On the high outer wall of defense in Astoria, the tension that had held its breath across the battlements finally broke.
Archmage Adrius who were clad in long blue and silver robes embroidered with ancient runes stood tall at the edge of the rampart. His staff glowed faintly, attuned to the shifting tides of Magic far beyond the horizon that only he can see.
He let out a long sigh, his shoulders easing. Around him, the assembled Mages, knights, and city guards who had stood at attention for hours realised that.
The Archmage rarely showed emotion but now, relief radiated from him like the lifting of a storm cloud.
The soldiers looked at one another. No signal fires had been lit or any Magical flares in the sky. No screaming horrors crawling from the tree line. Just the breeze rolling gently from the forest's edge, carrying no danger with it.
One of the younger Mages approached hesitantly. "Archmage… is it over?"
Adrius didn't answer immediately. He turned his gaze toward the woods and gave a slow, knowing smile.
"Yes," he said at last with voice full of pride. "It's over. The forest is safe again."
More murmurs of disbelief and cautious joy spread across the wall. Another Mage spoke up.
"But how? There was no battle or sign of release or purification Magic. It just ended."
Adrius let out a rare and weathered laugh. "You want to know how? It's because they handled it."
"They?" someone echoed.
Adrius turned to them, eyes shining with something deeper than just satisfaction—something personal.
"The Dragonborn had handled the matter. They are my friends."
The moment he said it, it was as if the entire section of the wall froze.
"The Dragonborn?" a guard asked slowly, wide-eyed. "Like… from the old texts?"
"Yes," Adrius said proudly, folding his arms. "Those Dragonborn."
Confusion flickered across every face. They had heard of Dragonborn only in myths and ancient records passed down through dusty grimoires. That they still existed was one thing. That they were friends of their Archmage? That was something else entirely.
"But that can't be real," a Mage muttered. "Can it?"
Adrius smirked, then tapped his staff once against the stone floor. "Dismiss yourselves. Back to your posts. The crisis has passed."
Without another word, he lifted into the sky. His robes trailing a faint trail of silver as he soared over the city, heading toward the palace with a lightness in his flight.
Far to the northheast, in the heart of the Qomore Kingdom, the tension had also quietly unraveled.
Inside the throne room, afternoon sunlight spilled through the tall crystal windows and cast golden patterns on the marble floor. Standing beside King Roderic was a calm yet powerful presence watched the forest from afar through a massive arched window.
The Archmage of Qomore, a middle-aged woman draped in flowing green and brown robes, held a slender staff carved from living wood entwined with emerald veins.
Her name was Archmage Sylmira.
"It is done, Your Majesty," she said softly, her eyes fixed on the distant trees. "The god has fallen into peace again."
King Roderic let out a long steady sigh and sank slightly deeper into his throne, closing his eyes for a brief moment. "That's good."
But Sylmira didn't move. She remained. Her thoughts wandering elsewhere. A small private smile curved her lips.
"To think such a catastrophe could be resolved without fire or destruction and in such silence." She tilted her head slightly, watching how the light caught on the tree line.
Her thoughts drifted to the man Eccar.
She remembered the last time they met in this throne room. His power had felt different. Not just powerful but also older. She had sensed the more ancient power buried beneath his strength.
"I'd like to speak to him again," she murmured aloud, almost unconsciously.
King Roderic turned toward her. "What did you say?"
She offered him a composed smile and shook her head gently. "Nothing, Your Majesty. I'm just glad that the world still has a powerful guardians."
She resumed her place beside the throne, but her mind was already far away.
Dusk settled quietly over the forest, painting the canopy in hues of deep gold and muted violet. Shadows stretched long between the trees as the warm light faded, replaced by the soft coolness of evening.
Erend and Eccar walked at the front of the group. Behind them, the adventurers moved slower than before. Hund limped slightly, Thorne bore bruises across his ribs that still stung when he breathed too deep. Mark, Jan, and Kaela hid their injuries better, but even they looked worn and pale from exhaustion.
They had pushed themselves past their limits before the god had even appeared and now, the aftermath was catching up to their bodies.
As the light dipped further and the mist began curling at the forest floor again. But this was just a normal mist. Not the cold and thick mist before.
Kaela finally spoke. "We should stop soon."
Erend slowed his pace and glanced back. His gaze lingered on them all. He gave a simple nod. "Alright. Here's good."
They set to work quickly and quietly. Esther, Selene, and Annette whispered a few spells, summoning soft blue runes that kept the perimeter warm and repelled lesser beasts.
In no time, a modest campfire flickered to life in the center of their circle.
When morning came, it arrived gently.
Pale beams of sunlight pierced the canopy, glinting off the dew still clinging to the moss and leaves. The sounds of birds had returned as if the forest itself was regaining its voice one note at a time.
They stirred slowly. Wounds had not fully healed but the night's rest had returned some of their strength.
They moved out again. Not as swiftly or as confidently as before, but with no rush in their step.
There was no longer a need to hurry. The danger had passed. The land itself seemed to welcome them now.
The trees parted more easily, the paths clearer than before. Even the animals could be seen again in glimpses.
They took breaks often. Whenever someone stumbled or felt winded, they simply stopped and waited.
Finally, they can see the road that lead to Qomore kingdom.