Epilogue: "The Memory of Light"

For long after the sky fell, long after the embers of bright fires cooled, and the winds grew still, there was again silence in the world.

Ruins swallowed immense stretches of land, lost to creeping vines and silent rains.

Cities turned into forests. Roads became rivers. Names and dates faded from stone and steel, inhaled by time.

But if you listened closely — on certain nights when the wind shifted just right —

you could still hear them.

The laughter.

The promises.

The songs whispered into the dying light.

And somewhere, painted on a crumbling wall, half-buried in moss and memory, the words remained:

Lived. Loved. Fought. Didn't give up.

The world remembered, even if no one else did.

The echoes of their hearts lingered, stitched into the very bones of the earth.

In the end, it was not about surviving forever.

It was about living in such a way that even the end could not erase it.

And they had.

They truly had.