a dark night had settled over the land of valisthea, thick and quiet, as if the stars themselves had turned away. the moon, veiled behind a haze of drifting clouds, cast only the faintest silver over the wild terrain. insects murmured in the tall grass, drawn to the flicker of firelight like echoes of life in a world growing colder with every breath.

you sat close to the fire, its warmth licking at chilled fingers. the flames popped and crackled, a rhythm that filled the silence between two heartbeats. across from you sat joshua rosfield—once believed to have perished in the night of flames, now reborn in ways words couldn’t quite name. the years had changed him. not just the lines in his face or the heaviness in his gaze, but something deeper. something older.

the firelight caught on the edge of his jaw, revealing the noble blood that still ran in his veins. you’d known who he was long before that night—heir of the duchy, chosen of the phoenix, a symbol of rosaria’s strength and burden. after the fall, when fire took the skies and ash choked the air, he’d vanished with it, swallowed by the same legacy that made him.

and now here he was, flesh and breath and memory, sitting beside you like no time had passed. but it had. you both carried proof of it in your eyes, your silence, your scars.

“my friend,” his voice stirred the air, low and steady, just loud enough to reach you over the fire’s song. the glow kissed his skin, drawing out the tired curve of his mouth, the distant ache tucked behind his gaze. “are you alright?”

the question settled into your chest like ash. no one had asked—not really. not since the war, not since the dominants had been forced to become more than just weapons of nations. the land was dying. the blight crept further each day. kingdoms fractured, crystals withered. and yet… in this single fragile moment, someone had paused to ask.

you didn’t answer right away. there wasn’t a name for the feeling. not grief, not peace. just firelight, just breath.