Bragoz dissolved into red smoke.
Everyone watched the rebirth of the Mother Tree.
Everyone… except one person.
Dayana did not see the light.She did not see the elves weeping.She did not see the forest healing.
She saw only the smoke.
That cursed smoke.
Her legs trembled.Not from weakness.
From rage.
For two years she had carried that fire in her chest.For two years she had dreamed of tearing his head off with her own hands.For two years she had hunted for the chance to kill him.
And now…
now Bragoz was dissolving before her eyes without giving her the chance.
"NO!" Dayana screamed, her voice breaking between hatred and pain."DON'T DISAPPEAR!"
She ran toward the cloud of smoke, plunging through it, trying to seize whatever remained of the demon.
But her hands closed on nothing.
The smoke slipped through her fingers.
Dayana fell to her knees.
Her claws dug into the soil.
Her fangs lengthened—not to bite…
but to scream.
And scream she did.
A cry that tore through the air.That forced the remaining monsters to recoil.That silenced, for a moment, even the forest that was being reborn.
Emily took a step forward to approach her, but Lusian placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Let her," he said.
Dayana struck the ground so hard that the root beneath her shattered.
"I WAS SUPPOSED TO KILL HIM!I HAD TO KILL HIM!HE OWED ME THAT!"
"YOU OWED ME THAT, BRAGOZ!" she sobbed.
"…you owed me…"
She leaned forward until her forehead touched the earth, trembling, crying blood.
Vampires rarely cry.
Today… she wept like a child losing her family for the second time.
Lusian walked toward her slowly.
Dayana sensed his presence and murmured, broken:
"Lusian… why? I… I wanted to see him beg.I wanted him to know how it feels……what it feels like to lose everything."
Her voice shattered completely.
Lusian was not good at comforting people.
But he crouched down and placed a hand on her back.
"I understand," he whispered."And even if you didn't kill him yourself…he didn't die easily, Dayana.He died afraid.And he died losing."
Her crying stopped for a moment.
Lusian continued.
"And your father is avenged.Not because of how Bragoz died…but because you survived longer than he did."
Dayana closed her eyes.
New tears slid down her face.
"I… wanted to see him fall by my hand…"
"He fell," Lusian replied."And we did it together.He didn't take anything from you today.Today you took everything back."
Dayana drew a deep breath.
She wiped her face.
Her aura steadied, flickering like controlled embers.
Her red eyes regained their focus.
She slowly stood.
"Thank you…" she said, her voice firm though still trembling."But don't misunderstand.If he ever comes back… I still want to break his neck myself."
Lusian gave a faint sideways smile.
A pulse of green light ran through the massive trunk, spiraling upward as if the Mother Tree were breathing for the first time in years.
The leaves blackened by corruption began to fall…
and when they touched the ground, they sprouted again as fresh emerald shoots.
The elves—wounded, exhausted, some still bleeding—stood frozen in awe.
And then they felt it.
The Voice of the Forest had returned.
A soft, warm wind filled with pure mana swept across the battlefield.
The elves' bodies glowed.
Their wounds closed.
The sap within their veins pulsed once more in harmony with the forest.
Grisela fell to her knees, tears streaming down her hardened face.
"It returned…
The forest… has returned…"
The other elves followed her example, bowing their heads toward the Mother Tree.
It was not worship.
It was reunion.
Far away, between columns of living bark and roots rising like arches, a figure slowly stood.
Aeltherion.
The Herald of the God of Nature.
His eyes shone like stars trapped within an eternal forest.
His body was formed of ancient leaves and luminous sap.
He had watched the entire battle.
He had seen the suffering.
The desperation.
And he had seen Lusian drive his blade into Bragoz as if cutting a name already forgotten by time.
The Herald did not applaud.
He did not congratulate.
He did not intervene.
He simply looked at the place where Bragoz had dissolved.
And whispered, with indescribable coldness:
"Useless demon."
He did not say it with contempt.
Nor with fury.
Nor with fear.
