They continued walking without haste, letting the flow of the festival guide them more than any conscious decision. The music changed as they moved through the streets—sometimes more lively, with drums and clapping marking a contagious rhythm, sometimes soft, almost intimate, with string instruments echoing like a silent invitation to slow down. The smell of food mingled in the air: sweet, salty, unknown spices, all enveloped in that vibrant atmosphere that seemed to exist only there, that night.

Ouroboros remained close.

Not just physically—there was a different presence in her now. Her steps were lighter, her gaze more attentive, no longer fleeing the world, but trying to absorb it. Sometimes she still got lost for a second, as if something inside her wanted to pull her back to that dark place that had taken control of her hours before... but then she blinked, breathed, and returned.

And, curiously—

She always returned when she noticed Strax beside her.

They passed a small stall where smaller lanterns were sold, each with hand-painted designs—dragons, flowers, constellations. Ouroboros slowed her pace again, her gaze fixed on one.

It was simple.

A dark background with silver lines forming something circular, almost infinite.

Strax noticed.

"Want this one?" he asked, without pressing, just observing.

She tilted her head slightly, analyzing for a few more seconds before answering.

"It... looks familiar," she murmured, more to herself than to him.

Strax didn’t comment on it.

But he registered it.

He bought the lantern without fanfare and handed it to her. Ouroboros held the object carefully, as if it were more fragile than it actually was, her fingers gliding lightly over the design.

"You didn’t need to," she said, but didn’t give it back.

"I know," he replied simply.

She let out a small sigh, but there was a trace of something softer there—something that wasn’t resistance.

They continued.

Further ahead, the festival opened up in a larger area near the lake. The water reflected the lantern lights like an inverted sky, distorted by the gentle ripples, while small decorated boats floated slowly, some with lit candles, others carrying lanterns that looked like stars floating on the surface.

Ouroboros stopped.

This time, completely.

Her gaze was fixed on that image.

"...that’s beautiful," she said, without any irony, without any defense.

Strax stopped beside her, following her gaze.

"It is," he agreed.

There was a comfortable silence between them, filled only by the sound of the water and the distant music. People walked around, some laughing, others just observing, but that small space seemed isolated—as if the world had shrunk in scale for a few moments.

Ouroboros squeezed the lantern she held lightly.

"I don’t remember the last time I stopped like this," she confessed, still looking at the lake.

Strax tilted his head slightly.

"Stop?"

"Just... exist," she replied. "Without thinking about what comes next. Without calculating. Without..." she hesitated, searching for the right word. "Control."

Strax didn’t answer immediately.

Because it said more than it seemed.

"You don’t need to control everything all the time," he said after a few seconds.

She let out a small laugh through her nose.

"I know," she replied. "But that never stopped me from trying."

He smiled slightly.

"I noticed."

She turned her face toward him, her eyes meeting his. There was something more open there now—still cautious, still marked by what had happened, but less closed.

"What if it comes back?" she asked, lower in her voice.

The question wasn’t dramatic.

It was honest.

Strax held her gaze.

"So we deal with this again."

Simple.

Direct.

No impossible promises.

No false guarantees.

And, strangely—

That was enough.

Ouroboros looked away for a moment, taking a deep breath, as if that answer had settled something inside her.

"You talk like it’s easy," she murmured.

"It’s not," he replied. "But it’s also not something you’re going to face alone."

She remained silent.

But her fingers moved.

This time not restless—

But searching.

And they found his hand again.

They held it.

Firmer than before.

Strax didn’t comment.

But he responded to the gesture.

They stayed there for a few more minutes, just watching the lake, the reflection of the lights, the slow movement of the boats. The festival continued around them, but it no longer pressed them. It was just... scenery.

At a certain moment, a group began releasing small lanterns into the air—those made of light paper, which rose slowly carried by the heat of a soft flame.

One.

Two.

Ten.

Dozens.

The sky began to fill with ascending points of light, as if stars were being returned to the firmament.

Ouroboros looked up.

And, for the first time since everything—

There was no shadow there.

Only... wonder.

"Why do they do this?" she asked.

Strax watched along.

"It’s usually some kind of ritual," she replied. "Requests, remembrances, farewells... it depends on the place."

She was silent for a moment.

Then she looked at the lantern in her hand.

And then—

At the sky.

"Do you think it works?" she asked.

Strax shrugged.

"I have no idea."

She considered it.

For a few seconds.

And then—

She held the lantern with both hands, closing her eyes for a brief moment.

No audible words.

No grand gesture.

Just a moment.

Small.

But... real.

When she opened her eyes again, there was something different there.

Steadier.

More present.

She didn’t let go of the lantern in the air—she just held it, as if that were enough.

Strax watched. Without interrupting.

Without asking.

And then—

She looked at him again.

"Thank you," she said simply.

He inclined his head slightly.

"You already said that today."

"I know," she replied. "But... this is different."

He didn’t ask what exactly it meant.

Because he didn’t need to.

They began walking back shortly after, now without haste, without needing to explore anything further. The festival continued to vibrate behind them, but the energy was different now—quieter, more settled.

