After a few days of trying to survive in this goddamn forest, we finally found the border. And happiness wasn't enough to express how we felt.

Sylas and Mira were the first to take off running, their excited laughter echoing through the trees.

"We made it! We freaking made it!" Sylas cheered, practically bouncing with every step.

"Come on, slowpokes!" Mira called over her shoulder, grinning. "You’re not gonna let us leave you behind after all we’ve been through, right?"

I let out a breathless chuckle, watching them sprint ahead like they hadn't just spent days struggling through this hellhole. My legs felt like lead, but the sheer relief of seeing the open land beyond the treeline pushed me forward.

"Give us a second, will you?" Kael huffed beside me, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Not everyone has boundless energy like you two maniacs."

Kaldor, despite his usual calm demeanor, couldn't hide the exhaustion in his steps. "I’d love to celebrate, but I think my legs have turned to stone," he muttered, his deep voice carrying traces of relief.

I inhaled sharply, forcing my aching body to keep moving. "Not gonna lie… I was starting to think we'd never get out of there."

Kael shot me a smirk. "Would've been nice to know that before I nearly got eaten alive back there."

I rolled my eyes. "Hey, in my defense, I was too busy making sure I didn’t drop dead from exhaustion."

Sylas stopped a few feet ahead, hands on her hips as she tapped her foot impatiently. "Are you three seriously gonna stand there and complain? The exit is right here! Move your asses before something decides we look like a good snack!"

That was all the motivation I needed. With one final push, I surged forward, following my friends toward freedom.

The sunlight spilled over open fields that stretched endlessly across the horizon. Wheat swayed like golden waves in the breeze, farm animals wandered lazily about, and the scent of freshly turned earth filled the air. I stopped in my tracks, feeling an unexpected tug at my chest—a nostalgic ache that reminded me of home. The landscape looked just like my old village, where I’d spent my early days, filled with simple comforts and warmth.

Kael clapped a hand on my shoulder, breaking me out of my thoughts. “Well, looks like civilization finally decided to show up,” he grinned. "Think they’ll have an inn with actual beds?"

"Or maybe some warm food that’s not dried meat?" Mira added with a hopeful gleam in her eye.

As we approached the village, the scene before us grew even more lively. Simple, sturdy houses with thatched roofs lined the streets, each one with a small garden or patch of vegetables outside. Children chased each other down dirt paths, laughing as they played games, their carefree joy reminding me of a time that seemed so far away now. I watched them dodge around livestock and stumble over their own feet, and for a moment, it felt like nothing in the world could be wrong.

Then, something else caught my eye. A series of statues stood in the village square—six figures, each carved from stone, though worn and covered with dust and moss. The statues were tall, and proud, and yet seemed to fade into the background, as if the villagers had grown used to them, or maybe even forgotten them.

I stepped closer, and my curiosity increased. Before I could take a closer look, an elderly woman with a warm smile hobbled over, leaning on her cane.

"Hello, young adventurers! What brings you to our humble village?" she asked, her eyes twinkling.

Kael stepped forward, flashing her one of his charming smiles. “We’re adventurers from the Rising Dawn party, ma’am. Just passing through, but it seems your village has quite the welcome.”

“Rising Dawn, you say?” she squinted at us, then laughed. “Not familiar with the name, but welcome all the same.”

Kael looked back at me, grinning. “Well, that’s one way to keep us humble.”

My gaze drifted back to the statues. “Ma’am, who are they?” I asked, nodding toward them.

She followed my gaze, and her face softened with a mixture of pride and sorrow as she looked at the statues. “Ah, you’ve noticed our Six Heroes,” she said, her voice hushed with reverence. “These are the ones who united the world during the Third Great War. Each one a leader of their people: the human, the elf, the beastkin, the drakonian, the sylphir, and the myrdian.”

I nodded slowly, studying each figure closely. They had an air of grandeur even beneath the dirt, and I couldn’t help but feel a rush of curiosity about who they were.

"The human is Haldric Valen," she continued, pointing to a tall, broad-shouldered figure with a long, noble sword carved at his side. His stance was powerful, even through the layers of moss, his gaze set forward with determination. "He led with both sword and wisdom, ensuring his people fought with honor."

Her hand shifted to a slender figure standing next to him, her delicate features softened by magic vignettes carved into the stone. "And Lyea Elarion, the elven heroine. She was as graceful as she was powerful, guiding her people through both magic and spirit." Her eyes sparkled as she added, "They say her magic shone like the stars."

