Ambra sat on an ornately carved wooden bench in the secluded garden of the Duke's estate. The marble statues around her seemed to watch in eternal silence, their expressions forever frozen in time—a sharp contrast to the ever-changing nature of her own existence. She was surrounded by lush foliage, exotic flowers of all colors, and a small tranquil pond that mirrored the heavens.

Above her, the night sky was a masterpiece. Stars burst forth in colors of orange, yellow, and blue, swirling and twirling in an apathetic grand scheme as if painted by the brushstrokes of gods long forgotten. They seemed so distant yet so close, unreachable but deeply felt—a paradox that matched her own complex emotions that she had yet to fully make sense of.

Her blood-red eyes, as clear as the brightest ruby crystal, absorbed the celestial panorama, and for a moment, the universe was reflected in them. She was a mirror to the cosmos, and yet, the cosmos could not mirror the disquiet that churned within her soul.

Just a night ago, she had spoken with Laura. She had said, "You're not alone, Ambra." Even Camila echoed the sentiment saying she was wanted back, and she had seen the raw sorrow in Deidan's eyes when she was not there.

Wanted, they said. But wanted as what? As who?

She ran her tongue subtly over the new, cruel additions to her anatomy. Fangs, sharp and menacing, had replaced her once human teeth. The very shape of her mouth branded her as something she had vowed to fight against—a predator, a vampire.

Could she go back to them, to her old life? Would they still need her if they knew what she had become? Would Deidan's eyes fill with horror instead of sorrow? Would Camila recoil in fear instead of treating her like a friend?

A tear trickled down her cheek, glistening like a fallen star as it navigated the contours of her face before landing softly on the ground below, joining the earth as if it had never been a part of her. She felt both a part of this world and apart from it—a tragic double-existence that perhaps even the stars, in all their cosmic wisdom, could not resolve.

As Ambra pondered these what-ifs, the heavens seemed to intensify their luminescence, each star blazing a little brighter as if the universe itself was lending an ear to her internal dialogue. It was as though the cosmos whispered to her.

She couldn't help but be haunted by the possibilities. If only she had defeated Lilith sooner. Lucas, Elena, Isabella—they might still be alive, sharing stories around a fire instead of being memorialized in tearful eulogies and a lackluster funeral. They could've returned to Nuberia as heroes, an accolade she now realized mattered far less to her than the simple joy of their presence.

What about Lune? Lune, who had set off with her on their first adventure like two leaves carried by the winds of fate. Dragging her against her wishes, but soon enough becoming as adventurous and prone to danger as her. If they had triumphed swiftly, she might've never left her side. They could have fulfilled her—no, maybe to an extent, their—dream: a simple life in a small cottage, surrounded by untamed meadows and rolling hills, far from the deadly games of gods and demons.

In that alternative reality, there would be no talk of quests, only the soft murmurs of a shared life; no weapons clashing, just the clinking of tea cups; no waking up to face another enemy, but waking up to the tranquil sight of morning light filtering through the curtains.

Her fingers unconsciously grasped the empty air beside her, as if trying to catch the traces and flickers of that dream, pull it from the realm of imagination into her raw reality. For a moment, she felt the ache of solitude more sharply than any physical wound she'd ever endured.

Then she exhaled, letting go.

The images of that distant, peaceful life dispersed like fog under the rolling rays of moonlight, leaving her with the chilling yet liberating truth: it was a dream lost to time, to choices made and roads tarnished by death.

She looked up at the celestial canvas once more, its swirling colors now taking on a different hue in her eyes. They seemed neither apathetic nor grand but instead like a dynamic, ever-changing sketch of existence, each star a life, each color an emotion, each swirl a twist of fate. Even in its overwhelming vastness, there was a pattern, a subtle order born from chaos.

Before her, the serene pond mirrored the celestial painting of the night sky, a watercolor panorama tinged with ethereal hues of blues, purples, and blacks. It seemed as if the heavens themselves had come down to weep and laugh in this secluded enclave, and the moon was like a glowing pearl set within a sky-sized crown, its beams bathing everything below in a silver luminance that transcended mere light.

