Dawn settled over Frostholm like a final farewell. The world beyond waited—vast, uncertain, hungry for heroes. And whether she was ready or not, Star would answer its call.

“You can rest here for the night,” Hilda said, her voice warm despite the fatigue on her face. She pointed to the pews and a side room where a few hastily prepared beds had been laid out. “It’s not much, but it’s safe and quiet.”

“Thank you, Hilda,” Star said, bowing her head slightly.

The group entered the small room, each finding a corner to relax after the trials of the day. Friedrich collapsed onto one of the beds with a long sigh. “Finally, something soft to lie on.”

Siegfried sat on a nearby bench, polishing his shield while Klara checked her catalyst, small sparks of electricity dancing between her fingers. Star leaned against the window, gazing out at the snow-covered village as Boreas’ distant voice echoed faintly on the wind.

“Good night, everyone,” Star murmured softly.

“Good night,” her friends echoed, their voices heavy with the weariness of the day.

Morning crept in with a chill, and a gentle knock at the church door stirred Star from sleep. She rose slowly, the cold seeping through the ancient stone walls and wooden floor. Blinking into the pale morning light filtering through frosted glass, she noticed her companions stirring as well. Friedrich groaned, stretching stiff limbs while mumbling about sore muscles. Klara rubbed her eyes and reached for her catalyst, carefully placed at her side.

Before anyone could fully rise, the creaking of the church door announced the arrival of a visitor.

A man clad in polished silver armor stepped inside—one of the Royal Guards. His helmet was tucked beneath his arm, revealing a face carved by duty and unwavering discipline.

"Forgive the early intrusion," he said, voice courteous yet firm. "The King has sent us to escort you back to the capital. He wishes to speak with you again about your journey."

Siegfried straightened at the mention of the King, his expression sharpening. “We’ll be ready shortly.”

The guard gave a respectful nod before stepping outside to wait. Moments later, Hilda entered the room, carrying a folded white cloth in her hands. Her usual confident demeanor had softened, a silent burden evident in her eyes as she approached Star.

"Before you go, take this," Hilda said gently, extending the cloth. "It’s been in our family for generations, once used to safeguard sacred relics. Wrap Alioth’s sword in this. It will keep the blade clean and protected from harm during your travels."

Star hesitated for a moment before accepting the cloth, her fingers running across its finely woven threads. “Thank you, Hilda. I’ll take good care of it.”

With careful hands, she removed the temporary wrappings from the sword and replaced them with the ancestral cloth, moving with reverence. The blade shimmered faintly in the morning light, as if acknowledging the honor it had been granted.

Once everyone had gathered their belongings, Kevin appeared at the church doorway. The stern lines of his face had softened into a rare smile. “Travel safely. Frostholm will always be here, should you need us.”

The scene outside the church was both heartwarming and bittersweet.

A luxurious royal carriage awaited at the village’s edge, its sleek black and gold exterior a stark contrast against the snow-dusted road. The horses, strong and well-groomed, pawed the earth impatiently.

Villagers had gathered, bundled in thick furs against the cold, to bid their guests farewell. Their faces were alight with gratitude and admiration, their voices filled with heartfelt goodbyes.

“Thank you for everything!” one villager called out, his voice cracking with emotion.

“You’re our heroes! Come visit us again someday!” cried another, enthusiasm ringing through the crisp morning air.

One by one, the group climbed into the carriage. Klara paused at the doorway, turning to wave at the crowd—her usual curiosity replaced with a quiet pride. Siegfried followed, exchanging a firm handshake with Kevin before boarding. Friedrich was the last, his broad frame filling the doorway as he glanced back with a small, fond smile.

From within the carriage, Star watched the villagers waving, their voices growing fainter as the horses began to pull them away from Frostholm. She pressed a hand to the window, her heart heavy with gratitude—and the weight of what lay ahead.

"Goodbye, Frostholm," she whispered, her breath fogging the glass.

Frostholm disappeared behind drifting snow. Inside the carriage, silence settled—each of them quietly wondering when they’d next see a scene so peaceful again