Beloved Darial,

We returned to Friar broken but alive, and in that nameless tavern the crowd’s roar nearly shook the walls down. They pressed drink into our hands, called us saviors, and cheered until the rafters rattled. That night the tavern found its name: the Hearth.

But, Darial, what I remember most is not the cheer. It was what followed, when the cups emptied and the crowd thinned, leaving only us — the Bobas — gathered around the fire.

Jack lifted his cup first. “We lived. We kept John’s song. That is enough.”

Emily leaned her bow against the table, her hands still steady despite all. “Not enough. The Reaper will rise again. We must be ready to strike before it grows, not after.”

Bam Bam snorted, flipping his knife. “Strike at what? Another shadow? Another false god? No. If we want to end this cycle, we take what’s theirs. The relics, the goddess’ treasures. Power isn’t answered by vigilance, it’s answered by theft. Better in my hands than theirs.”

Albee turned her rings slowly, the firelight dancing in the gems. “And what happens when what you take unravels you? Fragments are still fragments, Bam. You think you hold power, but the cost is in pieces you cannot glue back. I know, because I tried.”

He leaned forward, eyes hard. “And did it not save us? Those rings burned the Reaper’s heart.”

Her voice fell sharp. “At the price of myself.”

Silence hung. Tina broke it with a laugh that did not hide her worry. “Here we are, arguing philosophy like priests while the ale grows warm.”

Xty, bright as ever, raised her spark-lit hands. “Maybe both are true! Maybe we need Albee’s fragments and Bam’s risks. Maybe the cycle only breaks if we laugh through it, like John said.”

Emily’s reply was firm, almost like scripture. “Strength is not in theft or shattering souls. It is in steady hands and a clear aim. I will keep my bow, and my self, whole.”

Jack ended it at last, voice like stone. “The Reaper is dead. Tonight we drink, tomorrow we plan. No more.”

The fire cracked, the lute hung above the hearth, and for a while we sat in uneasy peace. But I felt then, Darial, that shadows are not only fought on battlefields. They creep also into hearts and philosophies, into the choices of friends.

Yet even so, there was hope. Because even in that argument, we were still together, still alive, still around the same table. And perhaps that is what matters most.

Always yours,
Kyle