The night lingered, stretching softly across the hills as if reluctant to let go of its quiet. Fate and the Dreamer remained on the grassy slope long after the town's last lights dimmed, letting the cool stillness sink deeper into their bones.
Eventually, Fate spoke again—barely louder than the whispering grass.
"I always thought the world needed me to be… inevitable."
The Dreamer hummed thoughtfully. "And does it?"
"No," Fate said, almost surprised by the truth of it. "It needs me to be present. Not pressing. Not pulling. Just… here."
The Dreamer tilted their head. "Presence can guide without force."
"It can," Fate agreed. "And I think—maybe for the first time—I'm ready to be that kind of guide."
They sat in peaceful silence until a soft glow touched the horizon. Dawn approached, not in a rush, but in a slow unfurling of pale colors.
Fate watched the first threads of morning light.
"It's gentle," they murmured.
