Epilogue

When the world feels reclaimed

The clans would always remember, engrave each moment into physical memories.

The Clans lived just like before, in villages but more connected than ever.

The Earth Clan tended their soil with patience, letting decayed roots return to the land and new seeds rise where old ones suffocated. The village that once hoarded souls beneath stones, people spoke louder now—the names of those who had passed and those who they held dearly. They learned to mourn, and they learned to celebrate life, and they planted again. Life continued to move forward, slower but more honest.

The Fire Clan burned only what was needed. Their children play among the embers, learning that heat could nurture. They carried stories of restraint and courage. Their sparks remain a gift taught to keep the world warm with love and longing.

The Winged Order is no longer ruled by fear and command. Some returned to the skies, guiding travelers and looking over the lands. Others settled in villages, letting their wings fold over arms instead of their swords, learning that protection did not require oppression. Their soldiers whispered back to the wind, teaching it to carry freedom.

And the Water Clan endured as it always had, but now they opened their bays, their shores, and their lives to the world. Boats moved freely along the tides, nets mended, and children learned the power of ember, of flight, and of healing. Mother Pearl watched from her calm currents, now flowing openly to all who needed them.

The boundaries between clans softened. Trade, conversation, shared rites of passage bloomed like spring after a cold season. The world was no longer waiting for a throne to command it; it was learning to live without one.

Some still whispered about shrine maidens, the vessels of power that had once carried the whole world’s weight. Some still wondered about the King, whose ambitions had been undone and now with unknown fate, left to the currents of time and judgement of spirits. But these were stories about firesides and tides.

And somewhere, always, the sigils of the lands pulled softly. The world has been reclaimed to be nurtured and protected, to let it breathe again.

The clans would remember.

And the circle

The people who had walked with perpetuating spring through every fracture and every dawn, remained. Together, they moved through the world.

Wherever Rure walked, they followed.

Mother Spring smiled once again.