Chapter Text
Piksel left the next morning, despite both Omir and Ana begging him to stay.
"I've got wandering feet," he said with a small smile. "I couldn't stay in one place if I tried. And anyways, I've passed on what I needed to."
He did look lighter. There was a bounce to his step that seemed to have erased decades of hardship from his shoulders, and he almost seemed to glow with the same peaceful yet immovable light that the Vigil did.
In another life, Ana thought, this man could very well guide entire nations through hell.
Maybe he had.
Amael, on the other hand, seemed oddly preoccupied, quieter than he usually was. When pressed, all he said was, "The burden of Vigilkeeper is a heavy one to bear for some. He told me that he had been searching for someone to pass the flame onto for years."
"What will you do when you move on?" Omir asked.
"When the time comes, I will pass the title down to someone else," responded Amael with a small smile. "He told me that was how it was always supposed to be, in the beginning. Our people carried on the tradition, of course, but I could tell it was a relief for him to pass it on properly."
"Was that it?" Ana asked.
"He asked to light thirteen candles," said Amael. "Twelve for old friends, and one for the world that he was from."
All three of them were quiet for a moment. Omir wiped his eyes.
"I hope it brings him peace," Ana murmured eventually.
"I think it did," said Amael.
Ana and Omir returned to their respective shops. Amael went back home to take a nap. The living kingdom of Sanctuary bustled as it always did.
And somewhere, quietly, an age-old story that had lain unfinished for millennia was carefully put to rest, with the sound of a book snapping gently shut.