Morning light had fully claimed the treehouse by the time Ed climbed back up the rope bridge.
His shirt clung damply to his back, streaked with drying blood and soot from the dragon's scales.
The smell of iron and char had soaked into his skin. He could taste it on every breath.
His hands—despite a quick rinse in a nearby stream—still carried the faint stickiness of work done.
Yet when he stepped onto the platform and pushed open the door, the scent that greeted him was clean and warm:
Fresh bread.
Brewing tea.
The soft sweetness of honey.
Tia stood at the small stove, back to him, stirring something in a shallow iron pan.
She had changed into a simpler linen shirt—sleeves rolled to the elbows—and tied her hair up with a thin green ribbon.
The morning sun caught the golden strands that had escaped, turning them into threads of light.
She didn't turn at the sound of the door.
But her shoulders relaxed a fraction, as though she had been holding her breath until she heard his footsteps.
"You're back," she said quietly.
"Told you I would be."
Ed closed the door behind him with a soft click.
"Corpse is dealt with. Most of it's in storage now. The rest… well, the forest will take care of what's left."
Tia finally turned.
Her eyes flicked over him—blood-streaked shirt, dirt on his forearms, the faint tension still lingering in his jaw.
She didn't comment.
Instead, she crossed the room, took a clean cloth from the table, dipped it in a basin of water, and began wiping the worst of the grime from his hands.
"You smell like a battlefield," she murmured.
"Feel like one too."
He let her work, watching the careful way her fingers moved—gentle, practiced, familiar.
"You didn't have to cook."
"I wanted to."
She finished with his hands, folded the cloth, and gestured toward the table.
"Sit. Before you fall over."
Ed obeyed without argument.
The chair creaked under him.
On the table waited two plates: thick slices of dark bread still steaming from the oven, a small jar of honey, a wedge of soft cheese, and a pot of tea that smelled faintly of mint and elderflower.
Simple. Perfect.
Tia sat across from him. Poured tea into both mugs. Pushed one toward him.
For a few minutes, they ate in companionable silence.
Bread tore with a soft crack. Honey dripped golden onto the plates.
The tea warmed Ed from the inside out, loosening the knots that had been there since the dragon's roar shook the tree.
When the first edge of hunger had dulled, Tia set her mug down and looked at him steadily.
"Tell me about the skill," she said.
Ed paused mid-bite.
"Which one?"
"The one you got after the hundredth expulsion. The single-use one. You've been carrying it like a secret ever since you arrived."
He lowered the bread slowly. Wiped his fingers on the edge of the tablecloth.
"I haven't decided what to call it yet," he admitted.
"The crystal didn't give it a name—just the knowledge of what it does. One time only. No take-backs."
Tia waited.
Ed met her eyes.
"It rewrites a single moment. Any moment. Past or future. I can reach back—or forward—and change one decision, one action, one breath. Everything that flows from that point reshapes itself around the new reality. But only once. And whatever I change… I have to live with the consequences. Forever."
The words hung between them.
Tia's breathing had gone very still.
"You could go back," she whispered.
"To the day you were expelled. Stop it from happening."
"I could."
"Or to the day Alexis sent me away. Stop him from using the crystal on me."
Ed nodded once.
Tia's fingers tightened around her mug until her knuckles paled.
"Or to the moment Okasa and Alexis died. Be there. Fight with them. Maybe—"
"Maybe," Ed said softly.
"But every change ripples. If I save them, maybe the demon lord wins. Maybe the world burns longer. Maybe you never plant these trees. Maybe we never sit here eating breakfast together this morning."
Tia looked down at her plate. A small piece of bread sat untouched, honey glistening on its surface.
"I keep thinking," she said after a long silence, "about what Alexis said right before he crushed the crystal. 'A hero can't abandon his companions to save himself.' He chose dignity over survival. Over the world's hope. Over everything we'd fought for."
Her voice cracked on the last word.
Ed reached across the table. Covered her hand with his.
"He was wrong," he said quietly.
"And he was right. That's what made him Alexis."
Tia's eyes shimmered. She turned her hand palm-up and laced her fingers through his.
"I don't want you to use it," she said suddenly.
"Not for me. Not to fix what's already broken. I've spent ten years learning how to live with what happened. I don't want to erase that. I just want… more time. With you. Here. Now."
Ed's throat closed.
"Then that's what we'll take," he said.
"One day at a time. No rewriting. Just living."
Tia exhaled—a long, trembling breath—and leaned forward until her forehead rested against his.
"Promise me," she whispered.
"No matter how bad it gets—no matter how much you want to fix things—you'll talk to me first. Before you decide to burn the world down to save me."
Ed closed his eyes. Breathed her in—mint tea, honey, cedar, and the faint lingering trace of last night's magic.
"I promise," he said.
Outside, the forest stirred—birds calling, leaves rustling, the slow drip of last night's blood finally drying into the earth.
Inside, two people sat with their foreheads touching, hands clasped across a scarred wooden table.
For the first time in a very long while, the future felt like something they might actually reach together.