Their tracks belonged to the stars and the unknown, while this place, Aedes Elysiae—with its wheat fields, cooking smoke, children's laughter, and the wrinkles on old people's faces—belonged to a landscape of staying and growing.
At some point, Cyrene had come to stand beside him, also watching the figure about to vanish around the bend in the path.
Her pink hair stirred gently in the breeze, a few strands brushing across her fair neck. Her eyes reflected the golden fields and the deep blue sky, tranquil and distant, as though she had long grown accustomed to meetings and partings.
"Honestly, leaving without even saying goodbye." Phainon sounded somewhat helpless, his voice dropping low.
Cyrene kept smiling, her profile soft beneath the light. "Heroes are always like that, aren't they?"
"True."
Phainon set down the basket on his back. Inside, the wheat stalks shone golden, carrying the scent of sunlight and earth.
He took a deep breath.
In the distance, Piso and Livia had started bickering again over who had picked up more wheat stalks. Their clear childish voices drifted across the fields, full of life.
The old village chief straightened up, wiped away his sweat with a rough palm, and looked toward the mostly harvested wheat field with a satisfied smile.
Mydei was helping a villager lift a heavy bundle of wheat onto a cart, his arm muscles taut and his expression focused.
The other Chrysos Heirs had also merged into the rhythm of labor, cutting, bundling, passing water, and wiping sweat. They looked as ordinary as anyone who had farmed this land generation after generation.
The three figures who had saved the world were no longer in sight.
At the end of the path, there remained only traces of wind passing through the wild grass, and clouds leisurely unfurling