A third statue stood with massive shoulders and an imposing posture, a pair of axes raised high. I could almost feel the strength emanating from him. "That’s Rurik Gakija of the Beastkin. Fierce and relentless, yet he fought with a heart as big as his strength."

Then, the woman’s gaze softened even further as she gestured to a drakonian woman beside Rurik, her form strong yet elegant, with carved wings folding around her like a protective shroud. "Sylra Varnithra, of the Drakonians. They say she was both feared and respected, her presence like a storm on the battlefield."

Next, a figure lighter and smaller than the others, but whose pose captured energy and grace. Her hands were carved with traces of wind and spirit magic. “Thalia Frandtia,” the woman said with a fond smile. “A Sylphir who brought speed and protection to her allies. She was the voice of hope in battle, her magic like a shield around her people.”

The last statue caught my eye—a Myrdian man with webbed feet and an aura of calm, holding a trident against his side. His stance was solid, yet fluid, like water itself. “And finally, Diret Gildon,” the woman finished. “A master of water and a diplomat, he bridged the divide between his people and the others, guiding them all with clarity.”

I found myself staring at these figures longer than I meant to, my mind drifting to their stories. These six had fought in a war that changed everything. I could only imagine the battles they had faced, side by side. At that moment, I could almost picture them standing there, united against an enemy, bound by a shared purpose and strength.

“They’re incredible,” I murmured, still feeling the weight of their legacy.

The old woman smiled wistfully. "That they were, child. Though few remember them with the same reverence now." She let out a sigh, looking up at the statues. "Once, they were celebrated heroes. But time fades memories, even of the greatest deeds."

I gave her a thoughtful nod, a wave of respect washing over me. "I… understand a little of what they went through," I said quietly. "Sometimes, people only see what’s on the surface and forget the struggles behind it."

She patted my shoulder with a knowing look. "That is how the world work. But, knowing that there are people like you who remember, even when others have forgotten, gives me hope."

We said our farewells and continued toward the village. But as we left, I glanced back at the statues, a spark of gratitude and admiration lingering in my heart. They had left a legacy that survived even the wear of time, and maybe one day, I’d leave one too.

“Well,” Mira said, clearing her throat, “if we’re staying the night, maybe we could find a place to rest first?”

We found an inn, and after settling the rooms, I tried to shake the unease that had settled in my mind. Just as I was about to turn in for the rest of the day, I saw Sylas outside my window, surrounded by a small group of children. She was showing them simple tricks with light magic, creating little sparks and patterns in the air that made them gasp with delight.

The sight pulled me down the stairs and out into the light. As I approached, I could hear their laughter and Sylas’s gentle voice, guiding them. They all seemed mesmerized, watching her like she was some kind of miracle.

When the children finally dispersed, I took a step closer. “Sylas,” I started, and she looked up at me, the flicker of magic still in her eyes.

She smiled softly. “It’s strange. Being here, with the kids… it reminds me of our old village, of what life was like before.”

My heart clenched at her words. Sylas had been through so much, her innocence stripped away by cruel hands. But today, watching her with those children, I saw a glimpse of the life she might have had—a life of peace, a life free from loss.

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I took a deep breath, my throat feeling suddenly dry. “Sylas… I… well… you see, there’s, um…” I trailed off, my mind racing for the right words but finding nothing that fit. "There's… something really important I need to… uh, it’s like—well, maybe not like, but—"

Sylas tilted her head, a small smile flickering across her face despite the serious tone of the moment. "Duke, just say it."

I forced myself to look at her, still fumbling for words. "It's about your dad. He's… uh, it’s not exactly—" I faltered, biting my lip. "I mean, he’s not—"

She held up a hand, stopping me, her expression calm yet knowing. "I think I already know what you're trying to say," she murmured softly, her eyes brimming with a quiet strength. "But go on. I’m ready."

The weight of her understanding almost made it harder to say. I swallowed, my voice finally steadying. "Your father… he's gone, Sylas. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for not telling you earlier."

A heavy silence hung in the air between us. For a long moment, she didn’t say anything, just looked past me, her gaze distant and unreadable. Then, slowly, her shoulders slumped. She turned away, her voice low, almost cold. “I understand. Thank you… for telling me.”

She started walking back toward the village, her figure silhouetted against the inn’s soft glow. She didn’t break, didn’t cry out or stumble. But as she moved further away, I noticed her hand lift, brushing her face, her fingers trembling slightly. She was wiping away her tears, a silent, solitary gesture that hit harder than anything she could have said.

