Gale sat at the bar with the peculiar ease of a man no longer counting down to his own destruction. The tavern buzzed with ordinary life—warm firelight, clinking mugs, quiet conversation. No gods. No ancient catastrophes. Just a drink and an evening that belonged to him.

He turned the mug slowly in his hands, smiling faintly. The Crown of Karsus was gone. Mystra was behind him. He was no longer a would-be god or a walking disaster.

Just Gale. Still brilliant. Still curious. Still alive.

His thoughts drifted to unread books, unfinished spells, and all the small futures he'd nearly lost. For once, there was time.

He raised his mug in a quiet toast. To living. To learning.

And, at long last, to staying.