Her fingers brushed against the ruby crystal necklace gracing her neck, almost as if guided by an otherworldly force. The gem, a frozen droplet of eternity, seemed to awaken under her touch. She unclasped it, holding it in her palm, where it shimmered like a captive star. The moon's light refracted through its facets, casting a glowing lattice of red that seemed to hold the melancholy of ages, each beam tinged with a fading crimson light.

Her eyes caressed the ruby's surface. Laura's words still reverberated in the chasms of her soul: words that spoke of Lune's unbreakable trust and care for her. Despite the labyrinth of fate that had ensnared them, ensnared her—as a filthy Vampire—Lune had returned. She had accepted Ambra, with all the fractured pieces that she had become. The bitterness that might have clouded Ambra's heart had dissipated, as ephemeral as dew at dawn. She no longer minded the fact Lune had left once.

In its stead, a profound sense of gratitude consumed her, a quiet sentiment that, even in a universe of ceaseless turmoil, she still had an anchor, a tie to her past humanity. To the human that was Ambra.

Ambra was lost in this reverie when she felt the very air around her change—a shift as subtle as the flutter of a butterfly’s wings yet as monumental as the shifting of the earth. "Ah, you're watching the necklace?" The voice was as familiar as her own heartbeat.

Her eyes met Lune's, who emerged from the shadows bathing under the starlight. Lune’s smile, shy and a bit self-conscious, and her raven-black hair were imbued with the sky’s myriad colors, framed her face like a dark halo.

"You caught me," Ambra murmured, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She gently closed her fingers around the ruby, its warm glow pulsing in concert with her own supernatural heartbeat. 

In that moment, the stunning sky above, the moon-illuminated pond below, and even the red jewel that still lay in Ambra's fist seemed to recede into the backdrop of irrelevance

The sudden appearance of Lune made Ambra's heart swell with an emotion she couldn't quite define—joy laced with the lingering pain of past separation, mingling with a sense of disbelief as if she'd conjured Lune out of her own mind. Yet, the feeling was overwhelmingly one of gratitude.

"It's hard not to be drawn to it, especially on a night like this," Ambra finally managed to say, her voice carrying a tremor she didn't bother to hide. " Do you want to join me?"

With a gentle nod, Lune took a seat beside her on the bench, looking out over the lake whose surface shimmered like molten silver under the ethereal moonlight. "The necklace was meant to be a piece of me to stay with you from hereon out. But, I guess I never imagined you would like it so much. I guess I should've gotten something like that for you sooner, huh?"

In a breath, both the past and the present melded into one as Ambra tightened her grip on the ruby. "You didn't have to get me anything, you know," she whispered, her voice soft as the brush of a night breeze through a curtain of wisteria blooms.

Lune looked at her and smiled, a genuine smile devoid of the icy facades she wore like armor before the world. "Is that so? Even if you clearly like it so much?"

Ambra chuckled—a resonating, heart-lit sound that seemed to borrow from the very music of the spheres. "Oh, I do. I like it a lot."

It was an innocent banter, a playful exchange that could have belonged to two young adventurers setting forth on their very first quest. Maybe it had at one point. For a fleeting moment, Ambra was taken back to those simpler days, back to a time when their greatest concern was how to divide the spoils of a few slain goblins or who would take the first watch by the flickering campfire.

But nostalgia is a double-edged sword, carving out spaces of yearning even as it fills the soul with sweetness. What-ifs surfaced once more, rampaging through Ambra's mind. What if they had never left their carefree days of adventure? What if they had never even left their quaint hometown? How might their story have unfolded then?

Observing her shadowed countenance, Lune's eyes became soft enigmas. "What's on your mind?"

Ambra pondered the question, her eyes staring deep into the cosmic ballet reflecting off the pond's still surface. "What's your place in this world, Lune?"

Lune seemed to weigh her thoughts as if sifting sand through her fingers. "I don't know if I can answer that. I want to live as myself, seeking happiness, peace, and staying close to those I cherish."

Ambra's eyes lit up at the subtle inclusion of her name in that almost sacred list of cherished ones. "So, is that why you're here? Because you care about the Aegis, about the Nuberian envoys?"

