The sky dimmed slowly.
Astrion did not rush sunsets. It let them unfold like something sacred gold thinning into amber, amber cooling into violet. The silver grass below the ridge shifted in long, whispering waves, and the unstable shimmer of the gate flickered in rhythm with the fading light.
Moonrise would not wait.
Neither would the anchor.
I stood at the edge of the ridge, watching the thin fracture in reality tremble below. It looked smaller now. Fragile. As if it could disappear with one strong gust of wind.
Behind me, Aries did not move.
She hadn't since we arrived.
The silence between us had changed. It wasn't uncertain anymore. It was heavy with awareness.
"How long?" I asked quietly.
She lifted her gaze to the horizon. "When the first edge of the moon clears the hills."
I nodded.
Not much time.
I turned to face her fully.
For the first time since the sanctum, I allowed myself to truly look at her not as my guide, not as my protector. Just as her.
The fading light traced the silver threads in her dark hair. The mark at her temple pulsed faintly, reacting to something I could not see.
Or perhaps to me.
"You knew this might happen," I said.
"Yes."
"And you still stayed."
Her lips curved faintly not quite a smile. "You needed someone who understood the rules."
"That's not what I meant."
She held my gaze.
"I stayed," she said slowly, "because you shouldn't have to face a world alone while deciding whether to belong to it."
The wind picked up slightly, lifting the edges of her cloak. The hills below seemed to lean closer, listening.
"I don't want to leave it broken," I said.
"You won't."
"You don't know that."
"I do."
Her certainty again.
It was infuriating.
Comforting.
Dangerous.
The gate flickered brighter for a moment, then dimmed again, like a failing heartbeat.
"Tell me something honestly," I said.
"I always do."
"Do you want me to stay?"
The question landed between us and did not move.
Arres did not answer immediately. Her eyes shifted briefly to the horizon, then back to me. The restraint in her posture was visible now thin, deliberate.
"If you stayed," she said carefully, "Astrion would change around you. The balance would shift. Powers long dormant would awaken."
"That's not what I asked."
Her jaw tightened slightly.
"Yes," she said.
The word was quiet.
Barely louder than the wind.
But it struck harder than anything else had today.
"Yes," she repeated, softer now. "I want you to stay."
My chest tightened painfully.
"Then why are you helping me leave?"
"Because wanting something doesn't make it right."
The first edge of the moon crested the hills.
A pale arc of silver light cut into the darkening sky.
The gate below shimmered violently in response.
Time had begun to move.
I stepped closer to her without thinking.
Not touching.
Just close enough that the air between us felt charged.
"If I stay," I said, "I lose the life I had."
"Yes."
"If I leave"
"You lose the life you could have."
The honesty hurt more than either possibility.
The wind shifted again, colder now.
"I don't even know what I am yet," I said quietly.
"You're someone Astrion answered."
"That's not an identity."
"No," she agreed. "It's a beginning."
The moon climbed higher.
The anchor inside me stirred subtle, but undeniable. A pulling sensation toward the city. Toward the sanctum. Toward roots forming in invisible soil.
"If I wait too long," I said.
"It will choose for you."
I closed my eyes briefly.
This wasn't supposed to be a decision about worlds.
It felt like a decision about something else entirely.
"I didn't expect…" I started, then stopped.
"What?" she asked softly.
"I didn't expect to care."
The air shifted.
Aries inhaled slowly, like she had been holding that breath for hours.
"Neither did I," she admitted.
Silence.
The moon rose another fraction.
The gate below flickered harder.
I looked at her again.
"Say something that makes this easier."
A faint, sad smile touched her lips.
"If I knew how to do that," she said, "I wouldn't have brought you here."
The wind quieted.
Everything seemed to hold still.
Even the grass below stilled, like Astrion itself was waiting.
"For what?" I whispered.
"For you."
The anchor tugged harder.
I felt it clearly now—an invisible thread binding my chest to the land beneath us. Not painful. Just inevitable.
If I stepped away from the gate now if I turned from it
That thread would root.
Permanently.
"Will you remember me?" I asked.
Her expression changed then not soft, not fragile. Steady.
"Astrion does not forget what changes it," she said. "And neither do I."
That wasn't poetic.
It was a promise.
The moon reached full crest above the hills.
The gate flared.
The anchor surged sharply like a heartbeat misfiring.
Decision.
Now.
I stepped back from her.
Just one step.
And the distance felt catastrophic.
Her posture stiffened slightly, though she did not reach for me.
She wouldn't.
"I have to go," I said.
The words felt foreign.
Like they belonged to someone else.
Arres nodded once.
"Yes."
No plea.
No attempt to stop me.
And somehow that made it worse.
I turned toward the slope leading down to the gate.
Took two steps.
Stopped.
The weight of leaving settled fully into my chest.
I turned back.
She was exactly where I left her.
Still.
Unmoving.
But her eyes
Her eyes were not distant now.
They were open.
Raw.
I walked back to her.
Closed the distance completely.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
The wind moved between us, cool and restless.
"Don't disappear," I said quietly.
Her voice wavered just once.
"I won't."
"That's not what I mean."
She understood.
"I'll be here," she said. "Even if you're not."
The gate pulsed violently.
I didn't have time.
So I did the only thing I could think of.
I reached forward and wrapped my arms around her.
It wasn't hesitant.
It wasn't uncertain.
It was firm.
Real.
For a fraction of a second, she froze.
Then her arms came around me.
Not possessive.
Not desperate.
Just steady.
Her forehead rested briefly against my shoulder. I felt the warmth of her breath through the thin fabric between us.
"This isn't the end," she murmured.
"No," I agreed. "It's not."
The anchor pulled sharply almost painfully.
I stepped back.
Her hands lingered for a heartbeat before falling away.
The moonlight painted her in silver.
She looked like Astrion itself in that moment ancient, steady, unyielding.
But her eyes betrayed something softer.
"Go," she said.
So I did.
Down the slope.
Each step harder than the last.
The gate shimmered violently now, unstable and thinning. The air around it crackled faintly, reality tearing at the edges.
Halfway down, I felt it
The anchor resisting.
A sharp pull backward.
Astrion did not want to let go.
I forced myself forward.
The gate brightened.
I reached its edge.
Turned once more.
Arres stood at the ridge, wind tearing through her cloak, silver threads in her hair catching the moonlight.
She did not wave.
She did not call out.
She simply stood there.
Present.
Watching.
Remembering.
I stepped through.
The world shattered into light.
Sound vanished.
The pull snapped
Not completely.
Just enough.
And then
Silence.
I hit solid ground hard.
Air rushed into my lungs.
Familiar air.
Different gravity.
Different sky.
The gate behind me flickered once
Then sealed.
Gone.
The field where it had first opened was empty now.
Ordinary.
Too ordinary.
I lay there for a long time, staring at a sky that did not shimmer silver.
The anchor inside me had loosened.
But it had not disappeared.
It hummed faintly beneath my ribs.
Not rooted.
Not gone.
Waiting.
Far away beyond sight, beyond reach Astrion continued to turn.
And on a ridge overlooking silver grass and quiet hills, Aries remained.
Not grieving.
Not broken.
Just watching the place where a door had closed.
Knowing
It would not stay closed forever.