The years following Tyrn's departure were marked by relentless growth and experimentation for the group. Each of them pushed the boundaries of their abilities, driven by the lessons they'd learned and the dreams they held close.
Dorian spent countless hours under the great oak tree, the melody of his flute intertwining with the gentle rustle of leaves. The red gemstone embedded in his pendant began to glow faintly, unnoticed at first, but growing steadily brighter over time. His mastery of the flute blossomed, each note carrying subtle waves of magic. With his music, he could lighten weary hearts or inspire an entire field of farmers to work with unprecedented energy.
Ryssa, ever determined, began to create combinations of magic that blended elements in new ways. Fire and water flowed together, forging scalding mist. Wind carried sparks of fire, forming streaking embers that illuminated the night sky during her practices. The staff Tyrn had gifted her amplified her precision and potency, though she often trained without it to ensure her skill wasn't dependent on its power.
Lucas's training became a seamless dance between meditation and physical mastery. The swirling energy in his core, which he had first noticed during his meditative sessions, grew stronger. His movements became faster, more deliberate, and almost impossible to predict. One afternoon, as Ryssa unleashed a fireball during sparring, Lucas instinctively swung his wooden training sword—and the fireball split cleanly in two, its halves dissipating harmlessly on either side of him.
Bogo, meanwhile, transformed Suntails Hollow with his ingenuity. Roads were smoothed and paved with reinforced materials that resisted erosion. Houses were equipped with floor warmers that kept families cozy in winter and new ventilation systems that brought a cooling breeze in summer. The village walls and gates were fortified, their wooden foundations replaced with a combination of reinforced wood and light metals that Bogo had begun experimenting with.
Dorian stood by the river one spring morning, playing his flute as Selia, now seven years old, danced in the sunlight. Her laughter filled the air as she twirled, her small feet splashing in the shallow water.
"Another song, Dorian!" she called, her voice lilting with joy.
Dorian grinned and obliged, switching to a playful melody that made her giggle. His music came easily, flowing from his fingers like second nature. But as the light reflected off the river, something caught his eye.
His pendant.
The hollow circle at its center, which had been empty for years, now held a small, gleaming red gemstone. Dorian froze mid-note, his eyes widening. He touched the pendant lightly, feeling a faint warmth radiating from the gem.
And then there was his hair. He'd grown used to the streaks of red near the roots over the years, but now the color extended halfway down the strands, blending with his natural dark brown.
"Dorian?" Selia tilted her head, noticing his silence.
He quickly resumed the tune, smiling to reassure her. But as he played, his mind churned. What did it mean? Was this the sign the bard had spoken of so long ago?
…
By the time the group turned nineteen, they were no longer children but adults in the eyes of Suntails Hollow. Their progress had earned them respect and admiration from the entire village.
Lucas's control over the swirling energy in his core deepened. It wasn't mana in the traditional sense—it didn't flow through veins like Ryssa's magic or Dorian's bardic energy. Instead, it felt raw, primal, as if his body itself had become a conduit. He could channel it into his strikes, and even with his wooden training sword, he could cleave through barriers that once seemed impenetrable.
One day, while sparring with Ryssa, her fireball streaked toward him. He swung his blade with practiced ease, and the energy in his core surged through him. The fireball split apart as though meeting a physical barrier, leaving even Ryssa speechless.
"Lucas," she said after a stunned pause. "That's not normal."
"Nothing about this feels normal," Lucas replied, his tone a mixture of awe and uncertainty.
Ryssa's growth had been just as remarkable. The combination spells she practiced grew more complex and refined. Her fire magic burned hotter, her water spells more fluid and adaptable. While thunder and nature remained challenging, she tackled them with unrelenting determination.
The staff Tyrn had given her became an extension of herself, allowing her to channel greater amounts of magic with precision. Yet she often set it aside, preferring to train without it to ensure her skills were not dependent on the artifact.
Suntails Hollow was no longer the quiet rural village it had once been. Bogo's inventions turned it into a thriving, efficient community. Farmers worked more comfortably in the fields thanks to his tools, and winters no longer brought harsh discomfort thanks to his floor-warming systems.
Even the village gate, once simple wood, had been replaced with reinforced materials and a pulley system that allowed it to open and close effortlessly.
"I'm not done yet," Bogo said one day, surveying the village with pride. "Next, I'm thinking about automatic irrigation for the fields."
Dorian's magic became a source of unity for the village. His bardic inspiration had once been limited to individuals, but now he could extend it across entire groups.
During the last harvest season, he played his flute from a hill overlooking the fields, sending waves of energy coursing through the farmers. Their movements grew faster, their strength greater, and their spirits brighter. What normally took two days to harvest was completed in half a day.
"Dorian's music is magic in more ways than one," Gorlan said proudly to the other farmers.
Elira, holding Selia's hand, smiled. "He's always been a miracle worker in his own way."
…
The four friends stood together at the training ground one evening, their silhouettes outlined by the setting sun.
"We've come a long way," Ryssa said softly, twirling her staff in her hands.
"And we're not done yet," Lucas replied, his wooden sword resting on his shoulder.
Bogo grinned, his hands stuffed in his pockets. "Suntails Hollow might not hold us forever, you know."
Dorian strummed a chord on his lute, his smile wistful. "The world's out there, waiting for its story to be told. But for now, let's make this place the best chapter it can be."
The group nodded in unspoken agreement, the bond between them stronger than ever as they looked toward the horizon, ready for whatever came next.