10 lines
1.2 KiB
Plaintext
10 lines
1.2 KiB
Plaintext
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The wind rose all at once, as if the mountain itself had inhaled.
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She stood at the edge of the pass, cloak snapping like a torn banner behind her, staring down at the valley where the last lights were going out one by one. Each flame extinguished felt deliberate—an answer to a question she had been too afraid to ask. Somewhere below, bells began to ring, not in warning, but in mourning. They already knew.
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“Don’t,” he said, breathless, reaching for her arm. His fingers brushed fabric, then air. “If you cross that line, there’s no coming back.”
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She didn’t turn. The cold burned her lungs, sharpened her thoughts. “There was never a way back,” she replied softly. “Only a way forward you were willing to pretend didn’t exist.”
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Thunder rolled, low and ancient. For a moment, the sky fractured into white fire, and in that instant he saw her face—resolved, terrified, incandescent with purpose. Not the girl he had sworn to protect, but the woman the world had demanded she become.
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“You’ll die,” he said.
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She smiled then, finally facing him, eyes bright with unshed tears. “So will everyone,” she answered. “The difference is what we leave burning when we’re gone.”
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She stepped forward.
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The mountain exhaled.
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