The remaining day wasn't anything special—except that Kael had to fly the criminals who said they didn't want to stay in the village to the city.

But well, Kael had promised them, and he wasn't one to go back on it.

He helped them land some distance from the city, as they asked, and then flew back.

After all that, he supervised the villagers, including the criminals, who were working despite feeling weak.

Then, by seven in the evening, Kael called it a day.

The night came early in the village.

The laughter that had echoed all afternoon from the children was now a faint murmur behind shuttered windows.

Even the forest beyond seemed to settle, its usual nocturnal rhythm softened—as though the world itself was holding its breath, waiting.

Inside Kael's home, warmth lingered in every corner. The faint scent of pine and herbs mixed with the quiet crackle of the hearth.

Lyra, Alenia, Selene, and Evethra had long since fallen asleep—each in their own room, their bodies still weakened from the power that had settled in their souls.

The twins, Rue and Rina, were bundled up against Druvarn's thick fur, his steady breaths rising and falling like a living lullaby.

In another part of the village, the homes of the reformed criminals were dimly lit, small fires glowing through the gaps in their wooden shutters.

Ronan lay on a straw mattress, his muscular arm wrapped protectively around the woman beside him.

The wolfman's gray fur caught the faint firelight, his chest rising slowly with each tired breath.

His wife nestled against him, tracing her fingers along the scars on his arm—the same scars that had once made children cry in fear but now only spoke of redemption hard-won.

"You seem off tonight," she murmured. "You've barely touched your food, and your breathing's strange."

Ronan stared at the ceiling for a moment before sighing, his yellow eyes distant. "Aye… I feel weaker than usual. Like all the strength I've built is sleeping."

She frowned, lifting her head to look at him. "Should we call Tafirz?"

Tafirz was one of the guys in the village with healing skills, and although he wasn't anything special, he was better than nothing.

Ronan, however, chuckled faintly. "No need. This isn't sickness. This might even be a gift."

He turned his gaze to her, a small smile tugging at his lips. "By tomorrow afternoon, I might be stronger than I've ever been. Maybe… things'll start changing for good."

His wife smiled faintly, pressing her forehead against his. "Then sleep, my wolf. Let tomorrow come."

Ronan closed his eyes. For the first time in years, he slept not with guilt or fear—but with hope.

.............................

Across the village, in a smaller hut near the river, the lizardman lay sprawled across a bed of reeds, one hand over his chest.

His green scales glimmered faintly in the moonlight that slipped through the cracks of the roof.

"Damn… this weakness," he muttered, his forked tongue flicking irritably. "Feels like someone's sucked the strength outta me. That lazy bastard better not have cursed me."

His grumbling filled the silence of the hut, but after a few moments, it softened. "Still… it wouldn't be the first time somethin' good came from that devil."

He chuckled to himself, his sharp teeth flashing in the dark, and before long, the sound faded into slow, even breaths.

.............................

Next door, the minotaur sat upright in his tiny hut, his broad frame barely fitting under the low roof.

He stared at his massive hands, flexing them sluggishly. "Weak," he said plainly. "Feels bad."

Then, after a moment, he grinned. "Tomorrow better be worth this."

When he lay back, the bed creaked under his weight, the straw rustling softly beneath him.

Despite his blunt words, there was something almost childlike in the way he closed his eyes—like a warrior resting before his first real battle.

.............................

Not far from him, the meek antlered man knelt by his window, his hands clasped in silent prayer. The silver light of the moon glowed faintly on his horns.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice trembling. "If tomorrow really brings change, then maybe I can… finally be useful."

He didn't know who he was thanking—Kael, fate, or the gods—but for the first time, he prayed with something like conviction.

.............................

And then, there was Kael.

The one who had caused all of this—the ripple of light that had quietly touched every heart in the village.

He lay in his bed, his black coat tossed carelessly across a chair. The moonlight painted faint silver lines across his face, softening the sharpness of his golden eyes.

Evethra, who had gone to sleep earlier, was curled against him, her head resting on his chest, her hand tangled loosely in his shirt.

Her long hair spilled like a dark waterfall over his arm, cool against his skin.

