Magic was the first thing Dilmir became aware of. It flowed gently in and out of him, not focusing on anything, but simply there, a constant force. He felt at ease feeling it, and allowed it to lull him back to sleep, the tide of his magic going in and out, in and out…

A short time after, a voice broke into Dilmir’s slumbering mind. It was speaking Elvish, and he couldn’t make out the words, but he felt magic flow into him. He welcomed it, the magic familiar, comforting.

Not soon after, Dilmir began to wake for real. He could hear the voice clearly now, and he sensed that he was lying on something, something soft, not hard like the ground. He opened his eyes with difficulty, seeing only light. He blinked, and focus returned.

He was lying in a bed – his bed, in Aimim’s home – and two elves were next to him, healing him. He recognized only one: Iyadin, the most well-known healer in all of Eld’rin.

He tried to get up, but immediately fell back, pain blossoming across his body. The places Iskra had struck him burned and seared, and the deep wound between his ribs stung with a more concerning pain.

“Lie still,” Iyadin said, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Let us heal you.”

“Ilrin,” Dilmir said, his voice hoarse. “Is she all right?”

“She hasn’t woken,” Iyadin said, “but she seems to be fine. Her injuries have been healed.”

Dilmir relaxed. “What about the battle?” he asked.

“Over,” Iyadin said. “We won. The undead turned to dust when Cyprien was slain, and the Asdelarcen fled. Those who weren’t cut down are being hunted as we speak.”

Dilmir closed his eyes. They had won. They had actually beaten Aranthar’s attack.

“How many?” he asked. “How many dead?”

Iyadin didn’t immediately answer. “Too many,” she finally said. “They’re still counting.”

Dilmir felt a wave of sickness at her words. Was Endir among that number? Or Felnir? Or anyone else he knew?

Iyadin finished healing him soon afterwards. “Stay there,” she warned. “Your body needs time to adjust. I will go check on Ilrin.”

But as she turned to leave, Ilrin herself appeared in the doorway, supported between her parents. When she saw that Dilmir was awake, she ran to him, stumbling a little, and half-sat half-fell onto his bed. She leaned forward and hugged him.

Dilmir wasn’t much of a hugger, but just then he didn’t care. He hugged her back. “Are you all right?” he asked.

Ilrin nodded, her head against his newly healed shoulder. “Just a little weak,” she said. “Iyadin’s healed everything else.”

“Cyprien didn’t hurt you?” Dilmir asked.

“No,” Ilrin said. They broke apart, Ilrin shifting into a more stable sitting position. “He took me to his castle,” she said, her voice becoming halting. “Sonya was there. I tried to escape, to fight, something, but everything was stone, and the vampires were shielded. The air was so cold…” She shivered involuntarily, as if chilled by the memory. “There was nothing I could do. Nothing to enchant. Sonya conjured Iskra somehow… I remember her floating towards me… I didn’t know what it was… she just looked like smoke. Then I felt her… inside of me… inside my head—” she shivered again. “Thank you,” she said, giving him another quick hug. “Thank you for getting her out.”

“Yes,” said a voice, “thank you.” Ilrin’s mother moved into view. She was smiling at Dilmir warmly, and bent down, hugging him as well. “Thank you,” she whispered, “for returning our daughter to us.”

Ilrin’s father came up on the other side of Dilmir’s bed. “We were wrong about you, Dilmir,” he said, his voice somewhat hoarse. Dilmir looked at him. “We let the Council convince us that you were dangerous. That your magic was dangerous.” He paused. “We should never have listened to them.” He put a hand on Dilmir’s shoulder. “You’ve returned our daughter to us. You’ve proven the Council wrong. I want” —he paused for a moment— “Thank you,” he finally said. “Thank you.”

Dilmir smiled. They had won. The army was beaten and Cyprien was dead. But just then, none of that mattered to him as much as the people about him.

They had won.