The next morning, Aelric made his way to Mei-Ling's quarters and paused in the doorway, standing rigid as if carved from stone. His eyes locked on the quiet scene before him—Mei-Ling, kneeling by the hearth, carefully folding the last of her belongings into a weathered satchel.
She moved with a quiet grace, each motion deliberate, tender. The fire's flickering glow painted her in warm shadows, casting soft light across her face and catching the flickers of melancholy and quiet resolve in her eyes. No lantern was lit; the dim glow of the hearth and the stillness of the room offered all the solemnity their farewell required.
Every movement she made was imbued with intention—each careful, deliberate gesture as if she were protecting something fragile, something tender that lay deep within her. Aelric had not meant to stumble upon her at this moment, yet an inexplicable pull—a whisper on the wind, a stirring sensation deep within, as if driven by an ancient memory—had led him to her secluded room.
She had not turned to face him, yet her ears caught every quiet sound and every beat of his heart. In a soft, nearly inaudible tone, she murmured, "You're finally getting rid of me." Her voice carried no bitterness or blame, only a quiet truth that resonated in the still air.
Aelric hesitated for only a moment before stepping further into the room, his voice heavy with reluctant admission. "I know this is your choice... but I don't like it."
With measured calm, she tied the final knot on the satchel and said, "You knew I would go eventually." Her eyes flickered toward the window for a brief second, though she did not meet his gaze, and added softly, "I hoped I wouldn't have to watch it."
A fleeting moment of vulnerability passed between them as she whispered, "Thank you. For taking care of me." Aelric's hands, trembling with indecision, flexed uselessly at his sides, betraying the internal conflict that churned within him.
With a quiet resolve, Mei-Ling swung the satchel over her shoulder, her fingers lingering a heartbeat on the edge of the bed as though savoring a final touch. Slowly, she moved toward the door. But before she could pass, Aelric stepped directly into her path, his presence a barrier to her escape.
"Please," she said softly, her voice gentle, almost pleading yet without any coercion. "Move." Yet, he remained still, rooted by his own conflicted emotions.
"You asked me once," he murmured, his voice dropping to a pained whisper, "to remember you." At those words, she halted her steps completely.
His voice, heavy with regret, continued, "I've tried... gods, I've tried. And I can't. Every time I look at you, it hurts—as if something inside me grasps who you really are, as if some deep void longs for you alone to name it." He spoke these words as if unburdening a hidden pain, his eyes searching the dim light while her gaze stayed firmly cast upon the floor.
"I want to remember," he confessed with raw sincerity, "I want to understand what you meant to me. Because it feels like every memory is etched with pain, and letting you go feels like losing a part of myself. I don't even know why it's so hard."
When Mei-Ling finally raised her eyes, they were calm and unwavering, yet behind that steadfast facade, a turbulent storm of regret and longing brewed. "That was another lifetime ago," she whispered, her voice carrying both sorrow and distant hope. "You were someone else then. So was I."
Aelric's voice grew fervent, "I still am him, somewhere." Her answer was measured and soft, "It's better if you don't remember, because once this is over, you'll have your kingdom, your peace, and your future—without the constant reminder of me." The words stung more deeply than he had anticipated, leaving him raw and breathless.
He reached out, his hand gentle as it encircled her wrist, as if he feared that releasing his hold might cause her to vanish like mist. "Mei-Ling..." he murmured, his tone thick with both tenderness and despair. Slowly, his hand moved to caress her cheek. She did not move away, her expression a mix of resignation and delicate defiance.
Closing the small distance between them, he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers—a kiss imbued with softness and care, yet laden with an ancient, ineffable longing that spoke of lost time and unspoken promises. In that fleeting moment, the room seemed to dissolve into nothingness, leaving only the warmth of her mouth, the brine of unshed tears, and the trembling echo of hearts intertwined.
Then, as if struck by a sudden inner awakening, something changed. Aelric tensed, his hand at her waist shaking visibly. When he broke away from the kiss, his eyes flashed—not just with emotion but with an uncanny light. Fleeting glimmers of blue shimmered behind the familiar red, only to be swallowed once again by a steady, burning crimson that spoke of both passion and torment.
He drew a sharp breath and staggered back, as though emerging from a deep, disorienting trance. His jaw clenched in silent agony, and his eyes darted toward the fire, the red flames dancing in their depths. Mei-Ling's heart gave a startled, irregular beat as she whispered, "...What just happened?"
He shook his head vigorously, as if attempting to erase the intensity of the moment. "Nothing," he replied, his voice barely more than a soft exhale.
"Aelric—" she began, concern threading through her words.
"Nothing," he repeated, softer this time, as if trying to convince himself as much as her. The space between them became thick with a silence full of unspoken pain and confusion—each breath, each pause, laden with the weight of memories and hidden truths.
Taking an involuntary step back, she distanced herself further. When he reached out once more, desperate and tender, she refrained from letting him draw close. "Don't make this harder than it already is," she implored, her voice barely audible, yet resolute.
"I can't let you go like this," he insisted, anguish bleeding through his tone.
"You have to," she replied, her words gentle but final.
With a tremor of hope, he asked, "Let me come with you."
"No," she stated softly, a firm refusal that cut deeper than any plea.
"I can protect you," he declared, disbelief mingling with sorrow.
"No one can protect me from this," she whispered gently, a sorrowful smile playing on her lips. "Not even you." In that moment, it seemed as if he understood, yet the regret of his realization twisted his heart.
"You don't have to do this alone," he pleaded, longing clear in his eyes.
A sad smile curved her lips—a smile that almost shattered him entirely. "I already am," she responded quietly. Outside, the fire crackled and popped while the wind howled in mourning. Inside, the whole world seemed to pause in a suspended state of agony and inexorable fate.
Finally, with a voice trembling like a fragile leaf in the wind, she said her farewell, "Goodbye, Aelric." His throat constricted, barring him from returning even one word. As her eyes met his for one final, lingering moment—flooded with sorrow, longing, and a lifetime of unspoken words—she added, "May your reign be long, and may you find peace." Then, with measured finality, she turned away and walked out into the bitter wind.
He remained rooted in place—not for a lack of desire to follow, but because a deep, stirring part of him knew that pursuing her might mean losing her forever.