The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, and the city of Alinthor shone like a dream drawn from stardust and song.

  The ceremony had begun.

  Candles floated freely above the cobbled walkways, carried by gentle enchantments. Flower walls arched between buildings, thick with fresh blooms in every shade of silver, lavender, and sapphire. Banners stretched overhead, swaying softly in the wind, dyed with shimmering paints that caught and bent the light like falling rain.

  There was laughter everywhere. Laughter and music and warmth.

  Nyx stood at the edge of the celebration, near the shadowed mouth of an alley, half-wrapped in the folds of her silver cloak. Her dress moved with the wind like mist—graceful, fluid, otherworldly. The veil over her eyes remained undisturbed, as always.

  No one dared ask her to remove it. Not after earlier.

  Not tonight.

  She listened. That was enough. The sounds of joy spilled from the square, people moving in time with the gentle rhythms of the musicians, their shoes tapping against stone and soft silk brushing through lanternlight.

  She breathed in deeply, catching the scents that swirled together in the air: the faint spice of cinnamon-glazed fruit, warm blossom-fried fish, the sweet herbal perfume of moonrose elixir.

  All of it was real.

  And it was hers.

  Her work.

  Her vision.

  Everything she had poured herself into—every page of planning, every stubborn meeting, every late night in the library with only Uriel’s silence to accompany her—it was all here now.

  Alive.

  She stepped forward slowly, her boots nearly soundless against the stone. People turned as she passed. Their gazes followed her—not with the harsh suspicion they once held, but with quiet awe.

  “She’s the one,” someone whispered.

  “The human with silver hair.”

  “The one who made this.”

  None of it startled her anymore. She simply walked. Calm. Unapologetic.

  The silver threads in her gown caught the lanternlight as she moved, reflecting subtle moon-glow with every step. No one spoke to her directly. They only watched, as if unsure whether to treat her as an honored guest or ghost.

  It didn’t matter.

  She had never done this for attention. She didn’t need their words.

  But in their silence, she heard something different now.

  Respect.

  Maybe not from everyone.

  But enough.

  Nyx had taken a moment for herself.

  She stood near a quiet corner of the plaza, slightly removed from the crowds. Her hands rested loosely at her sides, her breath steady. The music felt distant here, like a memory drifting through water.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  The light from the floating lanterns spilled across her veil, softening the edges of her features. No one disturbed her.

  She thought of Till.

  She thought of the way he used to laugh with his whole body, of how he used to carve little wooden charms and toss them to children as they passed. Of how he would’ve teased her if he’d seen her dressed like this, dancing like this.

  She could almost hear him now—telling her she’d gone soft, calling her “Lady Nyx” in that mocking voice that never managed to be cruel.

  She smiled, just barely.

  “I hope you’d be proud,” she whispered.

  Her thoughts drifted further—back to Tivera.

  To the quiet forest trails, the days spent with the constellations, and the aching silence that followed its destruction.

  This ceremony, this night—it wasn’t just about fulfilling a Will.

  It was about reclaiming something.

  Her path forward wasn’t clean or simple. But it was hers. And she’d keep walking it.

  For Till.

  For Drac and the others.

  And for the future she refused to let it be taken from her again.

  A soft rustle of silk came from behind her.

  “There you are.”

  Nyx turned her head toward the voice. “I wasn’t hiding.”

  Lorienna laughed lightly as she stepped to her side, her own gown gliding over the stones in long, flowing waves. Her hair gleamed under the lanterns, golden chains catching the firelight.

  “Well, I searched for you like you were,” she said, folding her arms. “It’s your celebration, you know.”

  “I think it belongs to the people,” Nyx murmured.

  “They’re just the guests. You’re the maker.”

  Nyx tilted her head slightly. “Are you always this dramatic?”

  Lorienna smirked. “Only when you’re being too humble to function.”

  The crowd ebbed and flowed around them like a tide, giving them a wide berth but never pulling too far away. Musicians played at the far end of the plaza, stringed melodies echoing softly beneath the canopy of magic-lit vines. The food stalls were busy but not frantic, and the scent of fresh honey cakes wafted on the wind.

  Nyx let herself listen for a long moment.

  “It turned out,” she said quietly. “Exactly as I imagined it.”

  Lorienna bumped her shoulder. “I told you it would.”

  “You didn’t know.”

  “I had faith.”

  Nyx paused, then turned her face slightly toward her. “Thank you.”

  Lorienna blinked, caught off-guard by the sincerity. “For what?”

  “For dragging me into all of this. For not letting me disappear.”

  “You’re welcome,” Lorienna said, softer now. “Though let’s be honest, you never really disappear. You’re too stubborn.”

  Nyx gave a faint smile, nearly invisible beneath her veil.

  Lorienna straightened suddenly, that spark in her eyes unmistakable.

  “Come on,” she said, already reaching for Nyx’s hand. “We’re dancing.”

  Nyx hesitated. “It’s been a while.”

  “You’ll manage.”

  “I’m out of practice.”

  “And I’m not,” Lorienna replied, flashing a grin. “I’ll carry us through if I have to.”

  Nyx sighed, letting her fingers rest in Lorienna’s. “You’re determined to make me regret this, aren’t you?”

  “I’m determined to make you have fun.” She tugged gently. “Now move your feet.”

  The main square was glowing brighter now.

  Candles floated just above head height, drifting gently in the breeze, casting golden halos over the masked dancers below.

  Musicians played a lilting melody that shimmered in the air like the music itself was made of silk.

  Lorienna dragged Nyx into the soft chaos.

  People parted without a word. Some smiled. Some simply watched.

  A few bowed as they passed.

  Nyx did her best to ignore it.

  The music playing was smooth, familiar. Something elegant and flowing—not too fast, not too formal. It invited movement, not perfection.

  Nyx stepped onto the open circle with Lorienna, her posture straightening instinctively. The rhythm entered her steps before she had time to second-guess them.

  Her hands found their place. Her weight shifted just right.

  She wasn’t stumbling.

  But she wasn’t gliding either.

  Rust clung to her like fog, light but noticeable.

  Still—the steps were there. Her body remembered. Her feet moved in quiet patterns, long held dormant.

  “You’re doing fine,” Lorienna murmured, voice just above the music.

  Nyx didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.

  Each motion was smoother than the last. A turn. A soft step. A pivot. Her muscles warmed with the rhythm, and the rust began to fall away.

  Around them, the music continued.

  The lights grew brighter.

  And the night—her night—moves forward in perfect rhythm.

  Not because it was perfect.

  Not because everyone accepted her.

  Not even because she wanted to be the center of it.

  But because she had created something that couldn’t be ignored.

  And now, it lives.

  In the laughter.

  In the music.

  In the gold calligraphy and the floral walls and the sweet scent of moonleaf wraps drifting through the air.

  She didn’t belong here.

  Not really.

  But tonight—she did.