Ouroboros walked beside him, still close, still connected, but now with more confident steps.

More of her.

As they approached the inn again, the sound of the festival faded, replaced by the calmer silence of the side streets. The light from the lanterns still reached that point, but more softly, less intensely.

Before they entered—

She stopped.

Strax looked at her.

Ouroboros hesitated for a second.

And then—

She leaned slightly, resting her forehead against his shoulder.

It was a small gesture.

But charged.

"I’m still scared," she murmured, almost inaudibly.

Strax didn’t move abruptly.

He didn’t break the moment.

He simply raised his free hand and gently placed it on her head.

"I know."

No judgment.

No pressure.

Just... presence.

She stayed like that for a few seconds.

Breathing.

Settling herself.

And then—

She pulled away.

But not completely.

"Let’s go back," she said.

Strax nodded.

And together—

They went inside.

Leaving behind the night, the festival, and taking with them something that wasn’t there when they arrived.

Something small.

But essential.

A beginning. The interior of the inn was quieter now, as if the vibrant energy of the festival couldn’t fully penetrate those wooden walls. There were still some voices downstairs, spaced-out laughter, the occasional clinking of glasses—but it was a distant, muffled sound, almost irrelevant in the quiet that dominated the hallway as they began to climb the stairs.

Ouroboros’s steps were firmer.

Not completely light, not completely free—but different from the weight she carried before. There was a kind of newfound stability there, something that didn’t come from the absence of fear, but from the ability to continue despite it.

Strax walked beside her, unhurried, keeping pace without trying to lead. There was no need.

This time—

She didn’t need to be guided.

When they reached the door of the room, there was a brief pause. Not out of hesitation exactly, but out of awareness—as if they both knew that, by crossing that door, they would be returning to something more concrete, more real, more... inevitable.

Strax opened the door.

The room was dimly lit, illuminated only by a discreet lamp near the wall. The atmosphere was calm, almost still. Tiamat lay on her side in bed, seemingly asleep, one hand under her head, her long golden hair spread across the pillow. Scarlett lay on the other side, her back to him, breathing slowly and steadily, but there was something in her posture that suggested she might not be completely asleep.

Ouroboros entered first, her eyes quickly scanning the space before relaxing as she realized everything was exactly as they had left it.

Nothing had changed there.

And, for some reason—

That was comforting.

She took a few steps inside, stopping beside the bed. Her fingers still held the small lantern she had received earlier, and for a moment she just looked at it again, as if wanting to memorize that moment before letting it go.

Strax carefully closed the door behind them, avoiding any unnecessary sound. His eyes quickly swept over Tiamat and Scarlett, silently assessing them.

Tiamat didn’t open her eyes.

But her breathing changed.

Almost imperceptibly.

Scarlett remained motionless.

But there was a slight tension in her shoulders.

They were resting.

But not switched off.

Strax recognized this.

And respected it.

Ouroboros sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb anyone. The mattress sank slightly under her weight, and Tiamat shifted a little, adjusting her position, but without fully waking.

For a few seconds—

No one said anything.

Strax approached, stopping beside her, observing silently.

Ouroboros let out a small sigh, resting her elbows on her legs as she looked at the floor.

"That was... good," she murmured, almost as if saying it only to herself.

Strax tilted his head slightly.

"It was," he agreed.

She remained silent for a moment.

Then, slowly, she lay down on the bed, turning to her side, facing the empty space in the center. Her eyes were still open, but no longer carried that constant restlessness—only tiredness.

Real tiredness.

The kind that finally allows rest.

Strax remained standing for a few more seconds, as if ensuring that everything was... stable.

Safe.

Then he moved too.

He sat on the other end of the bed, resting his arms on his knees for a moment before finally allowing himself to relax.

Silence returned.

But now—

It was a good silence.

Heavy enough.

Ouroboros closed her eyes.

Not immediately.

But without struggle.

Without resistance.

Her breathing began to adjust to the rhythm of rest, slow, steady.

And, for the first time since everything—

Deep.

Strax observed this.

And only then—

Did he allow himself to look away.

Tiamat opened one eye.

Just one.

Enough to look at Strax for a few seconds.

There were no words.

But there was understanding.

He nodded slightly.

She closed her eye again.

Scarlett didn’t move.

But an almost imperceptible corner of her posture relaxed.

Strax then lay down as well, his back fixed on the ceiling for a few moments. His mind was still processing everything—the fight, the fall, the strange energy, Ouroboros’s gaze trapped within something that shouldn’t exist.

But, alongside all that—

There was something new.

Something that hadn’t been there before.

He turned his head slightly.

Ouroboros was there.

Sleeping.

Truly.

Without tension.

Without struggle.

Just... there.

And that—

Was more than enough for now.

Strax closed his eyes.

And let the weariness finally catch up with him too.

Outside, the festival continued, lanterns slowly rising to the sky, music echoing through the streets, laughter filling the air.

But inside that room—

There was something rarer.

Peace.

Still fragile.

Still recent.

But real. And, for the first time since the beginning of everything—

No one there was fighting against something invisible.

Not even her.