Chapter 22
The year did not announce itself.
It simply… happened.
No omens.
No prophecies.
No sudden tremors from higher worlds testing their boundaries.
Just days.
Ordinary, unguarded days.
Spring arrived quietly.
Luna discovered she liked the sound of rain on the roof not the violent kind that shattered realms, but the gentle kind that tapped as if asking permission to exist.
Dino repaired the porch.
Not because it needed fixing urgently but because it was satisfying to do something that would not echo across infinity.
He used no power.
No authority.
Just his hands.
The bamboo rested nearby, silver-black surface catching the light, Eternum still at his waist full of every blade that ever was, yet choosing to remain empty.
Summer followed.
The sea warmed.
Luna learned how far she could wade before the waves reminded her of depth.
She laughed more.
Not loudly.
Comfortably.
Dino noticed that his presence no longer stilled the wind.
The world did not fear him anymore.
And strangely
That felt like forgiveness.
Autumn came.
Leaves fell where there were no trees yesterday.
They did not question it.
They raked.
They complained about the cold.
They drank tea and watched the moons drift lazily behind clouds.
The Corrupted Moon stayed distant.
The Golden Moon shone softly.
Balance.
Winter arrived last.
Snow dusted the shore an impossible thing, yet somehow natural here.
Luna traced patterns in it with her scythe's handle.
"Do you miss it?" she asked one night.
Dino looked at the fire.
"Miss what?"
"Being feared."
He considered.
"No," he said. "Fear is heavy. It weighs down every conversation."
She smiled.
"Good. I'd hate to compete."
Not once that year
Did an enemy appear.
No assassins.
No divine trials.
No cosmic corrections.
The higher worlds watched.
And decided quietly not to interfere.
A place that accepts time is no longer a paradox.
At the end of the year
Luna placed two cups on the table.
"One year," she said.
Dino raised his cup.
"Still alive."
"Still human."
"Still together."
They drank.
That night, Dino realized something that unsettled him more than war ever had.
He had stopped counting time.
Not because it was meaningless
But because it was precious.
> "The absence of enemies is not emptiness.
It is proof that one has finally stopped living as a battlefield."
The Black Shores stood quietly beneath the moons.
A home.
A choice.
A place where nothing needed to be proven.
End of Chapter 22