Brandon stood off to the side, watching Stella, Gantlos, and Duman interact. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't jealous. He knew things had changed between him and Stella, and seeing her laugh, smile, and find comfort with Gantlos and Duman only made that reality hit harder. He knew he had to talk to her, apologize for everything. He wanted to try to make it right, even if there was no going back to the way things were.

Taking a deep breath, Brandon approached the three. The moment he got close, Gantlos's posture shifted, his eyes narrowing. There was a glint of defensiveness there, and Brandon couldn't blame him. After all, he had almost ended the man's life. Duman, too, seemed to tense, his protective energy palpable. These were his lovers, and he could feel the tension radiating from both of them as Brandon drew closer.

"Hey..." Brandon began, his voice quieter than usual, his confidence shaken. "Can I talk to you?"

Stella glanced up from her meal, meeting Brandon's gaze for a moment. She quietly nodded but didn't move, continuing to eat.

Brandon shifted awkwardly, glancing between Gantlos and Duman. "Could we talk alone?" he asked, his voice edged with a hopeful tone.

Gantlos's eyes didn't leave Brandon's, his tone sharp as he responded. "That depends. You're not gonna stab her, are you?"

Brandon recoiled at the words. The guilt he felt earlier twisted even tighter in his chest. He sighed deeply, rubbing the back of his neck. "I... I can't believe I'm saying this, but I feel bad for what I did. I could blame it on confusion, lack of sleep, but... at the end of the day, I almost killed you." He met Gantlos's gaze head-on. "And I'm sorry."

The words hung in the air for a moment, a heavy silence falling over the group.

Stella, having finished her meal, finally stood. She dusted off her hands, her expression softening just slightly. "Okay, we can talk," she said quietly.

Brandon nodded and followed her outside, the air cooler against his skin as they stepped into the night. The tension between them felt thick, but he knew this conversation was necessary, no matter how painful it might be.

He took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. "I wanted to apologize," he began, his voice sincere. "For everything. For what I said, for what I did... and for abandoning you. You didn't deserve that."

Stella sighed softly, her gaze drifting to the horizon for a moment before meeting his eyes. "I appreciate the apology, Brandon," she said. "And I forgive you."

Brandon felt a wave of relief wash over him, but it was quickly followed by a sense of dread as he asked the question that had been plaguing him. "Is there... is there anything left between us?"

Stella was quiet for a moment, and in that silence, Brandon braced himself. Finally, she shook her head gently. "I'd like to be friends," she said honestly. "But I'm not interested in being anything more."

The words hit Brandon like a punch to the gut, but he had known this was a possibility. He had known for a while that things were different now. Though it hurt, he nodded slowly, swallowing his emotions. "I understand," he said quietly. "I'm... I'm glad we can still be friends."

Stella offered him a small, soft smile, and though it didn't erase the pain, it gave him some comfort. "Take care of yourself, Brandon," she said gently.

"You too," he replied, his voice filled with sincerity.

They stood there for a moment longer, the quiet night wrapping around them like a blanket. Then, with a final nod, they parted ways, Stella walking back inside, where Gantlos and Duman were waiting for her. Brandon watched her go, knowing that things would never be the same again—but maybe, just maybe, that was okay.

——————-

The night had settled over the Winx's loft, a peaceful silence blanketing the room, though not everyone could find peace in the quiet. After an exhausting day of training, most of the group had retired to their makeshift beds, but restlessness hung in the air for some. Anagan, in particular, was struggling to ease his mind. He sat on the edge of his bed for a long moment, staring out the window at the distant city lights. Then, unable to sit still any longer, he began pacing the length of the living room, his thoughts swirling in endless circles.

Worry gnawed at him. It wasn't just the impending war that made sleep impossible. It was everything that came after—the consequences. The magical dimension was fragile, and fairies… fairies were worshiped in a way he didn't think was right. No matter what, the narrative would always fall in their favor. And what would that mean for the wizards? For the specialists? For the Winx? Would the truth get skewed again to fit the image of the beloved, righteous fairies?

He raked a hand through his hair, frustration building in his chest. They could all be fighting for nothing if the people of the magical dimension only believed what they wanted to believe.

From the shadows of the hallway, Stella emerged. She hadn't been able to sleep either, plagued by her own thoughts. But as she wandered into the living room and saw Anagan pacing with such intensity, she knew something was wrong.

"You're going to burn a hole in the floor if you keep that up," she said lightly, hoping to pull him out of whatever dark place his mind had taken him to.

Anagan glanced up, startled, before relaxing slightly at the sight of her. "Sorry," he muttered. "Didn't mean to keep you up."

Stella waved it off and moved to sit on the couch. "I couldn't sleep anyway. You look like you've got a lot on your mind," she said, watching him closely.

