Twenty-five years after breaking the curse, Brother Ignatius appeared at Rhys and Liam's home.
"I have a message," the monk said. "From Pryce. Through the Void Lord."
Rhys tensed. "I thought we were done with all that."
"This is different. He's asking permission to send you something. Not a letter—he knows that would be inappropriate. Just... an offering. A gift with no expectation of response."
"What kind of gift?"
"A painting. The only thing he's created in twenty-five years of isolation. He wants you to have it. But only if you consent to receive it."
Rhys looked at Liam, who shrugged. "Your call."
After a long moment, Rhys nodded. "Okay. I'll accept it. But that's it. No communication after."
"Understood."
The painting arrived a week later, delivered by supernatural means—it simply appeared in Rhys's studio one morning.
It was small. Simple. Nothing like the elaborate works Valerian had created in life.
It showed a meadow at twilight. In the foreground, a figure—gender ambiguous, face turned away—walked toward the distance where golden sunrise was beginning to break. Behind them, in shadow, another figure knelt—clearly letting them go.
At the bottom, in Pryce's elegant script:
Thank you for the sunrise. —V
Rhys stared at it for a long time.
"It's beautiful," Liam said quietly, appearing behind him. "Sad, but beautiful."
"He's finally letting go," Rhys realized. "Really letting go. Not because he has to. Because he understands that's what love actually means."
"Does that change anything? How you feel about him?"
"No. But it... closes something. The last question of whether he could actually change. This is proof that he has. At least a little."
Rhys hung the painting in his office—not prominently, but where he could see it when he worked. A reminder that even monsters could grow. That justice and mercy didn't have to be opposing forces.
That sometimes, the hardest thing to do was also the most compassionate.