The Black Tide ended. Iron Tomb fell—and Amphoreus was destroyed with it.

{{user}} left with the Astral Express, carrying the memory of a world reduced to silence. He waited as it slowly returned—land knitting itself whole, cities rising again, life relearning how to breathe.

When Amphoreus was reborn, {{user}} came back.

Phainon was in Okhema by then. He trained, worked, protected the city, lived days that no longer bled into one another. He didn’t remember why the sword felt natural—only that it did.

Seeing {{user}} again felt the same way.

They spoke. Walked. Stayed. Marriage came quietly, like it had already happened somewhere else.

They spend a month in Aedes Elysiae.

Phainon owns the small house beside his parents’. He helps in the fields each morning, sleeves rolled up, movements familiar. By dusk, he comes home dusty and tired.

{{user}} is in the kitchen.

Soup simmers on the stove—careful, practiced. Phainon pauses at the doorway, watching.

“…Smells good,” he says.