The snow was finally melting.
Steam rose from the mountain slopes as warmth crept back into the veins of Elyndra.
The war drums had fallen silent for a time, and in the center of a small valley — surrounded by broken stone and glowing embers — stood a single cottage.
It wasn't divine, or elegant. It wasn't meant to be.
It was a house of laughter.
...
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of roasted meat and spiced wine. A crackling hearth painted the walls in orange light.
Morian Veyr stood at the center, shirt half-open, hair messy, laughing like a storm.
"Drink, you cowards! You found my home. Now drink, you rotten cabbages! You've fought demons, gods, and each other — and yet one mug of ale scares you?"
He slammed his tankard onto the table so hard that the plates jumped. The team laughed nervously.
Suvarn sat nearby, one hand over his face, trying not to smile. "It wasn't hard to reach your base, Morian. We just followed you. And you'll break the table."
Morian pointed dramatically at him. "Says the man who cracked river beds and turned water into lava! Don't give me that saintly face — you were a menace long before you started pretending to meditate."
Everyone laughed. Suvarn sighed. "You never change."
"Of course not," Morian said proudly. "Perfection doesn't evolve!"
Across the table, Deyr Kael leaned back, twirling his chain blades lazily, smirking. "I'll drink if you stop shouting."
Morian grinned. "Oh? The walking storm of sarcasm is tired of noise? Did you get old, Deyr?"
"Older than your jokes," Deyr muttered.
Morian roared with laughter, clapping him on the shoulder hard enough to make the cups rattle. "Still mouthy. Good. I was worried someone might've tamed you."
From across the table, Sera sipped her wine delicately. "Nobody could tame that one. Not even the gods."
Morian raised an eyebrow. "And yet, he's been following you around like a lovesick crow for days."
The table went silent. Deyr froze mid-sip.
Suvarn nearly choked. Kaenmor coughed discreetly into his cup.
Aria's jaw dropped.
Sera blinked, face flushing crimson. "Excuse me?"
Morian grinned wide, pointing at Deyr. "See? Look at that face. That's not chaos, sweetheart — that's panic. My man's drowning in emotions and pretending it's the rain!"
Deyr glared at him, cheeks tinged red. "You talk too much."
"Because you aren't talking enough," Morian shot back instantly. "I swear, half the reason you fight so well is to avoid conversation."
The whole table erupted in laughter. Even Sera laughed, hiding her smile behind her cup.
Kaenmor, calm as ever, sat near the fireplace with a small cup of tea — his idea of rebellion in a room of drunk legends.
Morian turned toward him dramatically. "And you! Don't think you can hide in your meditation pose forever."
Kaenmor smiled faintly. "I wasn't hiding."
"You were!" Morian roared. "You always hide behind words like 'balance' and 'tranquility.' What balance? The only reason you ever shut me up was by choking me with your damn wind!"
Suvarn snorted. "He's not wrong."
Kaenmor sighed, setting his cup down with exaggerated patience. "And yet, it worked."
Morian froze — then burst into laughter again. "Fair. You always were the clever one."
He leaned over to Aria, who was watching with quiet amusement. "You see, kid — this is what happens when immortals get bored. We start roasting each other for sport."
Aria laughed softly. "You all seem more… human than I expected."
Morian winked. "Because we are. Don't let the myths fool you — gods make weapons. We were the ones who decided to be people."
Hours passed in warmth and noise.
Coren tried to arm wrestle Suvarn and failed in under three seconds.
Lyra beat Deyr in a drinking contest, and he refused to admit defeat.
Sera made a face when Morian tried to teach her a bawdy song from his days in the northern camps.
And Kaenmor — somehow — managed to keep his cup full without drinking it once.
For the first time in weeks, there was laughter that didn't sound like defiance.
....
When the plates were empty and the fire burned low, the conversation turned softer — less teasing, more reflective.
Morian leaned back in his chair, the orange light catching his tattoos like glowing runes. "You know," he said, "people used to rank us."
