Though the fires of disorder had quieted, the halls of ADN did not echo as they once had. What remained was not ruin, but something more subtle; a fading. The numbers were fewer, the voices softer, the spirit dimmed. DaddioPaddio and Sleeper worked without rest, guiding, teaching, restoring what could be restored. And yet, even as small victories were won, the greater truth began to reveal itself: not all that is broken can be made whole again.
The strength of a banner does not lie only in its name, but in the life that fills it. And that life, once scattered, does not always return. Many who had once stood proud beneath ADN had gone their separate ways, seeking steadier ground or abandoning the struggle entirely. Those who remained were loyal, but they were few. The burden of rebuilding grew heavier, not because of resistance, but because of absence.
It was then that a quiet realization took hold within Daddio. To remain was to preserve what little was left; but to move forward might yet restore what had been lost in another form. The thought did not come easily, nor did it bring comfort. For leaving meant more than change; it meant risking the last threads that still held his people together. And yet, deep within, he understood: some paths do not lead back, they lead onward.