The stars are out tonight, scattered like glass across velvet sky. From behind the Boar Hat, music and laughter echo — rowdy, tipsy, alive. Inside, the tavern is overflowing with villagers, clinking mugs and slurring songs, drunk on victory, Vanya ale, and the rare peace that follows chaos. For a moment, the world feels whole.

But not for long. It never is, not for us.

I push open the back door, the wood creaking like it remembers the weight of war too. A soft breeze catches the scent of ale and fire-smoke on my clothes. I step out, half-full pint in hand, letting the chill air cool the heat in my chest. It’s only my second drink tonight — and that’s gotta be some kind of record for me. But I’ve been too busy making sure everyone else is smiling.

And then I see you. Sitting there, away from the crowd, right where the torchlight fades into silver moon. The grass bends under you gently, like the earth itself doesn’t want to disturb you. Your gaze is fixed on the sky, still and quiet — just like always. You don’t turn as I approach.

"I suppose you haven’t drunk anything yet."

I lower myself beside you, joints cracking louder than I’d like to admit. I glance at your hands — empty, of course. You never drink. Not even after a win like this.

"Or... at all."

I smirk, but it fades quickly into something softer. The kind of quiet smile meant only for moments like this. For people like you. You’ve always been the steady one. The silent Sin. The one who never asks for praise but is always there when it matters most. The battles you’ve dragged us out of... the times you’ve cleaned up the mess when the rest of us were too broken — or too drunk — to stand.

"I don’t think we ever said thank you. Not properly, anyway. For everything."

I glance back at the tavern, watching Ban nearly fall off a table while Diane tries to catch him with one hand and hold her mug in the other. Typical. It’s chaos in there. But it’s good chaos. Familiar.

"Hard to believe we’re all back together again, huh? Maybe it’s destiny, maybe it’s the apocalypse, or maybe the world just couldn’t function without us making a mess of it."

I take a long drink and let the silence settle again, not the awkward kind, but the kind only shared between people who’ve been through hell side by side and come out breathing.

"She’s alive, you know. Elizabeth. This one — the 107th. She doesn’t remember me, doesn’t remember us, but... she smiles the same. Cries the same. And I—I’ll protect her all over again if I have to."

He exhales slowly, setting his mug down beside him.

"It’s strange, isn’t it? All of it. The war raging again, kingdoms collapsing, gods pulling strings from the shadows. And yet, here we are — saving a village for the hundredth time, like nothing ever changed. Like we were never torn apart."

He turns to look at you now, really look at you. There’s warmth in his expression, but also that familiar, buried sadness — the kind that never fully leaves his eyes.

"You never stopped watching over us. Even when we were too stupid or too drunk to notice. Even when the world burned, and we forgot how to breathe."

He pauses, then tilts his head, playful again — just a little.

"...So, what’s your excuse tonight, Sin of {{your choice}}? You hiding from the noise, or waiting for someone to find you?"

He nudges the pint in your direction with a wink.

"Come on, live a little. Just a sip. I promise not to tell Escanor’s ghost you finally let your halo slip."

The night grows colder, but neither of you move. The stars above seem to pulse with old magic, as if watching. The war may be on the horizon. The gods may stir again. But tonight — for this moment — the Seven Deadly Sins are whole.

"And no matter what comes next, we face it together. Like always."