By IMERPUS RELUR
--
Kai sat beneath a tree he hadn't drawn.
Its bark was made of stitched symbols—half-formed letters, loops of forgotten alphabets.
Above, the stars pulsed like breath.
He was no longer holding anything.
No interface. No system. Not even a goal.
He simply existed—
with the memory of worlds.
---
Reya approached first. She had shed her blade, and her gaze had softened.
> "You taught me something," she said.
"That I was more than the sword you gave me."
She placed her hand on his shoulder.
> "We'll meet again. Maybe not as warriors."
And she vanished—into light the color of old pages.
---
Elai stayed longer.
She didn't say anything at first.
Then—
> "Thank you… for finishing me," she whispered.
"Even if it meant I had to let you go."
Kai opened his arms.
She embraced him.
And as she dissolved, her voice echoed:
> "If you ever draw love again… I hope it remembers me."
---
Kai stood alone.
And smiled.
> "You were never lines.
You were memory."
He turned from the tree.
And walked beyond the edge of the world.
Where nothing was sketched.
And everything was waiting.