They walked until the sun had fully risen, its warmth settling across the fields like a blessing no one asked for but everyone quietly welcomed. Wheat whispered against their legs as a breeze rolled through, carrying with it the earthy scent of soil and the sweetness of early blossoms.
Fate paused, closing their eyes for a moment to simply feel it—this slow pulse of a world that no longer trembled beneath expectation.
"It's strange," Fate murmured. "All my life, I thought purpose came from the grand patterns. The twists. The turning points."
The Dreamer glanced at them, understanding before Fate even finished.
"And now?" they asked gently.
"Now I think," Fate said, opening their eyes, "purpose is found in the steps between the turning points."
A soft smile curved the Dreamer's lips. "The quiet paths."
"The ones no one notices," Fate replied. "But I think… maybe those were mine all along."
