He slipped from the sheets, careful not to disturb the lovely ladies of Dynn Heledir with whom he had shared the final festivities of the victory celebration that had consumed Evening Star these past few days.

While he hoped to return for a quiet, early morning farewell with Renethia and Fenalisa, he never missed daybreak if he had any say in the matter. An inn was never truly quiet—not if it served breakfast—and this one, where the Stewards had once gathered what felt like years ago before the victory over Lord Ardai, was no exception. Their success had come with the help of their allies, but now, in the soft predawn light, Kymil sought a more personal peace.

The first pale hint of dawn crept across the sky as he knelt in the dew-drenched grass on the eastern edge of Evening Star.

Everyone and every god had their own way of praying, meditating, or acting to show their faith. For Kymil, celebrating Rillifane often meant seeking out an open stretch of natural terrain—whether under the sun or stars—and simply being with the world. Neither the setting nor the ritual itself were required for his connection with Rillifane, or Meilikki, when his dual faiths called to him in tandem.

For long minutes, the sky lightened gradually as Kymil’s hands, soft with the morning dew, idly caressed the grass. His prayers were never mere rote recitations; instead, he reached deep into his memories. He recalled the ancient oak trees, their leaves trembling as rain dripped steadily from their boughs. He remembered the sharp, refreshing scent of the Semberholme River near home, and the dry, sandy expanse of the western wastes, where they had rescued the DuBiddy clan. These memories—fragments of beauty from all corners of his life—melded together as the first rays of light broke over the horizon, flooding his eyes with the warmth and brilliance of a new day.

A smile tugged at his lips as his hands pressed deeper into the earth, breaking through the sod. Eyes still closed, he reached into his pouch and drew forth a small seed, the kind that could one day grow into something mighty. He combined it with a handful of berries, the same kind that had reminded him of Corydalis’s grove, and placed both into the small hole he had made.

Then, with a final whisper of prayer to the triad of Rillifane, Meilikki, and Jergal, he added a last piece to the offering: the skeletal pinky bone of a fallen dragonkin. It had remained attached to the knife he’d discovered and taken from a soldier of Evening Star just days before, during his healing of the man.

The earth stirred, as if in answer. The seedling pushed upward, breaking through the soil, growing quickly to a few inches high. Life and Death—two sides of the same coin—flowed in unison. A cycle as old as the world itself, a cycle that would continue long after Kymil’s own time.

Twitch, his companion, had much in common with him—though their paths twisted ever so slightly in different directions. Kymil whispered one last thought into the morning breeze. May Life and Death continue to watch over him—and his newly discovered family.