The city slept, but not peacefully.
It was the kind of rest that came after surviving a storm—windows still rattling in memory, nerves slow to loosen. Lanterns burned later than usual. Voices stayed low. Even the wind felt careful, as if afraid to disturb whatever fragile balance had returned.
Aiden sat on the edge of a rooftop, legs dangling over the stone, watching the glow of the city stretch out beneath him. The lights blurred together into something almost gentle. Almost.
Seris joined him without announcement.
She didn't ask. She didn't hesitate. She simply sat close enough that their shoulders touched and stayed there, gaze fixed on the streets below. For a while, neither of them spoke.
The silence wasn't awkward.
It was earned.
"I've seen cities recover before," Seris said quietly. "After wars. After disasters. This feels… different."
Aiden nodded. "Like it knows something went wrong. Even if it doesn't know what."
She smiled faintly at that. "You sound like someone who spends too much time thinking."
He huffed softly. "Occupational hazard."
Another pause.
"You did well today," Seris said.
Aiden frowned. "I don't feel like I did."
She turned slightly, studying him. "Most people who do the right thing don't."
That surprised a small laugh out of him. "Is that experience talking?"
"Unfortunately."
He stared at his hands. "I was scared. Not just of dying. Of… messing everything up."
Seris rested her elbows on her knees. "So was I."
That simple admission loosened something in his chest.
"Good," he said quietly. "I was worried it was just me."
She laughed softly, the sound tired but real. Then, without ceremony, she leaned her head against his shoulder.
Aiden froze for half a second—exactly long enough to consider overthinking it.
Then he didn't.
He let himself stay still, let the warmth settle, let the world be small for once. No wishes. No disasters. No lessons written in blood and consequence.
Just two people sitting on a roof, sharing the quiet that comes after surviving something terrible.
Below them, the city breathed.
---
Elsewhere, Liora stood with her arms crossed, staring at Inkaris.
Not accusing.
Not angry.
Searching.
"In the cathedral," she said carefully, "something happened to me."
Inkaris regarded her with calm interest. "Several things happened to everyone."
She shook her head. "No. I mean… before it ended. When the ritual was at its worst."
Her fingers curled into her sleeves. "I should have collapsed. I felt like I was going to. And then it stopped. Like something stepped in."
Inkaris was quiet for a moment.
Not because he didn't know the answer.
Because he was choosing which truth to give.
"I didn't do that," she added quickly. "At least… I don't think I did."
"No," he said evenly. "You didn't."
Liora swallowed. "Then what did?"
He gestured slightly. "Tell me what you felt."
She hesitated, then closed her eyes. "Pressure. Heat. Like something was wrong in a way my body understood before my mind did." She opened her eyes again. "And then it eased. Like a hand on my back. Steadying me."
Inkaris nodded once.
"That ritual was an offense," he said. "Not just morally. Structurally. Faith was being forced into a shape it cannot hold."
"That doesn't explain why it hurt me more."
"No," he agreed. "It doesn't."
"Then explain."
Inkaris met her gaze. "Some souls are more sensitive to divine distortion than others."
She frowned. "That sounds like a dodge."
"It's an incomplete truth," he corrected. "Not a lie."
Liora exhaled sharply. "And the protection?"
"You were shielded."
"By you?"
"No."
That made her stiffen. "Then who?"
Inkaris' lips curved faintly. "Someone with a vested interest in certain… legacies not being disgraced by mortal ambition."
Her heart skipped. "That sounds important."
"It is."
"Should I be worried?"
He considered. "Not yet."
She snorted. "You're terrible at reassurance."
"Yes."
She studied him again, quieter now. "Am I… dangerous?"
"No," Inkaris answered immediately.
She relaxed—until he continued.
"You are capable."
That landed harder.
Liora nodded slowly. "Thank you. For telling me something."
"You survived," he replied. "That earns partial explanations."
---
Later, Inkaris stood alone, looking out over the city.
He watched Aiden and Seris from a distance—close, gentle, unaware of how fragile the moment was.
He watched Liora retreat inward, turning over questions that did not yet have names.
And beneath it all, he felt the cost he had paid.
Quiet.
Unspoken.
Waiting.
Inkaris folded his hands behind his back.
Tomorrow would come.
And with it…
answers.
Or at least, better questions.
---