It starts with a field trip.
Asterley's annual visit to the town archives and historic cemetery. A quiet event for honors students, something meant to inspire scholarly essays — not resurrect hidden truths.
But nothing is ever quiet where Haera and Cairos walk.
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The group disperses among the headstones, notebooks in hand, idle conversations drifting between stone angels and ivy-covered graves.
But Haera feels pulled — like thread unraveling.
Drawn to the farthest corner of the cemetery, where no one else goes.
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There it is.
The grave.
White marble, weathered by time, cracked at the edges.
No flowers. No offerings.
Only a name.
Lilienne Maren Sol.
And below it:
> "She died before the veil was thinnest."
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Her knees buckle.
Cairos is there in seconds, helping her kneel.
> "It's real," she breathes.
> "I know," he says softly. "I came here once. Before I ever met you in this life. I didn't know why it felt like grief."
---
She brushes away leaves, revealing another line etched faintly:
> "Buried without memory. Loved beyond death."
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> "They gave her my middle name," Haera whispers.
"It wasn't just a dream. Lilienne... she was me."
> "And I loved her," Cairos replies, voice breaking.
"Before I knew how to love you now."
---
They sit in silence.
The wind picks up, and a single violet flower rolls to the base of the headstone — though none bloom nearby.
---
> "Do you think part of me stayed here?" Haera asks.
> "No," Cairos says. "You were never buried. They only buried the name."
---
Haera presses her palm to the grave.
The stone warms beneath her touch.
And for a moment, the cemetery fades.
---
She sees a girl in lace.
Sees herself holding Cairos's hand.
Sees fire. Snow. Blood.
Then — laughter.
A picnic.
A piano.
A poem she once wrote in ink made of berries and saltwater.
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Then, stillness.
---
> "I remember something new," she says slowly.
> "What?"
> "She wasn't sad. Not when she died. She'd already lived enough in that lifetime to plant the seed for this one."
---
She rises.
Wipes her face.
---
> "Let them keep the grave," Haera says.
> "Because I'm not buried there. Not anymore."
---
The sky breaks open with sudden sun.
The wind changes direction.
Somewhere in the trees, a bell chimes — though no one rang it.
---
Later that night, Haera writes a single line in her journal:
> "They buried her body, but I carry her soul like a torch."
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And Cairos, watching her from across the room, knows:
This time, the story will not end in a grave.