"No?" Lune seemed momentarily puzzled, perhaps disarmed by the directness of the query. Then, a subtle, rose-tinted blush spread across her cheeks, making her appear almost ephemeral in the moonlight. "Well, yes. Not really. Why do you ask? What brought this on?"

The bridge between their past and their present, between their estrangement and their reunion, seemed in that moment as insubstantial as the moonbeams that graced the tranquil water before them. And so they sat, two souls on a bench, beneath a moon that had seen eons pass and would see eons more.

As the celestial tapestry above them continued its endless waltz, Ambra felt a heaviness settle on her, a gravity that drew her words forth like a spell. "Laura made me think about a lot of things, about what it means to have a place in the world," she began, her eyes tracing the light and shadows dancing on the pond.

"I've seen Deidan, so utterly inked by my supposed death. It tempts me, you know? To go up to him and say, 'I'm here, right here.' But I can't. I'm caged in this cage of an existence of absence."

Lune listened, her face a canvas of empathy and understanding, as the night sky continued its majestic display of colors as if painted by an unseen celestial hand.

"And then there's Camila," Ambra continued, a sigh escaping her lips as if it carried with it a part of her soul. "She figured out who I was, that I was the Ambra who defeated Lilith. Frankly, I was more careless than I would've wanted to." Her voice wavered, tinged with vulnerability. "But Camila couldn't fathom why I wouldn't claim my identity, why I wouldn't face the world as the person I'd fought to save it as. It's a thorn, Lune, a thorn that keeps jabbing at me. I didn't fight for the glory or gratitude, but to give closure and safety to those I've fought for—to myself—it's a perpetual sting."

Lune's eyes remained locked on Ambra, absorbing every emotional word, every veiled confession.

"But that's not all," Ambra continued, her eyes tinged with a different hue, a shade of melancholy mixed with incredulity. "They all say, in one way or another, that they want me to stay. That they want Ambra to come back."

Lune's brows furrowed in puzzlement, her lips parting as if to say something but then closing again.

Ambra chuckled softly, a wistful sound that echoed the inexplicable complexities of her life. "Confusing, isn't it? Even I don't know what they want from me. Many probably want Ambra the hero—the one who slew the vampire queen, who brought an end to the war. But Ollie," her voice hitched at the mention of her departed forest hound, "Ollie only wanted the Ambra who would sit by his side. And now he's gone, and I'm here, doubting if there's anyone left who wants me for me."

For a moment, silence hung between them like a sacred veil. Then Lune reached out, her hand finding Ambra's in a gesture as old as friendship and as profound as love.

"I want you for you, Ambra," Lune said softly, her voice imbued with a sincerity that seemed to reach into Ambra's very core. "I didn't come here because of any mandates or orders. I came to mourn Ambra. I was as lost as Deidan, in fact, far more; I thought I had lost a part of my soul. I was deadset on denying you had died. And finding you alive—changed, but alive—it's like finding that piece of myself again."

The atmosphere between them grew a note tenser, like a string pulled tautly, the air around them heavy. Lune withdrew her hand, a brief nervousness passing over her face, embarrassed by her own emotional display.

"Ah, I—I don't usually say things like that," Lune stammered, her eyes diverting upwards to the moon, as though seeking solace in its silent glow.

Ambra, too, was shocked by the vulnerability Lune had shown, so uncharacteristic of the guarded friend she knew. For a lingering moment, an uneasy stillness reigned, as though even the chattering crickets and whispering winds had paused to give them space. Then, with a sinking feeling, Ambra finally spoke, breaking the silence like a fragile thing. "But you left? You only just came back. Why did you leave in the first place then?"

Lune's eyes, once radiant as they reflected the cosmos, dimmed. Her gaze was no longer fixed on Ambra but seemed to stretch past her and into the empty sky. "It was a mistake," she began, her voice tinged with a regret so palpable it could almost be touched. "I've regretted it every single day. It was just too... too hard."

"Hard?" Ambra's voice quivered, barely above a whisper.

