The sun was rising with a crimson hue, bleeding gold across the armored city of Batangara. The aftermath of the tournament had left the capital buzzing, whispers of the Compiler's ancient magic still echoing through the minds of nobles and street fighters alike.
Ari stood at the edge of the platform that overlooked the central courtyard. His cloak fluttered in the wind, sleeves loose, silver threads gently resonating with the morning air. Beside him, a small boy stood nervously—his new apprentice, the child who had once scavenged the battlefield for scraps and found something far more precious.
Ari had given him a name now: Kael.
The boy held a scroll in one hand and a copper-threaded book in the other—his first tools in the language of Threads.
"I'll mess it up," Kael mumbled, eyes down.
"You will," Ari replied with a calm smile. "And then you'll fix it. That's how learning works."
Kael looked up. His eyes weren't wide with innocence anymore. There was a spark now. Unrefined, but bright.
"Thank you… for picking me."
Ari ruffled his hair. "I didn't pick you. You picked this path."
Theian was the first to arrive. Clad in an ornate traveling cloak the color of dusk, her dragons Ry and Unna coiled overhead like shadows cast by fate itself.
"You're really leaving," she said softly.
"I don't belong here forever," Ari replied. "But I'll carry what I learned with me."
Theian stepped close, and for the first time, she didn't hide behind ceremony or titles. "Ry and Unna told me your Thread isn't even of this world. That it predates our dragons. I don't think we've even scratched your surface."
Ari gave a quiet nod. "Maybe. But thank you… for trusting me with what you did. Your soul isn't empty, Theian. It's heavy. And it matters."
She touched her chest, where her dragons' soul-links glowed faintly. "Come back. Someday."
Hooven was leaning on a pillar nearby, arms crossed, a beast-thread glowing faintly around his neck like a rune brand. He smirked as Ari approached.
"You hit like a philosopher," Hooven said with a grin.
"And you punch like a stampede," Ari replied.
They laughed, and for a moment it felt like brothers from distant lands, reunited briefly before the next war.
"My beasts still echo your strike. The Forbidden One? It remembers you."
"Good," Ari said. "Let it."
They bumped fists. No other words were needed.
Vinny jumped onto the platform like a whirlwind, a scroll in one hand, her armor half-worn.
"You didn't think you could sneak off without saying goodbye to me, right?" she barked.
"I knew you'd be loud enough to find me."
She grinned and slapped a small trinket into his hand—a gear-shaped pendant etched with her summon threads.
"For luck," she said, "And to remind you that the next time we duel, I'm using all six suits and maybe even some new ones."
"I look forward to it."
Then she leaned in and hugged him—genuine, warm, fierce. "Stay alive, Compiler."
Gem was last. She stood leaning against a crate with one hip, arms crossed, chewing something that looked suspiciously like mana-crystal candy.
"You walk like you're heading into destiny," she said. "Real dramatic."
"I'm not trying to be," Ari said.
She tossed him a small black ledger. "My dad wanted to hire you as a battle analyst. I told him you'd probably explode his desk with ancient syntax."
Ari laughed.
Gem stepped closer. "...You saw the real me, Ari. Not a lot of people do. I appreciate that."
"I always saw you."
She looked away, muttered, "Dammit," and then thumped his shoulder like a bickering friend. "Don't die out there. I'll be pissed."
Keem was nowhere to be found. He was still passed out somewhere in a palace bed, snoring through the aftershocks of his pride and his drinks. Ari figured they'd talk again someday—when Keem was ready.
Theian, Hooven, Vinny, Gem, and Kael stood together as Ari turned.
He raised a hand.
Then he walked down the marble steps, the Compiler vanishing into the roads of Batangara.
Behind him, six threads of fate still shimmered—connected not by magic, but by memory.