And in that moment, all I could do was watch her go, my chest aching for the pain I’d brought her and the strength she’d found to bear it alone.

The next morning, I went to her room to check on her, hoping to find the right words to comfort her. I knocked, then waited.

“Sylas, I know that you are sad, we all are. It’s just… maybe we can talk together and through this.”

No answer. Slowly, I opened the door, only to find the room meticulously tidy, as if she’d never stayed there at all. Panic surged through me as I rushed down the stairs, calling out to my friends, but no one knew where she’d gone.

The receptionist looked up from his ledger as I approached, a hint of concern in his eyes. “Ah, good morning,” he said, straightening. “You’re looking for your friend, aren’t you? The elf girl?”

I nodded quickly, barely keeping the urgency from my voice. “Yes. Did you see where she went?”

He nodded, scratching his chin thoughtfully. “She left early, just after dawn. Seemed deep in thought but polite as ever. I saw her heading toward the village square.”

Without another word, I was already moving, my heart racing as I hurried outside.

I combed the streets, scanning each face. Not her

Looking at every corner of the village. Not here

Asking every villager. Nothing

When I reached the statues in the village center, that’s when I heard her voice, gentle and full of warmth, mingling with the children’s laughter.

Rounding the statues, I stopped in my tracks. Sylas was kneeling in front of the stone heroes, surrounded by a small crowd of children. A quiet smile played on her lips as she gently guided her hands over the stone, her fingers glowing faintly with the shimmer of water magic. Streams of water formed, washing away the moss and grime that had clung to the statues for years.

She glanced up, catching my eye. For a moment, we shared a silent understanding before she turned her attention back to the children, her voice soft and encouraging.

“Alright, now remember to scrub in circles, just like this,” she said, demonstrating with a gentle motion of her hand as the water washed away another layer of dirt. “It makes everything look so much brighter, doesn’t it?”

A little girl with pigtails giggled, her small hands mimicking Sylas’s circular motion. “Look, Miss Sylas! The elf hero’s face is showing now!”

Sylas chuckled, nodding encouragingly. “See? You’re doing great! Now, who’s ready to work on the beastkin hero?”

A boy with a mop of curly hair raised his hand, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “Me, me! I wanna clean his sword!”

Sylas leaned down with a playful grin. “Perfect. His sword could use a good shine.”

I watched from a distance, feeling a swell of admiration as Sylas guided the children, her hands gracefully summoning gentle streams of water over each statue, washing them clean as the children scrubbed with eager hands. It was as though she’d found a way to channel her own sorrow into something pure and healing.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped closer, catching her eye once more. She gave me a soft, understanding smile, one that held both a quiet strength and a resolve I hadn’t seen before.

“You’ve got quite the team here,” I said, nodding toward the group of children now busy polishing each of the statues.

Sylas gave a small laugh, shaking her head. “I think they’re the real heroes today. They’re helping bring a bit of life back to this place.”

One of the boys, still scrubbing, looked up at us with wide, serious eyes. “Are these statues really from the war? Were these people real heroes?”

Sylas knelt down, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Yes, they were. Each one of them fought to protect everyone—no matter where they came from or who they were. Just like you’re doing for them now, cleaning their statues to keep their memories alive.”

The children nodded, their small faces serious as they returned to their task, each one moving with an earnest reverence I hadn’t expected to see. And as I watched Sylas with them, I felt a quiet sense of awe. Here, in this quiet village, in the middle of the laughter of children and the gentle washing away of dirt, I saw Sylas healing in her own way.

After the children finished scrubbing, the statues looked almost new, shining with a restored dignity that hadn’t been seen in ages. Each of the six heroes stood proud, their expressions and poses conveying the power and bravery they had once embodied.

The human hero, stood tall with a blade resting on his shoulder, his eyes looking out as if surveying the battlefield. His features were sharp and noble, an aura of quiet strength around him.

Beside him, the elf hero, had her bow drawn, one hand resting on her heart as if swearing an oath. Her slender form and delicate features masked a fierce determination, her face now clear and expressive beneath the grime.

The beastkin hero appeared mid-roar, his mighty fists raised high, his lion-like features etched in intensity. His cloak billowed around him as though caught in a battle wind, a symbol of raw strength and loyalty.

