Chapter Next: "The Door That Would Not Open"
—Some truths are keys. Others… are locks.
Of the hundred doors that bloomed into existence, most opened with a thought.
A few with hope.
But one—only one—remained closed.
It was simple in shape, unmarked. No grand design, no shimmer. Just a smooth surface of dark wood, pulsing faintly with breath… like it was alive.
Lina felt it first.
A tug.
Not from the door, but from deep inside her chest—something old. Something left behind.
Kai noticed her gaze. "That one's calling to you."
"No," Lina whispered. "That one's waiting."
Eryon's expression changed. He didn't step closer. Didn't speak. He just watched—with that kind of quiet reserved for grave things.
Lina moved forward. The door didn't open. But it leaned—just slightly—toward her presence.
"Why this one?" she asked.
The tree nearby rustled. Its leaves whispered a word not spoken aloud:
"Closure."
---
Her fingers brushed the wood.
It was cold.
And then—
She was somewhere else.
A memory, vivid and raw.
The night her brother died.
The scream still caught in her throat. The blood on her hands. The moment she chose to fight instead of flee. The moment she chose to live, even if it meant carrying this wound into every future.
She turned—and there he was.
Not a vision.
But him.
Just as he had been—smiling, afraid, alive.
She couldn't speak.
"You left me," he said gently. "But I never left you."
Her knees buckled. "I didn't know how to stay and survive it. I didn't know how to forgive myself."
He knelt beside her. "Then forgive yourself now. Not for leaving. For thinking you had to carry it alone."
Her tears fell onto ground that wasn't real—but the healing was.
And when she opened her eyes again, the door before her had changed.
Not unlocked.
But unlocked by her.
It creaked open with a sigh like old sorrow… releasing the weight it once held.
Inside was no battlefield. No vision. Just… light.
Quiet, warm, patient.
The kind you meet at the end of grief.
---
Lina turned back.
Kai was watching her—not with concern, but pride.
"You okay?" he asked.
She nodded. "I finally said goodbye."
Eryon placed a hand over his chest. "Then the First World just became stronger. Loss honored… makes space for what comes next."
As the last leaf fell from the memory tree, a road appeared.
This one not forged by power or fate.
But by letting go.
They walked it together—toward the horizon where future and past no longer argued.
And in the far, far distance…
A child's voice echoed:
"Tell me a story where no one is forgotten."
Lina smiled.
"We're writing it."
---