The morning of my departure was filled with a mixture of quiet excitement and deep sorrow. The city had begun to heal—children played in the streets, and laughter, though soft, echoed off the walls. The scars of the battle were still there: broken stone, dark stains, and empty chairs. But hope had returned, and that, I realized, was a kind of magic in itself. The elders led me to the chest, now open and waiting. Inside, I found something I hadn’t expected. It wasn’t gold, jewels, or weapons, as ...