Chronicles of the Untalented

The chaos had faded, but the joy lingered.

Smoke curled lazily from the last of the fire pits, rising into the ever-dim sky. Ash clung to the cobbled streets like a blanket of memory—gray, soft, and slow to leave.

Silas stood near the main square, broom in hand. His shoulders ached from the unfamiliar labor, but his expression was calm—peaceful, even. Around him, other volunteers swept and gathered what remained of the celebration: fallen decorations, burnt sticks, feathers from the sound-path birds, and bits of cloth left behind by dancers who had spun too hard, laughed too much.

Velira worked nearby, sleeves rolled up, hair tied back with a strip of dyed linen. She wasn't smiling, not exactly—but the lightness in her movements told Silas she didn't mind being here.

"Didn't think I'd see the day you volunteered," she said, nudging him with her elbow as she passed with a bundle of charred kindling.

Silas gave a faint shrug. "I was here when it was alive. Seemed wrong not to be here when it rested."

She paused, then nodded.

For a while, they said nothing. Just swept. Moved. Listened to the faint echoes of laughter still clinging to the stones.

The market stalls were empty now, stripped of their meager offerings. The meat was gone. The birds had been returned. The banners—stitched together from scraps of old fabric—had been pulled down and folded with care.

But the joy hadn't vanished. It lingered in the air, not loud anymore, but gentle.

Someone nearby began humming—a soft, wordless tune that must have been sung during the night, though Silas couldn't remember when. A few others joined in quietly as they worked. It wasn't a performance. Just a sound. A shared memory.

Silas looked down at the broom in his hands. At the scuffed floor beneath his boots. At the ash clinging to his sleeves. He didn't feel like a weapon today. Not like a tool, or a burden, or a puzzle waiting to be solved.

He just felt… human.

When he glanced at Velira again, she had stopped sweeping. She was staring off toward the edge of the square, where a group of younger trainees were laughing while trying to fold a massive, crooked festival banner.

"What?" he asked.

She blinked, startled, then smiled a little. "Nothing. It's just nice. This… all of it."

Silas nodded.

They returned to work.

And as the last traces of the festival were packed away into crates and carts, the city breathed again—slower, softer. A quiet exhale after a long, held breath.

For now, nothing hunted them. For now, there were no missions. For now, there was only ash and laughter, and a stillness that felt like peace.

Even if it wouldn't last.