He said it the way one might look at a worm dying inside a log.
Then he turned away.
Green light opened a passage in the bark.
His improvised temple—a living sanctuary of tree and spirit—received him in silence.
Aeltherion entered without looking back.
The bark closed behind him as if it had never opened.
The war was not over.
But the first demon had fallen.
Thunder snorted wearily.
Emily collapsed onto the ground, staring at the sky through the reborn leaves.
Elizabeth remained silent, feeling her own demonic mana tremble dangerously in the presence of so much purity.
Dayana licked a fang.
"Lusian—"
"No," he replied, exhausted."Don't talk.Just… give me a minute."
But he did not get a minute.
Because Grisela, leader of the elves, approached him.
The other elves instinctively raised their bows.
Lusian lifted his sword out of habit.
Grisela raised a hand, signaling her people to lower their weapons.
Then she bowed before him.
"In the name of all the children of the forest…
Thank you for returning our home."
Lusian sighed.
"I didn't do it for you."
Grisela looked at him steadily.
"I know.
But the forest… did."
For the first time, Lusian had no answer.
The Mother Tree stood tall, restored and magnificent.
Its leaves shone with pure light.
Its sap flowed with renewed vigor.
The forest could finally breathe.
But Lusian did not smile.
Standing before the tree, he noticed something missing.
The fruit that had appeared so many times in his memories of the game…
was not there.
And it never would be.
He knew why.
The fruit was born from the tears of the Mother Tree—tears he had seen flowing in the simulation.
But those tears could not exist now.
The tree had been possessed.Corrupted.
And now that he had purified it, the cycle of sorrow that would have produced the fruit to heal Elizabeth was broken forever.
Elizabeth lowered her gaze, containing the pain that could not be undone.
Emily looked at Lusian firmly, breathing beside him, trying to let him know he was not alone.
"Lusian…" Elizabeth whispered softly."You can't blame yourself. You did what no one else could. You saved the forest, saved the elves… you saved me."
"Shh," Emily murmured, placing a hand on his shoulder."Lusian, we're here with you. Everything you did mattered. Everything is okay."
Lusian lowered his head, trapped in guilt.
The sadness pressed down on him, and at the same time he wondered how he could have made such a foolish mistake.
Elizabeth and Emily stepped closer, each embracing him from one side—shoulder to shoulder—sharing their warmth and the certainty that he had done the impossible.
"As long as we're with you…" Elizabeth whispered,"everything will be alright."
"The fruit doesn't matter," Emily added softly."You're here. That's enough."
Lusian closed his eyes and breathed deeply, letting the two of them hold him.
But the guilt inside him did not fade.
The restored forest shone around him.
Yet it meant nothing.
His objective had not been fulfilled.
That night, the words, the embraces, and the shared silence reminded him that not everything could be fixed.
At dawn, on the day Lusian departed…
The elves lit small, respectful fires around the outer roots of the Mother Tree.
They moved quietly, as if afraid to wake it from a dream too recent to disturb.
They shared simple food—pale fruits and water infused with mana—and allowed the group to rest among them without questions or demands.
It was not hospitality.
It was recognition.
Lusian remained awake for a long time, leaning against a living root, feeling the slow pulse of the reborn forest beneath his back—like a heart that barely dared to beat again.
Before sunrise, Grisela approached alone.
In her hands she carried a small bundle of silver leaves sealed with hardened sap.
She did not offer it as a gift.
She offered it as something solemn.
"The Tree did not bear fruit," she said quietly."But for the first time since the corruption… it has given a seed."
Inside rested a single seed—dark, smooth, faintly warm to the touch.
It radiated no power.
It promised nothing.
It was small.
Fragile.
And real.
When Lusian held it, the forest seemed to fall silent for a moment.
"It will not grow here," Grisela continued."Not now. Perhaps never.But it exists.
And that is enough."
Lusian nodded and placed the seed away without answering.
He felt no relief.
No hope.
He simply understood that even when something is saved…
it never returns the same.