End of the Storm

Darius and crew are at the end of their journey

The storm had passed.

Not all at once, not like the breaking of a fever, but slowly, like a wound finally learning how to close. The Hollow had receded, shrinking into itself with a final, aching wail, leaving silence in its place. A silence thick with smoke and rain and breath.

Lyle knelt on the splintered dock, hands resting on his thighs, eyes cast down as though ashamed to meet the world again. The Hollow was gone. So were the Treaders; either shattered or fled into the deep. The only sound was the creaking of the ruined ship and the soft lapping of waves against the harbor stone.

Darius stood nearby, watching the horizon as the first fingers of morning sun crept over the water. Its warmth touched his face, faint but real, and he closed his eyes for just a moment.

Behind him, Lyle spoke. “It’s quiet.”

“It is,” Darius said.

“I didn’t think...I didn’t think it would be.”

Darius turned to him, studying the lines on his brother’s face, etched far too deep for a man his age. His hair, once the same shade as Darius’s, was now streaked with silver. As if the Hollow had drained not just his magic, but his time.

From the broken remnants of the dock, a butterfly rose. Small. Pale yellow. It fluttered briefly in the air between them, catching a sliver of sunlight on its wings before drifting off toward the open sea.

Lyle followed it with his eyes. “Do you think it’s possible to begin again?”

Darius didn’t answer right away. He walked to the edge of the dock and extended a hand, helping his brother to his feet. Lyle took it; hesitant at first, then firm.

“We can try,” Darius said. “That's all we’ve ever been able to do.”