural, nothing heroic.
And that was exactly what felt miraculous.
An old man recognized us and approached.
"You're the travelers of the flames, aren't you?"
"That depends," I replied. "What do they say about them here?"
"That they returned the sun to the world."
Vespera leaned in and whispered: "I love how everything sounds more epic when people retell it incorrectly."
Celine smiled. "It doesn't matter what they say. What matters is that the world began to move again."
The man nodded, emotional. "Our fields have begun to bloom again. Thank you."
I didn't know what to say. I just nodded.
Being remembered, in that moment, felt like enough.
Later, at dusk, we helped the villagers light the lanterns.
Each one held a small golden flame — remnants of the fire of Nareth, now tamed and serene.
Children laughed as the lights rose into the sky, and the wind carried the glow slowly upward.
"It seems the fire learned how to play," Elara said.
"Or learned how to trust," I added.
Liriel watched me. "Do you miss him? Zephyron?"
"No."
I paused for a moment. "I mean... not like before. He's still here, but different. Quiet. I think he finally understood that he doesn't have to carry the world alone."
Celine placed her hand on my shoulder. "Neither do you."
I smiled. "I know."
The fire inside me glowed softly, as if confirming.
At night, the entire village gathered around a large bonfire.
The villagers told stories about the sun, about gods, and about heroes who spoke with fire.
Vespera whispered, "If they mention my name, I want royalties."
"I doubt they know how to pronounce it," Liriel replied.
Elara laughed. "They'll just say 'the explosive lady.' That's fame enough."
The music began, and Celine, for the first time, danced.
Slowly, with lightness.
The wind followed the rhythm, and the golden sparks rose, merging with the stars.
"I don't know if this is the end of one arc or the beginning of another," she said.
"It's the middle," I replied. "And the middle is the most alive place there is."
"Too philosophical," Vespera muttered. "Definitely trauma."
"Possibly," I agreed.
Later, when everyone was asleep, I stayed alone watching the fire.
The embers crackled softly, and the sound resembled a heartbeat.
The flame inside me pulsed in the same rhythm.
"Zephyron," I called quietly.
No immediate response. Only the wind, gentle.
Then, a soft whisper — almost a thought.
"Now I understand, Takumi. The fire didn't need a throne, only a home."
"Then rest," I murmured. "We'll take care of things here."
"Take care of each other," the voice replied, before fading completely.
I closed my eyes.
The warmth was pleasant, human.
At dawn, the village was still asleep.
Celine was sitting, reading. Liriel rested with the grimoire on her lap.
Elara and Vespera snored in impressive synchrony.
And the sun — the sun rose golden, steady, without hesitation.
I picked up a piece of charcoal and drew something on the ground: a small flame symbol inside a circle.
"To remember," I said to myself.
The wind blew, scattering the drawing, but the shape was still visible.
Maybe it was better that way — nothing eternal, but enough to be remembered.
Vespera woke up, blinking against the sun. "Where are we going now?"
"Wherever the path leads," I replied.
"Then I hope the path has a good inn at the end."
"With luck, yes."
Celine stood up. "The world will need time to adjust. But for now, it's safe."
"And us?" Elara asked.
"Us too," Liriel responded. "For the first time, I think we are too."
Before we left, I looked back.
The village, the fire, the sky — everything shone in soft tones, as if the entire world were breathing in relief.
The flame inside me lit up one last time, and I heard, for just an instant, the sound of laughter — the distant echo of the voices that once formed Zephyron.
Not as a farewell, but as a good memory.
I smiled.
"See you soon," I said to the wind.
And we moved on.
Without hurry, without a fixed destination.
Just the sound of footsteps, the warmth of the sun, and the quiet fire — the kind of flame that doesn't burn, only lights the way.