Chapter Sixty-one— The Cracked Continent
It had been three days since Kael and Lira emerged from the ruins, and the desolate continent still offered no signs of peace. Their journey led them north, through broken plains and hollowed-out cities where the echoes of past battles haunted every wall. The land was scarred, not just physically — but in soul.
Kael leaned on his sword, now dulled by the travel, the white glow gone dormant.
"We need to stop," Lira said softly from behind, her long brown hair tied back, her robes covered in dust and dry wind. "You're barely healed, and the light inside you hasn't recovered since that last surge."
Kael gave her a look. "There's no time to rest. We need to see it all — every ruin, every survivor, if there's anyone left."
Lira sighed. "We're not chasing shadows anymore, Kael. Whatever was done to this land is finished. But healing it… that takes more than grit. It takes people."
They reached a ridge that overlooked what once had been The City of Halem, a coastal capital now reduced to a lifeless skeleton. Where towers once reached skyward, only broken spires remained, twisted metal and blackened marble scattered across the ground like a battlefield memorial.
Kael looked out, silent.
Lira approached him, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder. "You don't have to carry the whole world."
"I'm not," he answered. "Just what's left of it."
Their camp that night was set near the ruins of an old watchtower. The sky was oddly clear — the first time they'd seen stars since arriving on the continent.
"I used to think I'd settle down one day," Lira said as they sat by the small fire. "Find a quiet village. Open a healing school. Live a life without magic battles and political collapses."
Kael chuckled. "You? Quiet?"
She smiled faintly. "Well… maybe not too quiet."
A rustle in the distance broke the moment.
Kael stood quickly, sword drawn. Lira raised her staff, eyes glowing with soft green.
Out of the shadows came a group — no soldiers, no shadows — just people. Survivors.
A woman stepped forward, her arm around a limping child. "You're not part of the occupying forces, are you?"
Kael lowered his sword immediately. "No. We're from the Free Lands."
Tension broke in the air as the small group — barely twenty people — approached cautiously.
"Is it true?" the woman asked, her voice trembling. "The war's over?"
Kael hesitated. "The war's ended… for now."
Tears welled in the woman's eyes. "Then maybe we can begin again."
That night, they shared their fire. Lira healed wounds. Kael fixed what he could — armor, cloth, broken weapons. These weren't soldiers. Just farmers, traders, artists — people who had survived the end of a world and now were looking for a reason to believe again.
In the morning, Kael stood before them.
"This place — this land — it may be broken. But so are we. That doesn't mean we can't rebuild it, make it better than it was before."
They listened. And for the first time in a long time… they nodded.
As the days passed, word began to spread. More survivors emerged from the shattered corners of the continent. Kael and Lira helped them build camps, secure shelter, clear roads. They weren't leaders. They weren't royalty. They were just there. And that was enough.
One evening, Lira looked at the horizon and whispered, "The continent isn't dead. Just… resting."
Kael watched the faint bloom of green returning to one of the cracked hills. "Then let's wake it up."