There are moments in life where time doesn't stop—
it simply steps aside.
That night felt like that.
The fire was only embers now—just a soft orange breath, glowing like something alive and exhausted. Smoke curled upward in thin, tired ribbons, disappearing into a sky that was too quiet. The forest didn't whisper. The air didn't stir. Even the nighttime insects—those relentless little things—seemed to be holding their tiny lungs still.
It was like the world already knew what was coming.
Tessa had fallen asleep first, naturally. She always did. She could sleep in the jaws of a dragon and probably complain about how lumpy the teeth were. Her short black hair was messy from sweat and travel, and she slept with one arm thrown over her face, snoring softly in that way that would be embarrassing if she ever heard it.
Lune didn't sleep.
Lune never slept easily.
She sat near the fire, sword lying across her knees, wiping down the blade with slow, deliberate motions. Not because it needed it. But because it kept her hands busy. Because too much silence leaves space for the things we run from.
Her silver hair was tied back loosely, a few strands falling over her cheek. Her eyes were somewhere far away. Somewhere she still hadn't forgiven herself for.
And I…
I sat with my back against a fallen tree, staring at my hands.
They didn't feel like mine anymore.
Not in the frightening way—
but in the familiar way.
Like remembering a song you used to know the lyrics to.
Something inside my ribcage was shifting.
Not painful.
Just… heavy.
Like a truth too large for the bones that carried it.
Lune noticed before I said anything. Of course she did.
"You're doing it again."
Her voice didn't rise. It never does.
It just arrives exactly where it needs to.
I forced my eyes away from my hands.
"What?"
"Thinking so loudly the air gets heavier."
Tessa snorted awake like someone had dumped water on her dreams.
She blinked around—hair everywhere—eyes unfocused.
"Okay who punched the atmosphere? I swear if there's a ghost again—"
"No ghost." Lune said. "Rei is… changing."
Tessa stared. The sleep left her eyes immediately.
"Oh. Oh. That."
She crawled over without dignity and sat beside me, pressing her shoulder to mine. Warm. Firm. Human.
"We're not doing this alone," she said. Not a question. Not a request. A declaration.
Lune placed her sword down. Then she moved closer too. One hand, steady and sure, rested over mine.
The burning in my chest intensified—
not like fire, but like waking up too fast.
Like remembering a dream that wasn't a dream.
And then—
The world folded inward.
Not like teleportation. Not like magic.
Like looking inward so deeply you fall through yourself.
The forest disappeared.
The fire.
The trees.
The night.
Gone—
And we were standing in the space inside my existence.
---
The Inner World
It used to be a void.
Empty.
Now it was wide—vast—endless.
A horizon without a horizon.
A sky that wasn't sky, but the memory of one.
Stars drifted like ash.
Light pooled under our feet as though the ground was made of memory, not matter.
And he was waiting.
Seia.
But not dressed in holy robes.
Not winged.
Not radiant.
Just… tired.
A man who has seen too much, standing with his hands loosely at his sides.
His hair was white—not the silver of age, but the white of something that existed before color was invented. His eyes looked older than time. But there was something gentle in them.
Not pity.
Recognition.
Tessa grabbed my sleeve gently.
Lune stood taller—not tense, but bracing.
Seia looked at me, not them.
"You feel it now," he said.
My throat was tight. "I don't know what I feel."
"Yes," he said softly. "You do. You always have."
He stepped closer. And the space around us rippled—not violently, not dramatically—just like water disturbed by a fingertip.
"When the universe was young," he said, "there were no stars. No gods. No destinies. Just the quiet before sound."
His voice didn't echo. It resonated.
"In that quiet… something wished to exist. Not to rule. Not to shape. Just to be."
He looked directly into me.
"That was you."
My knees went weak.
Not from shock.
From clarity.
The pressure inside my ribs loosened—like a door unlocking that had always been locked, not by force, but by forgetting.
Tessa's breath caught.
Lune's hand tightened around mine.
Seia's tone softened, almost fatherly—but not possessive.
"You were not created. You were chosen—by yourself. I merely answered. Not to own you. To accompany you."
The stars around us shifted—slowly forming a shape—
A silhouette standing tall.
A figure without crown or throne.
Not a ruler.
A beginning.
Seia stepped forward.
He placed his hand over my chest.
No flash of light.
No wings.
No dramatic screaming transformation.
Just—
Breath.
Like I had been holding mine for my entire life.
And finally exhaled.
Warmth spread—not outward, but inward—filling every empty place inside me I had learned to ignore.
My vision blurred—not from power—
but from relief.
When I spoke, my voice broke.
"…I remember."
Seia smiled. Quiet. Proud.
"Then stand."
I did.
There was no explosion. No divine music.
I simply stood differently.
Aligned with myself.
Lune's eyes glistened—just a thin shimmer.
Tessa wiped her face quickly, pretending it was sweat.
Seia began to fade—not dying, not leaving—merging.
"You are not my vessel," he said.
"You are my equal."
And then he was gone.
Or rather—
he was here.
Inside.
Not controlling.
Not guiding.
Just present.
Like a second heartbeat.
The inner world dissolved.
---
We were back at the campfire.
The embers were the same.
The night was the same.
But the sky felt like it was watching with held breath.
Tessa leaned her head on my shoulder.
Lune rested her hand over mine. No words. None needed.
The fire crackled once, like an exhale.
The world did not change.
I did.
---