He hesitated for a moment. Anagan wasn't the kind of person who opened up easily. But something about Stella's gentle yet curious expression made him feel like he could talk to her. With a sigh, he stopped pacing and leaned against the back of a chair. "I'm worried," he finally admitted. "About the war, yes, but… also about what comes after. Everyone loves the fairies. They've got this pedestal they've been put on, and I'm worried that no matter what happens, the story will always favor them. And the rest of us—the wizards, the specialists, even the Winx—we'll just get swept under the rug again."

Stella frowned, hearing the genuine fear and frustration in his voice. She thought for a moment before responding, her voice soft yet firm. "You're not wrong. Fairies have always been idolized. But this time… things are different."

Anagan raised an eyebrow, intrigued but skeptical. "Different how? I don't see anyone else worried about this."

Stella smiled slightly and reached into her bag, pulling out a small, worn book. She held it up for him to see, the same history book that had changed her entire perspective. "Because the truth has already started to spread everywhere," she explained. "Being princesses and guardian fairies has its benefits. Our fathers and mothers—royalty or not—are outraged by the lies and corruption that were taught to us. From Solaria to Lynphea, schools like Alfea are scrapping their old history books and replacing them with one I think you're quite familiar with."

Anagan's eyes widened as he looked at the book in her hand. His throat tightened, and without warning, tears welled up in his eyes. He blinked them back quickly, but his emotions got the better of him. "No one has ever fought as hard as you have for us," he said, his voice thick with emotion. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug. "I don't care what the others can do—you're the strongest fairy I know."

Stella returned the hug, her heart warming at his words. She never expected to be so closely tied to the wizards of the Black Circle, but here they were. And it felt… right. When they finally pulled back, she looked up at him with a soft smile. "Thank you, Anagan. That means a lot."

He smiled back but then hesitated, shifting awkwardly. "There's something else," he admitted sheepishly. "I've been practicing my magic, but… honestly, my speed is the only thing I'm really good at. I'm not sure it'll be enough."

Stella's expression softened with understanding. "Your speed is incredible, Anagan. But you've got more than that," she reassured him. "How's your healing coming along?"

He blinked in surprise, not having expected that question. "My healing?" He thought for a moment. He'd been practicing it so casually during training, not thinking much of it. But then he realized he had been healing small cuts and bruises on his teammates without a second thought. "I guess… I've improved," he admitted.

Stella smiled warmly. "Healers are crucial in a war. You have no idea how valuable you are," she said, her voice filled with sincerity. "If you want, I could teach you some of my new healing spells. Since we're both wide awake anyway."

Anagan's eyes lit up at the offer, and for the first time that night, he felt a sense of calm settle over him. "I'd like that," he said, a small smile tugging at his lips.

The two of them moved to the center of the room, the night growing quieter around them as they focused on something new—something hopeful.

Stella rummaged through her bag, pulling out a drooping, withered plant. The once lush leaves now hung limp, and the vibrant green had long since faded to a sickly brown. She frowned at it as she placed it on the table between them.

"Oh my goodness, how is that even possible with Flora around?" Anagan exclaimed, leaning closer to inspect the pitiful plant.

Stella rolled her eyes with a huff. "Well, I've never had a green thumb," she admitted.

Anagan raised an eyebrow and looked at her, realization dawning. "That's your plant?" he asked, incredulous. "Oh gods, no wonder you defeated Diana!"

He immediately winced, realizing what he had just said. His face flushed with embarrassment, and he scrambled to apologize, "I—I didn't mean that! I'm sorry, Stella—"

But before he could finish, Stella burst into laughter, nearly doubling over as her giggles echoed through the room. "No, no! You're right!" she gasped between laughs. "With gardening skills like mine, nature fairies don't stand a chance… But seriously, I'm not upset about it anymore. I've just…" she trailed off, searching for the right words.

"Come to peace with it?" Anagan offered gently.

"Yeah, that's it!" Stella agreed, smiling warmly at him. "This poor plant probably wants peace too."

Anagan chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Okay, okay, enough jokes. So, what do I do?"

Stella leaned forward and pointed at the sad little plant. "I'm going to teach you one of my healing spells. This one is called Nightlight Recovery, and it's for physical healing—perfect for situations like this."

Anagan nodded attentively, and Stella showed him the proper hand movements while explaining how to channel the spell's energy. Though healing magic was typically fairy-based, Stella reassured him that healing spells were much more universal and shouldn't resist his energy too much.

He focused, his brow furrowing in concentration as he murmured the spell under his breath. Slowly, the spell's magic glowed faintly in his hands before settling over the plant. The wilted leaves began to perk up, regaining some of their former color. Within moments, the plant was standing upright again, looking considerably healthier than before.

Stella clapped her hands together in delight. "You did it!"

Anagan grinned, clearly proud of himself, though he couldn't resist adding, "Maybe don't have any more plants."

Stella rolled her eyes playfully, nudging him with her elbow. "Yeah, yeah,"

despite the looming threat of war, there was something peaceful for them.