Next to him was the drakonian hero, wings outstretched in a majestic pose. Her scaled armor gleamed, her long dragon tales wrapped around her, and her fierce, reptilian eyes seemed to burn with a warrior’s spirit, fierce yet noble.

The sylphir hero hovered on a delicately carved gust of wind, her ethereal wings capturing the light. Her expression was peaceful yet strong, her hand raised as if in a protective gesture over the others.

Finally, the myrdian hero, held a trident aloft, his straight hair sculpted as if caught in a current. His calm, fierce gaze embodied the tranquility and strength of the sea itself.

As we stepped back to admire the statues, the old lady from the day before approached. She stopped in her tracks, eyes widening in shock as she took in the gleaming, newly restored figures. “Oh my… the statues… they’re all cleaned up!” She clasped her hands together, looking between us with a mix of awe and gratitude.

“Thank you, thank you so much! They look beautiful,” she said, bowing slightly.

I shook my head, gesturing to the kids who were still gathered around. “It was these little heroes who did most of the work. They really brought them back to life.”

She turned to the children, her face alight with surprise. “You children cleaned these all by yourselves? Truly, I can’t thank you enough.” The kids beamed with pride, each one standing a little taller.

Later that evening, as I was starting to think about packing up, Sylas approached me, her face soft in the fading sunlight. “Could we… stay just one more night?” she asked, looking hopeful.

I smiled, nodding. “Of course. That sounds perfect.”

At dinner, we gathered at a small restaurant in the village, the cozy atmosphere filling with laughter and chatter. As the plates were served, Mira and Kaldor started teasing me about my sudden obsession with rice, which had me laughing through a mouthful.

“Duke, you’ve eaten like… six bowls,” Mira laughed, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “I didn’t think you liked rice that much.”

“What can I say?” I chuckled, wiping a tear of pure, happy exhaustion from my eye. “It’s delicious! It reminds me of home.”

As we laughed, I felt the weight of the day settle into a quiet contentment. I could feel Sylas’s quiet presence beside me, her laughter blending with the others. We were all aware of her pain, but tonight, we were here for her, sharing her sadness in the simple, unspoken way of friends.

After dinner, I sat in front of the inn’s window to take in the fresh night air, settling down to gaze at the stars when I heard a gentle knock at the door. Sylas stood there, her face lit by the silver light. “Come on, Duke,” she said softly. “We’re meeting in the village center.”

Curious, I followed her, and when we arrived, I saw a crowd had gathered—the entire village, it seemed, all mingling and murmuring with excitement.

“Kael, what are we doing out here?”

“Wait, you don’t know? We planned this show right after dinner.”

“Why I didn’t remember anything.”

“Oh wait you got fainted for a while because you devoured 8 bowls of rice and 3 bowls of vegetable soup.”

“Ohh, that's why”

At the center stood Mira, Sylas, and Kaldor, who flashed me a grin as he raised his hands to quiet the crowd.

“Welcome, everyone!” Kaldor called, his voice lively. “Tonight, you’re in for a special treat—a magic show by two of the best magic casters in the village, Sylas and Mira!”

Cheers filled the square as Mira and Sylas stepped forward, smiles on their faces as they began to perform. Mira summoned bursts of light that danced through the air like shimmering fireflies, weaving in mesmerizing patterns around the crowd. Sylas followed, swirling her hands as threads of water formed, creating intricate shapes that spiraled up into the air, reflecting the village lanterns in shimmering patterns.

Then Mira lifted her hands, creating tiny floating orbs of light that flitted playfully among the children, who reached out, laughing and trying to catch them. Sylas joined in, her water magic forming a series of delicate, blooming flowers that hung in the air before bursting into sparkling droplets.

As the grand finale approached, Mira cast an illusion of a great bird soaring above, wings of light spreading across the night sky, followed by Sylas, who held out her hands, channeling streams of magic that shot up and exploded in a vibrant firework display. The lights danced and sparkled, casting colors across the delighted faces of the villagers as they clapped and cheered.

The show ended with one last burst of fireworks from Sylas, a bright, beautiful display that filled the sky, lighting up the village square in a kaleidoscope of colors.

Laughter and applause echoed around us as the villagers shared the joy of the moment.

The next morning, as we prepared to leave, nearly the entire village came to say goodbye, filling the square with warmth and well-wishes. I climbed onto the horse cart we’d rented for the journey, taking one last look at the village and the friends we’d made here. With a wave, we set off, the road stretching before us, knowing that we’d carry this memory with us for a long time.