To Sylvara,
The novelty is suffocating out here. It clings to everything—thoughts, memories, even time itself. I can't remember the last moment I was truly outside of it.
I wish I could stay. I really do. But the cost of holding fate together… of bending it, even slightly, is more than I can bear now. By the time you read this, this may be the last piece of me that's still me.
I'm not afraid of dying.
I'm afraid of remaining… and becoming something else.
I'm afraid of forgetting you.
You, and everyone else—you were the only things that ever kept me grounded. Even when the Drunes turned against me, when the Dameons and giants searched for me like I was something to be erased… you still smiled at me. As if I hadn't already begun to disappear.
Sylvara… I owe you more than I can ever repay.
But there's something I didn't understand until now. Something that refuses to close the book.
The deception of ages didn't begin with us...there was a ventriloquist behind our every move and for whatever reason, he still lingers.
The novelty—Tria—it isn't just a force. It's a threshold.
And beyond it… there are others.
Other versions. Other outcomes. Others like me.
I don't know which one I'll become.
So I'll hold on for as long as I can. I'll lock Tria away—delay it, even if I can't stop it completely. If there's still a part of me left that remembers who I was… who you are… then maybe this won't all be for nothing.
Goodbye, Sylvara.
If I forget you—
then live well enough for the both of us.