The Mangkwan stood in a wide circle carved into blackened stone, silent and unmoving, as though the land itself watched through them.

At the center stood Varang.

She was motionless, yet nothing about her felt at rest. As Tsahìk, she did not stand as a mother, but as something harder—unyielding, shaped by the will of the Mangkwan alone.

And her gaze was fixed on Y/N.

Y/N stood opposite her, alone. No one came to her side. No one spoke her name. The space around her felt empty by design, as if she had already been removed.

This was not a trial.

Only an ending.

The severing came without sound.

Y/N felt it all the same. Something deep and unspoken, something that had always tied her to this place, was cut cleanly away. Not broken. Not torn. Removed.

Around the circle, heads lowered in silent acknowledgment.

Y/N no longer belonged to them.

The realization settled slowly, like ash against her skin.

For a moment, she searched Varang’s face for anything that remained—but whatever she had once been to her was already gone.

The wind shifted, stronger now, pulling at her, urging her to move.

Behind her stood the only home she had ever known.