I glanced around as we walked.
A shifter clapped an orc on the shoulder.
Two witches were arguing animatedly about which spell had knocked the first shadow out of the sky.
Someone laughed.
The sound felt almost unreal after the tension of the fight.
But it spread.
Little pockets of relief broke out along the path as people started to believe what had just happened.
They had faced the Priestess of Shadowick.
And she had left.
The warmth that settled in my chest surprised me.
Hope.
That was the only word for it.
Magic had always felt mysterious to me—dangerous, complicated, sometimes beautiful, and sometimes terrifying.
But walking through a sea of people who were no longer fighting and who were now united made magic feel easier.
It suddenly seemed simpler, more logical.
Magic wasn’t just power.
It was this.
Hope.
Unity.
The belief that people who were different could still stand together when it mattered.
I let out a slow breath.
“Worth it?” Nova asked quietly.
I nodded.
“Yeah,” I said.
We stepped out of the trees a few minutes later.
Stonewick waited at the edge of the woods, lamplight glowing softly along the main street. A few townsfolk had gathered near the entrance, watching anxiously for anyone coming back from the forest.
The moment they saw the crowd emerging, the tension in the air broke.
Voices rose, and people rushed forward.
“Are you alright?” one witch asked her husband.
“What happened?” A shifter too young to go into battle questioned.
