Revolution

The meadow outside Orbis stretched wide, kissed by the wind that carried with it the scent of pine and the freshness of damp earth. The horizon seemed endless, painted with gentle strokes of green hills and a pale blue sky, where a few slow-moving clouds floated lazily as if they, too, had surrendered to the peace of the afternoon. Birds sang high in the branches, their voices weaving together into a natural chorus that rose and fell with the wind.

Beneath one of the oldest oaks of the valley, Lian lay back, resting against the broad trunk. The bark was rough and uneven, pressing against his back, but it grounded him, reminded him he was alive, present, part of this world. The air was cool and steady, every passing gust bending the grass in long, elegant waves, like an ocean that had turned emerald in the sun. The rustling leaves above him created a rhythm, steady and soft, a lullaby the forest seemed to sing just for him.

His eyelids lowered, not in sleep, but in a kind of waking dream. He let his body loosen, surrendering to the comfort of the moment. His chest rose and fell with unhurried breaths, each one filling him with the tranquil energy of the place. Here, a few kilometers away from Orbis, he felt safe—far enough to hear no voices, no chatter, no weight of expectations. It was just him, the oak, the wind, and the memory of silence.

For the first time in a long while, the world felt light. Peaceful.

But peace always carried with it the echo of reflection. And so Lian’s mind drifted, unbidden, toward the past. His past self appeared vividly in his mind: quiet, hesitant, almost fragile. He remembered the boy who used to turn away from others, convincing himself that solitude was strength, that not asking for help was proof of resilience. He thought about how many chances he had let slip by. How many moments could have changed if he had just spoken up, just reached out.

“If only I could speak to him,” Lian thought, staring at the shifting patterns of sunlight between the branches. “I’d tell that boy to be braver. To ask for help. Because even if you can’t trust everyone completely, you still need someone. No one can walk this road alone.”

The breeze grew a little stronger, and he tilted his head back, letting it carry away the weight of those regrets. Slowly, a smile curved on his lips—not bitter, not sad, but warm, fragile, grateful. Because he had changed.

He thought of Kael’s fiery grin, her stubbornness, her fearless jokes. He thought of Mira’s quiet strength, her wounds, her courage in facing them. Against all odds, he had not only survived, but found people who chose to stay beside him. They weren’t just companions, or allies bound by convenience. No—he had finally understood the meaning of a word that carried more weight than any power, any title, any victory.

“Friends,” he whispered, the syllables carried softly by the wind, as if the entire meadow should hold that truth.

The silence stretched, gentle and unbroken, until a distant figure appeared on the horizon. At first, the shape was blurred, just a dark line moving between the trees. Slowly, it sharpened—a tall silhouette, cloaked, walking with a measured stride. Lian’s eyes narrowed, but soon softened. The tension in his shoulders eased.

It was Videl.

The Demon King approached without haste, his footsteps barely audible on the grass. When he was close enough, he inclined his head slightly in greeting, and his voice, though deep, was calm.

“Congratulations,” Videl said. “Your efforts in Orbis have borne fruit. There are no more arrogant heroes there, twisting justice for their own gain.”

“That’s true,” Lian replied, rising from the ground with slow grace. His legs were stiff from sitting, but his stance was firm. “But in the other cities, they still remain. Our work as adventurers has changed. Our quests now are to bring down these so-called heroes.”

Videl’s hand emerged from beneath his cloak, holding a bundle of sealed documents. The parchment was thick, bound with crimson ribbon, heavy with authority. He extended it toward Lian, who took it carefully, as though accepting a responsibility rather than mere papers.

“Don’t be too harsh on yourself,” Videl continued. “No one else has achieved in so little time what you, Kael, and Mira have. And word spreads quickly. The people of the other cities are already restless. They’ve heard of Orbis. They know the heroes no longer reign there. They want to follow, to match the tide of change. What you’ve begun is no less than a revolution.”

The words carried weight, echoing beneath the oak’s canopy. Lian’s grip tightened around the documents, his expression caught between determination and disbelief.

“You’re too kind, Videl,” he said at last. “Just keep giving me the information I need. The more I know, the better I can face them. Until next time—at the place we agreed.”

Videl gave a faint, enigmatic smile, the kind that concealed more than it revealed. “Until then. Farewell.”

He turned, his cloak rippling slightly in the wind, and walked back into the forest. His figure faded gradually, absorbed by the trees, until he became no more than a shadow swallowed by the horizon.

Lian stood still beneath the oak, letting the silence return. The breeze rose again, brushing against his cheeks, carrying with it both calm and promise. The meadow stretched endlessly before him, full of life, full of possibility. The world was far from healed, but the first step had been taken.

And sometimes, the first step is enough to change the course of everything.
Because as long as they had each other, the road ahead was no longer frightening—it was theirs.