The moon hung low over Batangara's high towers, casting gentle glows over the garden terrace behind the royal palace. The night was finally quiet, away from the roars of battle and celebration. The banquet had ended. Laughter faded, wine settled in silver cups, and the ancient marble beneath Ari's boots hummed faintly with residual enchantments.
He leaned against the stone rail, gazing out at the kingdom lit by torchlight and starlight. The air was cooler here, almost cleansing. And for the first time in days, he let himself exhale.
"You always this quiet after conquering half a kingdom's attention?"
The voice was unmistakable—Vinny. Her black hair caught the moonlight as she stepped beside him, her armored cloak swaying softly. She looked calmer now, her summons retracted into their latent forms, her usual energy replaced with a quieter, grounded presence.
Ari gave a soft smirk. "Only when it feels like the world's watching, and I'm still trying to stay invisible."
Vinny chuckled. "Bit late for that. You've got kings and dragons bowing to you."
They stood in silence for a while, letting the moment breathe.
Then, she spoke again, softer this time. "You ever think about where we come from? How weird it is that we ended up here?"
Ari glanced at her. "All the time."
Vinny pulled out a pendant from beneath her chestplate—a miniature fragment of obsidian wrapped in old-threaded chains. "My mother gave me this. Said it came from the first summon she ever bound. Said the stone carries the 'whisper' of its soul."
Ari looked at it carefully, sensing something faint—ancient but gentle.
"My bloodline… it's not noble," Vinny admitted. "We're traders. Guildborn. The kind that scrapes their way into the noble circles by trading relics, not names. People think I'm wild and reckless, but honestly? Every time I summon, I think about all the women in my family who fought to make sure I could stand on a battlefield as their equal."
Her eyes turned to him. "What about you? Who's Ari Solen when no one's watching?"
Ari paused. The question hung in the air, vulnerable.
"I was born far from here," he began slowly. "To a land where Threads didn't bend like they do here. My people… we didn't cast magic. We wove it. We didn't write syntax—we lived in it."
Vinny blinked. "You mean your magic system… is alive?"
"In a way," Ari nodded. "Our spells aren't spells—they're echoes of ancestors, old compilers. I carry their voices. Not instructions, but language. One not even this world remembers."
"And that's why Keem couldn't read it…" Vinny whispered, piecing it together.
Ari smiled, faintly melancholic. "Because it wasn't meant to be read. It's meant to be understood. Or felt."
There was another pause. This time, she stepped a little closer.
"That's beautiful," Vinny said. "And lonely."
"It is," Ari admitted.
She bumped his shoulder lightly. "Well, lucky for you—you've got a whole crew of weirdos now. Might not speak your language, but we get you."
He looked at her, genuinely grateful. "Thanks, Vinny."
And then she was gone, leaving Ari under the moonlight, the pendant's whisper still hanging faintly in the air.
Later that night, Ari found himself standing beneath a massive tree in the palace courtyard, its branches tangled like Threads themselves. There, resting on a stone bench, was Gem, her hands playing idly with one of her chain-bound gems—blue, sharp, and cold to the touch.
"You're not asleep?" Ari asked gently.
She didn't look up. "You always ask obvious questions like that?"
He smiled, taking a seat beside her, but not too close. Her presence always carried a storm behind the elegance. But tonight, she seemed... subdued.
"This place," she said, eyes on the stars, "reminds me of my father's halls. Not the marble. The silence."
Ari stayed quiet, letting her speak.
"My house has wealth. Power. But they don't understand me. My mother wanted me to marry into nobility. My father wanted me to run the trade empire. No one asked if I wanted to fight. If I wanted to make magic out of beauty."
She held the gem tighter. "These chains? They're not weapons. They're freedom. I built this system myself. Every gem I crafted, every syntax I wove—it's mine. Not inherited. Not bought. Mine."
Ari nodded slowly. "And in battle… you were magnificent."
That pulled a small smile from her. "You too, Compiler."
There was a long silence. Then she reached out, slowly, holding one of her smallest gems—a diamond.
"You left something in here. One of your spells. What was it?"
Ari gently touched it, the glow softening. "A mirror-thread. It won't attack. It won't defend. But it will reflect whatever magic you put into it. The more you believe in your spell, the more it responds."
She looked at him, eyes glittering. "You're giving me a piece of yourself."
"I'm giving you a spell that listens, Gem."
She closed her fingers around it. "Then I'll teach it to roar."
Ari wandered toward the stables, where royal mounts rested in slumber. But near the edge, by a flickering torch, Hooven sat on the ground, barefoot, staring at his hands. His muscles were bruised, the beast tattoos on his body glowing faintly even in rest.
"You're up?" Ari asked, stepping into the dim firelight.
Hooven gave a soft grunt. "Can't sleep. Too much pain."
"From the fusion?"
"From the memory," Hooven said quietly. "Every time I summon one of the Six, it brings back their soul. And their screams."
Ari frowned. "Your beasts... are they alive?"
"They were," Hooven whispered. "Each one is based on the essence of a real beast I hunted with my tribe. To tame them… I had to kill them. Then wear their memory as Threads."
There was sorrow in his voice. Deep, rugged, buried beneath years of pride.
"I thought becoming stronger meant carrying them with me. But now, the Forbidden One... that fusion... it hurts. Not just me. I think I broke something."
Ari knelt across from him. "Your body survived. That alone is a miracle."
"I'm not afraid of dying, Ari. I'm afraid they'll forget me. That my beasts... that my soul won't be remembered."
Ari looked him in the eye. "Then let me promise you something. You won't be forgotten. Not while I breathe. And not while your beasts still echo in the Threads."
Hooven stared at him, then gave a soft, guttural laugh. "You got a way with words, Compiler."
"I write with magic. It's my job."
They sat for a while longer, sharing the silence of old souls.
It was nearly dawn when Ari found himself by a secluded pond at the rear of the palace gardens. The mist hovered like breath, and there, seated on a polished stone with her legs tucked to her side, was Theian, draped in her royal-blue robe stitched with draconic glyphs.
"Couldn't sleep?" Ari asked.
She turned, her soft violet eyes glowing in the dark. "I'm Threadless, Ari. I always sleep lightly. It's the one thing that reminds me I'm not like the others."
Ari approached and sat beside her. "But you're linked to dragons. That's more than just Threads."
She looked at him, then at the rippling pond. "Ry and Unna… they've protected me since I was a child. But they weren't mine to begin with. I was chosen, not born to command them. It always made me wonder... Why me? I'm not powerful. I'm not loud. I'm just… Theian."
Ari tilted his head. "Maybe that's exactly why they chose you."
She looked at him, curiously.
"You don't wield them like weapons," he said. "You respect them. You carry the weight of their history like a song, not a chain. Dragons recognize hearts, not bloodlines."
Her breath caught. Then she laughed, softly. "You always say things that feel ancient. Like you're older than all of us."
Ari's smile faltered. "Maybe I am."
She leaned her head against his shoulder. Not romantic. Just quiet. Human. Like two worlds gently touching.
"Will you leave?" she asked after a long silence.
"I don't know yet."
"If you do… promise me you'll return. Even just once."
He didn't answer right away. But after a while, he whispered, "I promise."
And they watched the sunrise bloom over Batangara together, a kingdom breathing in peace—for now.