The Five Realms

Chapter 34: Steven VII

Chapter 34: The Arrival

The ground beneath Steven's boots changed from stone to soil.
Warm, sun-washed air rushed into the tunnel like it had been waiting years to greet them. It carried the scent of wildflowers, running water, and something deeper—something green and old.

He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the sudden light.

The glade that opened before them looked like it had stepped out of a dream no one dared admit they'd had. They stood at the heart of Vaelora's Basin, an ancient, half-forgotten region whispered of in Rider texts—a cradle of lost thresholds, old rites, and elemental stillness. The glade lay encircled by hills like cupped hands, fed by rivers that wove silver threads through moss and stone.

Sunlight fell through a canopy of crystalline leaves overhead, dappling the clearing in gold and emerald. A stream—likely part of the Thaltherian—snaked across the space, clear and soft as glass, bubbling quietly over smooth stones.

Steven took a step forward, then another, slow like he might wake it up. Ares followed at his side, his crimson scales muted in the soft light, wings tucked tightly to his sides.

Behind them, the others trickled out in silence—Fate gasping softly, Beanca shielding her eyes with one hand, Chyna squinting like she wasn't ready to believe any of it was real.

Joey just exhaled. Not a sigh. A release. Like something he'd been carrying, let go all at once.

"Real sky," Beanca murmured, as if it were sacred.

They hadn't seen it in what felt like a lifetime. Tunnel dust still clung to their boots, and the emotional debris from the lava, the arguments, and the books clung even tighter.

But Vaelora's Basin didn't care about any of that.

It just was.
Alive. Quiet. Waiting.

Steven crouched beside the stream and let his fingers graze the water. It was cold. Real. No magic shimmer, no illusion. Just water. Clean.

His voice came without meaning to. "Okay, this is... ridiculous."

Fate chuckled behind him. "In a good way?"

"In a ridiculously good way."

Even Arya, who had led them so far with a blade-straight spine and a storm behind her eyes, softened. Her shoulders lowered. She didn't smile—but the corner of her mouth acknowledged peace.

Maria was already barefoot, stepping into the grass, as if reclaiming something left behind.

Steven stood again, brushing his hands dry on his trousers, and looked around.

They had crossed thresholds he didn't understand—battled shadows, navigated impossible puzzles, earned silent grief and louder truths.

And now this. A glade of impossible calm. A return to Alagaësia through a cave that hummed with the same rhythm as the stars.

And yet...

He could still feel the tension in the group. Like a rubber band that had stopped stretching but hadn't yet snapped back.

It wasn't over.

But maybe it was okay to breathe. Just for a moment.

Suddenly, a distant rustling rose above the treetops.

Steven's ears perked first, then Ares lifted his snout and tilted his head, nostrils flaring like a bloodhound catching fire-scent.

Then came the wind.