You rush through the pristine and unfamiliar streets. When you finally see Gull and Dawn you stop so abruptly you almost fall.

They've made it. You've made it.

The shadow of death that has loomed so large above everything like a predatory monster has finally dissipated. You run over and throws your arms around the surprised Gull and almost sob his name.

He pats you on the back a little awkwardly. “Hey, you're back.” His voice is a little shakey.

You let him go and smile, standing up to properly greet them all. Gull, Dawn, and a girl about Gull's age that you don't quite know.

“You've all made it. We… we've all made it. I'm so glad - ”

Dawn lower her eyes and shakes the girl's hand, smiling softly. “Yes. We've all made it.”

“May I get an introduction?”

“Starling. My daughter.” She then points to you. “Say hello to Tern.”

The girl does, her big eyes bright as stars.

You promised to return. You were promised a chance to talk. So you talk, deep into the night, truthful and plain, about fears, feelings, Ruptures and missed years, with occasional tears and occasional laughter.

As midnight strikes, magic takes its course. The conversation stops in momentary confusion, before continuing on. And then you all realised how late it was and how tired you all are after such a long day, and you decide to head to your new homes. There is still much more to be said, so you promise to talk again tomorrow (or later today, to be precise), knowing there will be many more tomorrows to come.

As you lead Gull away by his hand to a new home, you ask: “What do you want to do today, Gull?”

You stand at the forge, beating heat radiating from the furnace. In your hands you hold the only real possession of note you brought to and from the old Sanctuary, the only thing left from your parents. The armour that was not meant for you. The armour you grew into.

It is heavy in your hands, even now.

The forgemaster - a slender artist type with very surprising strength - is making some extremely intricate mechanic parts. Perhaps catching you staring, the artist puts down the hammer and lifts his protective goggles.

“What's the matter? Would you like to fix that?”

You explain you don't need it anymore, and are unsure what to do with it.

“You can reforge it into something? A bit of rust and denting, but nothing serious.”

Reforge it into what? It's a lot of metal.

Eventually persuaded by the forgemaster's argument of no need to waste good metal, you melted the armour down into ingots. (He also insisted to teach you how to do it so you can do it yourself, making some grand statement about metalwork and the state of souls. It sounds like poetry, which you know something about now.)


The ingots were used up, bit by bit, as the years rolled by.

The first thing you made was a set of metal dice, lacking anything better to make, and inspired by the dice Impetus gifted you, and his note: Remember to roll with the blows.

You made new sets of cutleries and cookeries when Dawn and Starling moved in. The old ones were getting rusty and that seemed like a useful thing to do.

Then Gull and Starling both had a phase of really wanting to learn swordmanship and could not be satisfied with wooden ones.

Then the tavern you frequented had some problems with their chimney and for some reason someone said you could do the metalwork.

From time to time old Hunter friends would ask you to help fix this or that. Though you've retired, it's still nice to help.


Another day at the forge, it was already dark when you exited the building. The sudden drop in tempreture made you shiver.

“Now, what did I say about coming out of the forge? You'll catch a cold if you don't put something on.”

Familiar hands drape a familiar cloack around your shoulder. You mumble an apology as Dawn shakes her head in mock disappointment.

“Let's go home, it's getting late.”

Years rolled by. The Hunters came to realise that their role had become somewhat obsolete in this new city, with there being very few monsters to fight and Cassandra warding off any stragglers unlucky enough to get close. The organisation did not disband dramatically, but simply changed so much to become almost unrecognisable, reshuffling into hunter-gatherers primarily in charge of finding external supplies and expeditioners in charge of exploration. The old arts of fighting for survival were useful, but no longer the sole priority.

“If I were younger, I'd consider rejoining the current Hunters.” Dawn mused as she stirred the cooking pot. You've invited Fig and Remus to come over later, though you're not sure if Remus will show up. Worst case it'll be a picnic at his camp.

“You would?” You looked up from the book you were holding - Gull told you it's very good, but it's full of puzzles, and you still found it hard to wrap your head around them.

“Maybe. A young Hunter was talking about the oasis they found the other day and it sounded…” She paused for a moment before sighing out the final word, “beautiful.”


That was three days before you brought Dawn to the oasis for a date.

She laughed at the idea at first, questioning “Aren't we too old for such things?” But when you arrived, you saw sunlight in her eyes, so bright it made you want to cry.

She sighs as she hugs you, inclining her head on your shoulder.

“When we spoke that day… the day we came to this city,” You mutter, dazed by the sunrise over the golden desert, “I was worried you won't forgive me… you won't hear me.”

“I didn't intend to.” She spoke, her voice vibrates near your neck. “But for the first time in… ever, you seemed like you actually wanted to talk with me, to be with me. You wanted my presence. You were not coming to me out of duty or pity or pragmatism, but because you wanted to. I… missed that too.”