"It was the unbearable notion of losing everyone, losing you," Lune admitted, her voice shaking. "I convinced myself that if I distanced myself, the inevitable loss would hurt less. 'Eyes that do not see, heart that does not feel,' I told myself. But I was wrong. You were consumed by revenge, and I was paralyzed by fear. Fear that prevented me from doing anything meaningful, from staying by your side and either dissuading you or helping you achieve the impossible, now not so impossible, task you'd set yourself."

Ambra felt as if her heart had stopped. Each word from Lune resonated like a struck chord, sending echoes throughout her very being. Above them, the sky seemed to pulse in sync with their emotions, a riotous canvas of colors as though nature itself couldn't remain indifferent to their confession.

"It was excruciating to come back," Lune continued, her eyes now clouded as if holding back tears. "I dreaded discovering that you might have been dead—like Elena, like Lucas, or even like Isabella. But even if you were—" Her voice choked, and she couldn't go on.

"Even if I were what?" Ambra prompted gently, her own eyes moistening in empathy, sensing the emotional burden her friend carried.

Lune's eyes met Ambra's, shimmering like morning dew under the heavenly dome. "Even if you were alive," she finally managed to say, "I was afraid that you wouldn't want me back. That in my absence, I'd become a stranger to you, or worse, an unpleasant memory."

Their eyes met, two sets of irises locking in an embrace as intimate as any touch. Lune’s eyes, a mirror of the multicolored array of stars above them, seemed to drink in Ambra's words. "I was afraid you might hate me for leaving."

Ambra’s eyes met Lune’s, both pairs reflecting a different spectrum of the swirling skies above—a dance of cosmic hues within human depths. "Once, maybe. But hatred is a heavy burden, and I could never think of you as a stranger. With time, and especially now, it's hard to even remember if at some point there had been a slight resentment in my heart."

Lune's eyes shimmered as though capturing the very essence of the moonlight. "You have a way with words that can turn even regret into something beautiful." Lune looked at her, eyes brimming with emotion. "I'm sorry for leaving, Ambra."

It would've been easy for Ambra to unleash years of pent-up frustrations and accusations. It would've been human. But as she looked at Lune—her eyes reflecting the cosmic ballet above them—she understood that the dance of their lives was far too entangled, and far too precious, to be tainted by what-ifs and might-have-beens.

"I've traveled many roads since you left, faced countless vampires, and even accomplished what we set out to do. Your absence taught me many things, but your return and this moment only leave me with gratitude," Ambra said softly, her words light and low yet carrying the weight of years.

Lune's eyes were filled with tears now, glistening under the moonlight as they cascaded down her cheeks, each drop an apology for the time lost and a prayer for the time yet to come. She reached out to take Ambra's hand in her own, fingers interlocking as if trying to merge two disparate worlds into one. "Ambra, can we make a promise?"

Ambra felt her own eyes moisten, the wall around her emotions crumbling brick by brick. "What kind of promise?"

"A simple one," Lune’s voice quivered. "To never lose each other again, no matter what adventurers, or vampires, or nasty nobles this crazy life throws our way."

Gazing up at the swirling, chaotic, yet inarguably beautiful skies, Ambra felt the enormity of the promise they were about to make. A promise that was both perilous and comforting, naive yet necessary. It was a gamble against fate, a daring defiance of life's inherent uncertainty. Especially for Lune. Could Ambra really hold her side of the bargain?

And yet, as she looked into Lune's hopeful eyes, reflecting the kaleidoscopic palette of the heavens, she realized that some gambles were worth making, some promises worth breaking a lifetime of caution for.

She squeezed Lune’s hand, her decision sealed. "It’s a promise, Lune."

Under a sky that was equal parts indifferent and awe-inspiring, surrounded by a silence that bore the weight of their past and the fragile hope of their future, Ambra felt the missing pieces of her soul fall into place. Here, beside the person who had known her as a human, who accepted her as a vampire, she found her semblance of peace.

It was a peace tinged with death and life, wrapped in layers of joys and sorrows, tragedies and triumphs. Yet, it was peace nonetheless—imperfect, fleeting, but indisputably real. And as the two girls sat there, hands entwined under the cosmic story that held their fates, Ambra thought that sometimes, the most profound answers lay in the simple act of acceptance under a sky that watched over them, ever-changing yet eternal.

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