Rhys stood in a different art gallery, showcasing a series called "After the Storm."
The paintings were bright—full of color and life and hope. No more darkness. No more gothic shadows. Just pure, joyful celebration of survival and growth.
Liam stood beside him, now his husband of three years, watching people admire the work.
"This one's my favorite," Liam said, pointing to a canvas showing two figures holding hands in sunlight. "You can feel the peace in it."
"That's us," Rhys said. "After everything. Just choosing each other in the light."
A collector approached, wanted to buy three pieces. Rhys agreed, felt pride in his work being valued.
This life—this normal, beautiful life—was everything the curse had tried to steal from him.
And he'd won. Against impossible odds, against three hundred years of obsession, against a cosmic entity that fed on suffering.
He'd won.
Later, at home, curled up on their couch with Dante purring between them, Rhys asked: "Do you think he's changed? Really changed?"
Liam didn't need to ask who. "Pryce?"
"Yeah. It's been five years. Do you think isolation and consequences actually reformed him?"
"I don't know. And honestly? It doesn't matter." Liam pulled him closer. "He's not our problem anymore. He's wherever the Void Lord put him, dealing with his own growth or lack thereof. We're here. Living. Happy."
"We are happy, aren't we?"
"Incredibly." Liam kissed his forehead. "You survived something that should have destroyed you. Built a life from nothing. Found love without possession or obsession. You're the strongest person I know."
Rhys smiled against his chest. "We're the strongest people we know. Because we chose healing over revenge. Chose growth over bitterness."
"Very wise."
"I have my moments."
They sat in comfortable silence, Dante purring, the apartment warm and safe and theirs.
Outside, life continued. No curses. No ghosts. No supernatural drama.
Just two people who'd found each other across lifetimes and finally—finally—got their happy ending.