The day began with a stillness Rey hadn't yet experienced in the Abyss.
Not the dangerous silence of a predator nearby, but a reverent hush—like the world itself was holding its breath.
Fianna met him just outside his hut. She wore something different today: a cloak of silver-threaded grass and feathers that shimmered under the morning sun. Around her neck hung a crystal pendant, glowing faintly.
"You're awake," she said. "Good. Come with me."
"Where are we going?" Rey asked, trying to keep pace.
"To the Shrine of Stars. Today is our Rite. You're going to see something special."
They walked through the village as the Elysians gathered, each wearing similar ceremonial robes. Even the warriors laid aside their weapons. Young ones carried baskets of glowing petals; elders hummed a soft, haunting melody that echoed in the air.
As they climbed a moss-covered path leading to a high cliff, Rey noticed how different this felt from anything else in the Abyss. This wasn't survival. It was… celebration.
At the summit, the tribe formed a wide circle around a massive stone basin. Above them, the sky had shifted—darkening unnaturally, even though the sun still hung in the air.
Fianna stepped into the center. Her expression was no longer playful; it was solemn, radiant.
She began to chant in the Elysian tongue.
Rey couldn't understand the words, but the emotion behind them stirred something inside him. It was a call—a song not of power, but of memory, of longing. Petals were tossed into the air, carried by a wind that hadn't existed moments before. They circled upward, catching light as if dancing with the stars themselves.
Then Fianna raised her hands to the sky.
The pendant on her chest pulsed once. Then the air shimmered, and lines of starlight began to form above them, tracing constellations that Rey had never seen.
It was like watching the sky draw its own map.
"What… is this?" Rey whispered.
Beside him, an old Elysian elder spoke, his voice hoarse but kind. "The Rite of the Stars. A tradition from long before the darkness consumed this realm. We offer our memory to the stars, so they never forget who we are."
Rey's chest tightened. It reminded him of the old festivals back home—when he and his family used to light paper lanterns and send them into the sky for the souls of their ancestors.
As if sensing his thoughts, Fianna looked at him from the center and nodded once. Not to perform—but to share.
After the ritual ended, the sky slowly brightened again, and the stars vanished from view. The tribe began to hum once more, this time a joyful melody.
Later, as Rey and Fianna sat together at the edge of the cliff, watching the village celebrate below, she finally spoke.
"You miss your world, don't you?"
Rey nodded. "Every day."
"But this," she said softly, "this is your world now too. Whether you accept it or not."
He turned to her, surprised by the depth of her words.
"I didn't think I'd find peace here," he admitted. "But with you… with this tribe… it doesn't feel like just surviving anymore."
Fianna reached out and took his hand.
"You're not alone, Rey. You never have to be again."
And under the fading light of the stars, their fingers intertwined—not out of fear or need, but something stronger.
Belonging.
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