Morning arrived gently.

That was the cruelest part.

Sunlight spilled across Aruven as though nothing had happened—as though the world hadn't nearly torn itself apart the night before. Birds resumed their songs. Merchants reopened stalls. People laughed, argued, lived.

The city remembered normal.

Eira sat on the edge of the narrow bed, watching Kael sleep.

His chest rose and fell steadily. Peacefully. As if the weight that had once crushed him from the inside had been lifted—not because it was solved, but because it had been removed.

She hated how calm he looked.

Lira stood by the window, arms wrapped around herself. Jorah leaned against the wall, silent, jaw tight. None of them spoke.

Because if they did, it would become real.

Kael stirred.

Eira straightened instantly.

His eyes opened slowly, unfocused at first. Then they found her.

"Oh," he said softly.

Her heart clenched. "Hey."

He studied her face—not with recognition, but curiosity. Like someone meeting a stranger who felt strangely important.

"How long was I out?"

"Not long," she replied. "You collapsed. We brought you here."

He nodded, absorbing that. "And you stayed."

"Yes."

Something flickered behind his eyes. Not memory—instinct.

"…Thank you."

The words hurt more than silence ever could.

Jorah pushed off the wall. "You feeling steady?"

Kael glanced at him. "Define steady."

"That's still you," Jorah muttered, relief bleeding through despite himself.

Kael frowned slightly. "We've met, haven't we?"

"Yes," Jorah said. "More than once."

Kael accepted that without resistance. "You look like someone who doesn't lie about that."

Lira turned from the window. "How do you feel?"

He searched inward. His brow creased. "Like I woke up after missing something important."

Eira's breath caught.

"There's… space," he continued. "Not pain. Just—absence."

Lira closed her eyes.

"That's the memory you gave up," she said quietly. "Not moments. Not faces."

"Then what?"

"A future," Lira answered. "One where things ended gently."

Kael absorbed that in silence.

"I chose that?"

"Yes."

He didn't look afraid.

He looked… thoughtful.

"That sounds like something I'd do," he said at last.

Eira laughed weakly—and had to turn away before the sound shattered her.

They helped him sit up. He moved carefully, testing his balance, his strength. Everything worked. Too well.

"You stabilized the timeline," Lira explained. "The Source recoiled. It's not gone—but it's wounded."

"And the cost," Kael said softly, looking at Eira again. "Was that future."

She met his gaze, steadying herself.

"Yes."

"Did it involve you?"

Her throat tightened.

"Yes."

Something passed between them then—not memory, but gravity.

Kael looked down at his hands. "Then I'm sorry."

"No," she said quickly. "Don't be."

"But you lost something."

"So did you."

He shook his head. "You lost with me. That's heavier."

Eira swallowed.

"This isn't over," Jorah said roughly. "You didn't erase the Source. You just forced it into a corner."

Kael looked up. "And corners make things desperate."

"Exactly."

Lira stepped closer. "There's something else."

Kael waited.

"When you made the choice," she said, "the Source miscalculated."

He raised an eyebrow. "That sounds promising."

"You didn't just remove a future," she continued. "You untethered it."

Eira's breath hitched. "Meaning?"

"It still exists," Lira said. "As a possibility. Not yours—but not erased either."

Kael's eyes flicked back to Eira.

"So I didn't destroy it," he said slowly. "I just… stepped away."

"Yes."

Hope was dangerous.

Eira felt it anyway.

Kael exhaled. "Then maybe this isn't an ending."

"It's not," Lira said. "But it is a narrowing."

Jorah crossed his arms. "The Source will come again. It always does when it's been wounded."

"And next time," Kael said, "it won't offer whispers."

"No," Lira agreed. "It will demand surrender."

Kael looked around the room—at the people who stood with him despite the cost, despite the forgetting.

"I don't remember the man I was," he said quietly.

Eira stepped closer.

"But I can still choose the man I'll be," he continued. "Right?"

She nodded, tears burning her eyes. "Yes."

"Then I choose this," he said, gesturing between them. "Whatever it is. However it becomes."

Something ancient and stubborn sparked in her chest.

"Good," she whispered. "Because I'm not letting go."

Outside, the bells of Aruven rang—marking a new day.

Far beneath the city, something stirred.

The Source recoiled—but did not retreat.

It watched.

Calculated.

And smiled without a mouth.

Because memory could be stolen.

But choice?

Choice always found a way back.

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