The castle had grown quieter, as though it, too, was holding its breath. The magic that once danced around Mochi—no longer the burst of wings or the golden glow of rebirth—had softened into something subtler. But in that hush, something deeper lingered. Something was beginning to stir, like a thread being pulled taut, guiding her toward some unknown place.
Mochi had adjusted to life without wings—if "adjusted" was the right word. Since returning as a human with wings, she had thrown herself into every adventure with the wild, chaotic joy only she could summon. But now, she seemed caught between two worlds, suspended in the space where past and future met.
Rael noticed it first. Her presence, once so vivid, had started to flicker—like a star that had shone too brightly and was now dimming into night. He caught the little things: the way her eyes would drift away, fixed on something invisible; the way the air shimmered around her when she wasn't paying attention. Subtle, but enough to unsettle him.
He wasn't the only one. Mira had been watching, too, her silent observations more frequent since they reunited. But there was no reassurance in her gaze now—only the quiet understanding that something was shifting beyond their control.
And Mochi…
Mochi was pretending. Pretending that everything was fine, like she always did when the world got too heavy. But Rael could see it. Every day she withdrew just a little more. It was as if the magic that had brought her back was now slowly, gently, reclaiming her.
They had grown used to her chaos—the strange jokes, the ridiculous plans, the whirlwind energy that turned every quiet moment into a storm—but this was different. This stillness was not peace. It was foreboding.
One evening, Rael found her at the balcony, her back to him, staring out at the gardens with her usual stance of defiance. And yet, something in her posture had shifted—something brittle, uncertain, as though she no longer knew where she belonged.
"You've been quiet lately," Rael said, his voice soft, careful not to shatter the moment.
Mochi tensed, but didn't turn. "Nothing to say. Everything's normal." She waved her hand in a vague, tired motion. "You know. No giant cakes, no accidental swan transformations. Just me. In a castle. Wingless. Missionless. Ennemi-less. Totally normal."
Rael leaned against the doorframe, watching her. "Is it?"
The silence that followed said everything. She wasn't okay. And she didn't want anyone to know it.
He didn't press her. He simply stayed there, staring up at the drifting clouds, wondering if all they'd ever have were these fleeting moments. Just moments.
The next day, as they explored deeper into the castle, a strange heaviness settled around them. The air thickened—not like when magic returned, but heavier. Older. Rael felt it too—this faint, unspoken call. Something was pulling Mochi away, deeper into herself.
She caught him staring and flashed a crooked grin, her lips teasing but her eyes far away. "What? Don't worry. I'm fine. It's just—uh, you know—hormones or something."
Rael smiled, but it didn't reach his heart. He knew she was lying. He just didn't know how to stop it.
That night, as he kept watch by the window, he felt it—an invisible thread, tugging. Something beyond the physical. Beyond the castle. Beyond him.
And then, in the flickering moonlight of the corridor, Mochi was gone.
She had walked away—but he couldn't say when or how. There were no words. No final jokes. No grand, dramatic farewell.
Just silence.
Rael tore through the halls, calling her name. When he reached the gardens, the stone and ivy had twisted themselves into a new maze. He searched every turn, every hollow, shouting into the stillness. No answer.
Mochi was gone.
And in that moment, Rael knew what he had refused to believe. This world… this life… was pulling her away.
She had sacrificed everything to return. And now fate was taking it back. But he wasn't ready. Not again. Not like this.
The stars blinked down, indifferent to grief, unmoved by memory.
In the distance, something stirred—a whisper, soft as breath.
"Mochi?"
No reply.
Rael stood alone. And then, drifting down from above, came a single feather—light, pale, familiar.
It was the same one she'd worn as a swan.
And with it came the sharp, quiet ache of loss.
Destiny had begun its slow, relentless work—and now it was up to Rael to decide: would he fight to pull her back, or learn to live in the space she'd left behind?