That night, the manor filled with light.
Not the harsh glow of lanterns or the golden spill of the hearth—this was softer, wilder. Fireflies. Hundreds of them. Maybe more.
They flickered around the orchard like tiny stars that had forgotten how to fly high.
Elowen stood on the porch, arms wrapped around herself, watching the world glow. Behind her, the house hummed with quiet—most of the others already asleep, their laughter and stories tucked beneath blankets and dreams.
But she stayed awake.
Waiting.
Amara had left just before supper, saying only, "There's something I need to do."
And though Elowen had nodded, her heart had sunk a little. She remembered the look in Amara's eyes—a blend of wonder and goodbye.
Now the fireflies danced in silence, and still, Amara had not returned.
Elowen stepped down into the orchard, her bare feet brushing grass that smelled of rain and memory. The fireflies parted around her like they knew her name.
She followed the path they made, glowing gently between the apple trees and over the mossy stones. And there—at the edge of the field—stood Amara, her back to her, head tilted to the sky.
Elowen paused, taking in the sight: the silver in her hair under moonlight, the softness of her shoulders, the quiet sadness in her stance.
She didn't speak right away.
Instead, she walked slowly until she stood beside her.
"They're beautiful," Elowen said softly.
Amara nodded. "They only come on nights like this."
"What kind of night is this?"
Amara turned. "A leaving night."
The words struck too sharp. Elowen blinked once. "Are you—?"
"Not forever," Amara said quickly. "But for a little while. I need to go to the other side of the forest. There's something my mother left behind. Something I need to find if I'm going to... be whole."
Elowen's throat tightened. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"
"I was afraid you'd ask me to stay."
Elowen looked away. "And if I did?"
"I would've stayed," Amara whispered. "And regretted it. Not because of you, but because I'd still be running from the pieces of me I haven't met yet."
There was silence again. A heavy, aching stillness.
"But I'm coming back," Amara said. "I promise."
Elowen turned to her, searching her face. "Don't promise if you're not sure."
Amara stepped closer.
"I'm sure," she said. "Because for the first time, I have someone to come back to."
And then—without fear, without hesitation—Amara leaned in and pressed her lips softly to Elowen's forehead.
It wasn't a goodbye kiss.
It was a holding-on kiss.
A wait-for-me kiss.
"I'll watch the fireflies every night until you return," Elowen said, her voice steady despite the ache.
"And I'll follow their glow to find my way back to you," Amara replied.
They stood together a moment longer, the orchard glowing, the world quiet.
And then Amara turned and walked into the dark, fireflies parting like a path carved by stars.
Elowen didn't cry.
Not yet.
She just watched, hand pressed to her chest, heart full of both pain and something gentler—something almost sweet.
A farewell, yes.
But also a promise.