The silence that fell over the forest after the Soul Devourer's disappearance was heavier than any sound we had ever heard. The still air smelled of ozone and unshed tears. In the center of the devastated sanctuary, where moments earlier a cosmic battle had raged, now lay the motionless body of Princess Lyra—her fox ears finally at rest, the smile that once brightened her face replaced by a solemn, terrible peace.
"Lyra…" My whisper seemed to profane the sacred stillness. I knelt beside her, my trembling hands hovering over her face, unsure where—or whether—I was even allowed—to touch. Her white dress was immaculate, ironically preserved by the very energy that had stolen her life.
Liriel staggered forward, her face pale not only from magical exhaustion but from something deeper—something that looked like shame. "She… broke the final bond," the goddess said, her voice softer than usual. "She used her own life essence as a catalyst. Not even I… not even I would have the courage for such a sacrifice."
Vespera, who usually filled every silence with jokes or provocations, stood frozen like a statue—her arrows forgotten in their quiver, her hands empty and open at her sides. Her crimson eyes shimmered with a wetness I never thought possible.
Elara, still weak from the mana transfer, crawled toward us. Her trembling fingers found Lyra's hand, and the contact seemed to give her a final burst of strength. "She… she told me last night," Elara whispered, her voice breaking. "She said that if something happened… we should go on. That her light wouldn't fade if we carried her flame forward."
That was when King Fenrir arrived with his guards. The monarch, normally so imposing, seemed diminished. His steps were unsteady, his ears drooping. When he saw his daughter, a sound escaped his throat—not a wolf's howl or a king's cry, but the muffled sob of a father. "My little fox…" He fell to his knees, his claws fully retracting as his hands gently touched his daughter's face. "I warned you… I always warned you not to be so brave…"
The journey back to the palace became an improvised funeral procession. The royal guards, their expressions hardened by grief, carried Lyra on a stretcher made of intertwined branches and night-blooming flowers. As we passed through the forest, something extraordinary happened—the Whispering Trees began to sing softly, an ancient, mournful melody that seemed to honor the fallen princess. Small lights flickered among the leaves—forest spirits emerging to pay their respects.
At the city gates, the people of Therasia lined the streets. There were no cries or lamentations, only a respectful silence broken by the soft chime of elven bells ringing in the distance. Many held blue lanterns—Lyra's royal color—and as we passed, they bowed not to their king, but to the princess who had given everything for them.
In the throne hall, now transformed into a chamber of mourning, Fenrir faced us. His eyes were red but dry. "She was always like this," he said, his voice strangely calm. "Ever since she was small enough to fit inside my coat, she would run toward danger while anyone with sense would run the other way. Her mother… her mother would be proud of her today."
Liriel, unexpectedly, did something she had never done before—she knelt before a mortal. "Your daughter saved not only your kingdom, but possibly all kingdoms. Without her sacrifice, Zephyron would have completed the ritual, and his corruption would have spread like a plague."
"And this Zephyron?" asked Fenrir, his claws digging into the arms of his throne, though his voice retained an impressive dignity.
"Destroyed," I replied, finding my own voice. "But at a cost we can never repay."
The funeral took place at dusk, in the Moon Springs—Lyra's favorite place. Hundreds of demi-humans attended, each bringing a luminous flower that floated on the thermal waters. When Lyra's body, wrapped in white and silver silks, was gently placed into the water, something magical happened—the flowers didn't just float; they began to move in circular patterns, as if dancing one final waltz for the princess.
"She loved to dance here," Fenrir murmured beside me. "She said the waters sang especially for her. I think... I think they really were singing."
That night, in the great hall now empty except for our company, Fenrir fulfilled his promise with a dignity that broke my heart. "The debt of the sanctuary is forgiven," he declared, his voice echoing through the vast chamber. "And for saving Therasia, each of you shall receive a reward worthy of heroes."
Servants brought forth three magnificent chests—the first containing rare gems that pulsed with inner light, the second filled with ancient elven artifacts that breathed magic, and the third with scrolls of lost spells that smelled of time and forgotten knowledge.
"Choose," said the king. "Or, if you prefer, ask for anything within my power to give you."
It was Elara who broke the heavy silence. "Your Majesty... we don't need riches. Lyra has already given us the greatest gift—the chance to keep living, to keep fighting. No gem or artifact could ever equal that."
Vespera, unexpectedly, agreed with a solemn nod. "Money won't bring her back. And... she was worth more than all the treasures in the world."
Liriel studied the chests for a long moment before closing them gently. "Keep your riches, Fenrir. Your kingdom will need them to rebuild. We... we carry something far more precious—the memory of her."
The king seemed surprised, yet deeply moved. "Then allow me to give you something truly valuable." He gestured to a servant, who brought an ancient map drawn on lunar dragon hide. "The Sky Ruins—Lyra... she insisted that I give you this if anything ever happened. She said you would need to know."
My hands trembled as I took the map. This was what Zephyron had mentioned in his final message—the next destination, the next step in our journey against the Demon King.
Later, in the gardens where our romantic drama had once begun, we gathered under Therasia's twin moons. The air between us was different—heavier with grief, but lighter too, with the understanding that only true loss can bring.
"She really loved you, you know?" Vespera said quietly, her eyes fixed on the waters reflecting the moons. "Last night, she met me here. She said she had never known anyone like you—someone who saw beauty not in power or appearance, but in the hearts of people."
Elara stepped closer, her shoulder brushing mine in shared solitude. "She made us realize... what really matters. All our jealousy, our rivalry... it feels so small now."
Liriel watched from a distance, her wine cup forgotten for the first time since I'd met her. "You mortals... live so briefly, yet love so intensely. We gods live for eternities, but perhaps we will never understand what it means to give everything for something we believe in."
Then the three exchanged glances, and something fundamental changed between us. Elara was the first to speak, her words carefully chosen. "Takumi... we don't need an answer now. Lyra showed us that time is far too precious to waste on jealousy and conflict. There's a world to save... and friendships to nurture."
Vespera surprised everyone by pulling Elara into an awkward but genuine side hug. "She would've laughed at us, you know? All fighting over one man when we had a whole world to save. She... she was better than all of us."
Liriel finally turned to us, an unusually serious and vulnerable expression on her face. "Zephyron was only the seventh general. Six remain, and each will be stronger, crueler, and more determined than the last. We must stand together. Not out of obligation or coincidence... but by choice."
I took the map of the Sky Ruins, feeling its weight—not just physical, but symbolic. "Lyra didn't die for us to stand still and mourn. She gave her life so we could keep fighting. So that her sacrifice... would not be in vain."
Elara took my left hand, Vespera my right. Liriel, after a moment of hesitation, placed her hand atop ours, and for the first time, we felt not like a band of mismatched individuals, but like a true team—united not by circumstance, but by shared loss and renewed resolve.
"For Lyra," I whispered, my words carrying a silent promise.
"For Lyra," they echoed in unison, their voices woven together in a solemn vow.
The price of victory had been immeasurably high—a scar we would carry forever. But in that moment, beneath the dancing lights of the hot springs that had once brought joy to the fox princess, we finally understood what we were fighting for—not for glory or wealth, but for a future where sacrifices like Lyra's would never be in vain. And that night, in the stillness, we swore to honor her memory by continuing the journey she had helped us see as necessary.