A year had passed since the last explosive battle had thundered across the misty, craggy highlands of Zvjezdano Nórland. Against all odds, peace had taken root—a vibrant, unruly peace that sometimes forgot to comb its wild hair or tie its sturdy boots, but still, a peace that filled the land with its unmistakable presence.
High on the ancient terraces of Zlatnomirheim, Loriantfel now donned the gleaming mantle of Arch General. There, with his arms crossed in steadfast military pride and a spit-up towel casually slung over one shoulder, he surveyed his domain. Below, in a sprawling garden dappled with sunlight, Jingfei—his wife and the true heart of the household—radiated warmth and joy. Her glow came not only from her expectant pregnancy (again!) but also from her recent promotion to Head Cook of the regal palace kitchens. Whispers abounded that she cooked as if the gods themselves had whispered secret recipes to her in enchanted dreams—and sometimes, they might have been right.
In the center of it all, their little daughter toddled about like a joyous whirlwind, Elarinya. Known affectionately to everyone as Little Grape, she earned her nickname when, in a burst of unplanned hilarity, she somersaulted out of her mother's belly, emerging purple, shrieking, and utterly unbothered. Now, she reigned over the garden paths, waving sticks as if they were mighty scepters, and playfully commanding bees to dance in her wake.
Not far behind, Gui—his wild hair interwoven with bright, tangled flowers—dashed playfully through the lilies after her, his every movement a portrait of wild abandon. The palace servants had long since ceased their futile pleas to keep the flower beds pristine, resigned to the delightful chaos.
"Looks like she's planning to conquer the rose bushes today," Loriantfel observed with a touch of affectionate amusement.
"She gets that from you," Jingfei replied, a soft smirk playing on her lips as one hand rested protectively on her rounded, expectant belly.
Far to the north, in the frost-kissed realm of Snežni Nordtop, Feredis busied himself with an entirely different challenge. At the venerable Monastery of Wizardry, he had become the youngest Grand Master in three centuries. Clad in robes overflowing with embroidered stars and sporting a beard that seemed intent on outgrowing even his own ego, his lectures—vivid and sometimes exuberantly loud—captivated his audience. Even when the formidable Hoki interrupted mid-spell with a corrective comment or when Miyx hovered in a background swirl of chaotic magic, Feredis's brilliance shone through.
"Yes, yes, fine," he would exclaim, cheeks flushed in a mix of pride and playful embarrassment. "You're right again—but I am still the Grand Master, you know!" Hoki, with a mischievous glint, would simply smile and kiss his nose, their brief dispute dissolving until the next lesson beckoned.
Back in the rugged stronghold of Kamen Fjord—also known as Stone Deep—Fror and Gror finally trudged through the door of home. Their arrival had nearly been greeted by a rolling pin, courtesy of their exasperated mother.
"Do your eyes not work? Why didn't you send a bird, a message, smoke signals? I've been worried sick!" she scolded, her tone a mix of fiery annoyance and loving concern.
No sooner had she spoken than her gaze fell on the two serene figures behind her sons—Xueyi and Yueli, as calm as moonlight and moving with a grace that seemed to double the beauty of the night.
"...And these are?" she inquired.
"Our wives," Gror announced with a sheepish grin, reminiscent of a child caught sneaking into the orchard.
Their mother blinked in both shock and delight. "You brought wives home? You found love while I was busy lighting candles for your poor, troubled souls—oh, never mind—come here, all of you. I'm making my famous goulash." And just like that, the halls of Kamen Fjord rang with warm, hearty laughter.
Every morning, like clockwork, Mirna, Hattori, and Honzo met in a blur of movement, laughter, and tension that ran just beneath the surface. What once had been simple sparring had shifted—now a ritual soaked in rivalry, longing, and the unspoken truth that bound them all. Despite the soft swell of her belly, Mirna moved like a storm, her strikes fluid, precise. The twins growing inside her hadn't slowed her down one bit.
"You're going to have to take it easy soon,"Hattori said, breathless, blocking a strike with the flat of his blade.
Honzo leaned on his spear with a crooked grin. "Tell that to your child."
Hattori shot him a sharp glance. "Funny. You weren't saying that when you were in her bed."
Mirna froze mid-step and groaned, rubbing her temple. "Really? Are we doing this again?"
She stepped between them, sweat glistening on her brow, eyes hard. "If either of you brings up 'whose they are' one more time, I swear I'll name them Chaos and Regret."
A heavy silence followed.
Then, almost simultaneously, the two men muttered "Fine. We'll flip a coin."
In a quieter corner of Zlatnomirheim's palace garden, beneath the expansive, blooming boughs of a majestic Starwillow tree, two old friends and long-retired war heroes, Vjetromor and Vedran, sipped their tea. Their voices, normally reserved for recounting tales of old, rose only when the sugar bowl was nearly empty.
"You know," Vedran remarked as he watched the koi fish swirl languidly in a trickling pond, "we really ought to get back to writing our memoirs."
"You say that every week," Vjetromor replied with a gentle laugh. "You just enjoy the sound of your own importance."
"I am important," Vedran declared with playful stubbornness.
They sipped their tea in synchronized silence, enveloped by the peaceful ambiance of the garden.
Beyond the golden fields of blue blossoms, Mei-Ling walked hand-in-hand with Aelric, her other hand resting gently atop the swell of her belly. Their steps were unhurried, as if time itself had paused to breathe—to savor a rare moment of peace after the long, brutal cadence of war.
Then, without a word, Mei-Ling stopped. Her gaze drifted toward the horizon, eyes wide with something unreadable—something distant and quiet, like a memory returning.
"Wait," she whispered softly, extending her hand. In her palm lay three glowing runes, each pulsing with a mysterious, ethereal light.
Aerlic blinked, his voice catching in his throat. "I thought those were lost... or even dead."
Mei-ling nodded slowly, her expression both gentle and resolute. "I managed to keep two. The last one... it was found after Fenglian fell, buried deep beneath the roots of the final moon willow." She bent closer, watching as the runes began to hum with an inner life, their light growing ever more vibrant. "Now I have all three—they can regenerate. They can open the portal."
The stones pulsed softly, awakening as if from a long, enchanted slumber. Gradually, they shimmered brighter and brighter until a gentle hum filled the air. Tendrils of light radiated from their edges, swirling in the caressing wind, until with a tender pulse, a portal emerged before them—a gateway as vast as a cathedral door.
Through the shimmering portal, the Valley of Hundred Flowers lay in breathtaking splendor, bathed in the glow of full bloom. On the other side, cheerful figures waved, laughing and calling out in joyful reunion. Among them, Master Lu Shen and Master Wen Qingshan sat having tea—only to drop their delicate cups in unexpected shock when they saw her. They waved furiously, their faces alight with the warmth of the sun.
Aerlic smiled knowingly. "Well, you always said I needed to meet your side of the family."
Mei-ling laughed, her voice like chimes in a gentle breeze. "Let's go visit my home world."
Hand in hand, they stepped confidently through the portal, their arrival greeted by open arms and radiant smiles from the people of Shenzhouya—a land where even the petals seemed to remember and whisper her name.
The END.