Kael vanished afterward, as quietly as the passing of a forgotten dream.Some say he sailed beyond the western sea, where the horizon kisses the edge of the world, and the stars are born from the depth of the ocean's endless night.There, in the silence of the uncharted waters, he sought no crown, no glory.Only the stillness.Perhaps he sailed to find peace that had eluded him in the midst of kingdoms and gods, or perhaps to escape the world he had changed beyond recognition.Whatever the truth, Kael was never seen again.
Others say he sleeps beneath the Drowned Temple, buried in the depths of the earth where the ruins of ancient kings rest in the cool embrace of the river.In that hollow place, where the echoes of old oaths and broken promises reverberate, Kael dreams.Not of power or conquest.Not of thrones or triumphs.But of the world he left behind, a world of wounded hearts and healing souls.He dreams, they say, of a future where his mercy lingers like a seed planted in the soil of men's hearts, growing into something stronger than what had come before.
And still, others claim that Kael walks the earth still — though no longer as the man who once faced gods and kings.He walks now as an old man, bent by time, but with eyes that still hold the quiet strength of someone who has seen the world through every shade of light and dark.In the quiet corners of forgotten forests, or beneath the shade of overgrown ruins, Kael can be found planting trees.Trees whose shade he will never see, but whose roots will grow deep into the earth, stretching out beyond his time, beyond his memory.He plants them not for himself, but for those who will come after him.For the generations that will inherit the world he once saved.In his hands, the broken earth becomes whole again.
But Iven remained.
He did not vanish into the mists of legend.He did not sail to distant shores or sleep in the shadow of forgotten temples.He stayed — a man who had seen the depths of destruction, who had lived through the fire of hatred, and had emerged from it, reborn.Where once there had been a sword in his hand, there was now only the quiet turning of pages, the rustling of paper in the dim light of candlelit rooms.
Iven laid down his sword.He laid down the weapon that had once been his only means of survival, his only way of speaking in a world that had taught him to conquer through force.In its place, he took up books — not for the power they might bring, but for the knowledge they contained.Books were a different kind of weapon, one that did not strike, but built.He spent his days teaching broken soldiers how to build, not to destroy.He taught them the art of creation — how to forge bonds of trust, how to rebuild the cities they had burned, how to mend the hearts they had shattered.With each lesson, each page turned, the world healed a little more.
The kingdoms slowly healed — not by decree, but by choice.
The great halls that once echoed with the clamor of battle now resonated with the quiet hum of rebuilding.The cities that had crumbled beneath the weight of war now rose again, stone by stone, not through force, but through patience and understanding.Old enemies, once locked in a dance of endless bloodshed, now sat across tables and spoke not of revenge, but of reconciliation.The cycle that had defined their world for so long had been broken, and in its place, something new had grown — fragile, but real.
It was not the work of kings or gods.It was not the work of those who claimed power over the world.It was the work of those who had once fought for the right to rule, but who had learned, through pain and loss, that true strength lies not in the ability to command, but in the ability to listen, to understand, and to choose a better path.
Iven, in his quiet way, became a steward of that new world.He became a teacher, a builder, a reminder that even the most broken things could be mended.Where once his heart had been filled with fire, it was now filled with something greater — the steady flame of hope.And though he never sought fame or glory, though he never raised a banner or claimed a throne, his name would be remembered.
Because in the end, it was not the conquerors who changed the world.It was the ones who chose to build it.