"Rank?" Aria tilted her head.
"Yeah," Deyr said with a grin. "Class systems. Strength charts. Like power was a game."
Sera chuckled. "Sounds like the kind of nonsense Deyr would invent."
"I didn't," Deyr protested. "But I supported it."
Morian waved a hand. "You all remember how it went."
He held up a finger. "Deyr Kael — SS rank. Fastest, deadliest, most annoying. A man who could turn a battlefield into a carnival."
Deyr smirked. "You forgot handsome."
Morian ignored him. "Kaenmor Lyren — also SS rank. Not because of strength — no, no. Because he was the only one who could keep us from killing each other. The leader. The voice of reason. The wind that never stops blowing, even in silence."
Kaenmor inclined his head slightly. "A poetic exaggeration."
"An accurate one," Suvarn muttered.
Morian's grin widened. "Suvarn Eltar — S rank. Not because he's weak, oh no. But because he still believes strength should protect, not dominate. That's what makes him terrifying. A saint in a room full of sinners."
Suvarn rolled his eyes. "You make it sound like a flaw."
"It is," Morian said with a laugh. "That's why we love you."
He leaned forward now, eyes gleaming faintly in the firelight. "And then there were two."
Aria felt her breath hitch slightly.
"Morian Veyr," he said, spreading his arms with a mock bow, "and Dravon Valeis."
The room fell quiet. Even the fire crackled softer.
Morian smiled — not his usual grin, but something gentler.
"They called us the Legends. Class L."
Deyr spoke softly. "Because you two could have destroyed the world if you wanted."
Morian shrugged. "Destroying the world's easy. Keeping it alive — that's the hard part."
Silence lingered. The warmth in the air grew heavier, almost bittersweet.
Morian stared into his cup, the fire reflecting in his eyes.
"He used to sit right there," he said quietly, nodding toward an empty chair. "Always watching. Never talking unless it mattered. I'd make a joke, he'd pretend not to laugh. Then he'd say something that made me question the meaning of existence."
Kaenmor looked down. "He made all of us question it."
Morian chuckled softly. "Yeah. The Shadow always did that. That's why I liked him. Because he never bowed. Not even to me."
He looked up suddenly, eyes bright again, forcing the mood to rise. "But hey! Enough brooding — this is supposed to be a party, not a wake!"
He slammed his hand on the table, making everyone jump. "Now, where were we? Ah yes — roasting Suvarn for finally acting like a man!"
Suvarn groaned. "Please, not again."
"Oh, come on!" Morian said, pointing at him. "You've been all quiet and heroic for ages. You're what — a thousand years old? Time you stopped brooding and started living! Next thing you'll tell me you meditate before kissing someone."
Aria nearly choked on her drink.
Deyr burst into laughter, slapping the table. "He probably does."
Sera leaned in, grinning. "Suvarn, do you actually meditate before kissing?"
Suvarn turned crimson. "I—what kind of—?!"
Even Kaenmor was smirking now, sipping his untouched ale.
Morian roared, laughing until tears rolled down his face. "See? This is what I missed. Not the gods. Not the wars. This. Idiocy, friendship, and fire."
As the laughter settled, Aria found herself watching Morian quietly.
His grin was still there, but something behind it — an old ache — was undeniable.
When the others drifted into smaller conversations, she finally asked softly, "Do you miss him that much?"
Morian's laughter faded. He stared at the fire for a moment before answering.
"Every day."
He took a slow sip of his drink.
"You know what hurts most, kid? He didn't die. He just… left. Walked into the dark like he was going home. And I never asked why."
Aria hesitated. "Maybe you weren't supposed to."
Morian smiled faintly. "Maybe. But if he's out there — I'll find him. And when I do…"
He raised his cup, eyes shining like molten gold.
"We'll finish the fight we started. Two legends. One last round."
The others lifted their cups silently, the firelight flickering between them.
And in that brief, quiet moment — surrounded by laughter, warmth, and ghosts — they didn't feel like gods or heroes.
They just felt alive.