On top of the cliff, a bit away from the edge, stands Y/N and Tyran. Y/N is now fully healed that the wolfsbane is gone from her system, and her healing ability can kick in. She holding a shovel while looking down at the gravestone in front of them:
'Here lies Lillian Malters. Loving Mother and Grandmother. May she rest in peace
Tyran wipes his tears, putting down a bunch of flowers on top of her grave, before backing away a little. The book Lillian gave him, clutched tightly in his grasp. Y/N steps forward placing down the wooden spoon.
"She was always holding it, only write she dies with it," Y/N says, trying to lighten up the mood a little, but is sad. "And it'll feel wrong if I use it." She puts her hand on Tyran's shoulder, who is quick to hug her, quietly crying.
"P-Please don't leave me too..." He whispers, but Y/N hears it and she nods.
"Of course, I'll never leave you."
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As again, the days turned to weeks, the weeks turned to months and the months turned into years. The now smaller family still live in the house, things going back to normal but still a piece of them all gone with Lillian. Her bedroom was untouched and kept shut, her seat left pulled out and her favourite teacup left on the table in her spot. The two moved on yes, but they never forgot, always relishing in the memories of her, even though for Y/N it was only a short time, but she still got attached to the woman.
As the years flew by, as did Tyran's 16th birthday, the day he and Y/N will leave the village and seek their adventures out. The day Tyran will live a tale he'll tell his grandmother one day.
5 Years Later
A now 15-year-old Tyran sits on a log, his book in hand and a pencil, as he sketched the flower that stands untouched in front of him. He smiles at his artwork, before standing up and grabbing his other book out of his bag, looking for the drawing of the flower he just did and seeing a bunch of information on it. He marks the page before putting the book back in his bag as he begins walking away. However, he doesn't notice the flower slowly shrivelling up as he does so.
He breaks through the forest line and walks over the bridge he's been over many many times. He looks down at the once full lake to now see it barely full, just small puddles. He looks at it in confusion before walking into the village.
"Hey did you hear about the lake? It's nearly dry as a bone." A woman whispers to someone.
"Yeah, but what about the fruits. Those are becoming rotten." They whisper back. He walks through the village, hearing constant whispers about how the well in the water became contaminated with a bug, or how the crops won't grow or even a small sickness making its way around the village, nothing too deadly luckily. He grows concerned before entering his home, seeing his adoptive mother sitting at the table, her hands in her head.
