The world felt solid again.
Adam stood breathing real air—heavy, alive, humming with the quiet pulse of remade things. Above, colors wove into constellations that seemed to recognize him. The Celestial Plane had rebuilt itself, though its light was softer now.
He looked around. The great stairs of the Celestial Hall stretched ahead, cracked but standing. Even the stars seemed tired, pulsing slow.
"…Adam?"
Aurora.
She stood near the gate with Aria and Alfred behind her. Her hair had lost some shine, but her eyes—still bright, still deep—held light.
He walked toward them.
No one spoke. His footsteps said enough. When he reached them, Aurora's hand rose, trembling once before she touched his face.
"You came back," she whispered.
He gave a faint smile. "Sounds like you doubted me."
She laughed—tired, cracked, but real. "Everything went quiet. Even the stars."
"I know." He scanned the space. "Everyone make it?"
Aria nodded. "Most. Not without scars."