Kael's eyes were half-open, his expression one of lazy amusement as he looked down at the sleeping vampire.

"You really fell asleep fast," he murmured, recalling how she had woken up to call him to sleep, and as soon as she fell on the bed, her eyes closed.

Evethra stirred faintly, her crimson eyes flickering open just enough for a sleepy glare. "You're supposed to sleep too, my lord."

He smiled. "You're bossy when you're tired."

She muttered something incoherent and buried her face in his chest.

Kael chuckled, wrapping an arm around her, feeling the faint rhythm of her breathing against his ribs.

The silence stretched between them—comfortable, warm, and deeply human. For someone like Kael, who didn't even remember anything from two weeks ago, the moment felt… grounding.

He looked toward the window. The village below was still, the houses bathed in soft moonlight.

Even the stars seemed quieter tonight, as though the heavens themselves were watching.

"…Tomorrow," he whispered. "Let's see what kind of change my actions today will bring."

Evethra shifted slightly, her fingers tightening around his shirt. "Tomorrow," she mumbled.

Kael smiled faintly and closed his eyes.

He knew that no one would awaken their powers tomorrow morning, as they needed twenty-four hours to do so, but he also knew that once the next day arrived, afternoon would come in the blink of an eye.

.............................

Morning came gently, almost unnoticed.

The fog that blanketed the village lifted slowly, revealing streets that glowed faintly under the pale light of dawn.

The air was crisp, carrying with it the earthy scent of damp soil and pine.

Despite their lingering weakness, everyone—the girls and the criminals, of course—rose early.

Routine, it seemed, was stronger than fatigue.

Lyra swept the front of Kael's house, her silver hair glinting faintly as she hummed a quiet tune.

Every now and then, she'd pause to rest her hands against the broom handle, her breath shallow but steady.

She smiled faintly when Rue and Rina darted past her—slower than usual, but still full of energy, laughing as Druvarn trudged after them with his usual grumbling.

In the kitchen, Selene stirred a pot of stew, the wooden spoon clinking softly against the pot's rim. Her movements were deliberate, slower than her usual practiced grace, but her eyes remained calm.

Alenia helped her, cutting herbs with trembling fingers yet refusing to stop. The two exchanged faint smiles but spoke little; the quiet between them was peaceful.

Evethra, the composed maid, despite the faint tiredness in her limbs, was dusting the bookshelves near Kael's chair.

Every now and then, she would glance toward him—the man lazily reclining with a cup of tea, his golden eyes half-lidded.

"You should rest more," she murmured.

Kael looked up at her with a faint grin. "Says the one whose eyes are literally half-lidded."

That earned him a soft sigh, followed by the faintest twitch of a smile on Evethra's lips before she went back to her work.

Outside, life moved on.

The criminals—now villagers in all but name—worked the fields and reinforced the fences by the forest edge.

Ronan, despite the dull ache in his arms, led them with quiet efficiency. His sharp eyes softened when he looked at the others, especially the younger ones, making sure they didn't overwork themselves.

"Keep it steady," he called out. "No use rushing when your body's fighting you."

The minotaur grunted in response, sweat gleaming across his brown fur as he lifted a wooden beam into place.

The lizardman, sprawled lazily beside him, flicked his tongue. "Easy for you to say. My body's telling me to take a nap."

"Then take one," the minotaur replied flatly.

"I was being dramatic, you horned rock," the lizardman muttered, earning a snort of laughter from a nearby worker.

Even the meek antlered man managed a small smile as he worked beside them, his movements clumsy but determined.

The sun rose higher, tracing slow golden arcs across the sky.

Hours melted away in quiet labor. No one rushed, and no one complained.

It was as though every soul in the village knew something was coming—and that this stillness, this calm, was sacred.

By the time the shadows stretched long again and the sun was right above their heads, Kael stood outside his house, arms crossed loosely as he watched the village before him.

The air hummed with a strange energy—not yet visible, but present.

Just as he had thought, the afternoon had arrived in silence.

And now, as the sun began its slow descent, Kael smiled faintly to himself.

"Almost time," he murmured.

It was time for him to see the criminals and inspect the changes they had.

Today, they would earn new powers, and right after that, a new breathing technique.

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