The next day, the three of us ended up back at the park. Aria insisted on it, of course. She had sent me a dozen messages that morning, each one more dramatic than the last, until I finally agreed to come.
Kael was already waiting when I arrived, sitting stiffly on the bench beneath the old oak tree. His eyes flicked toward me, unreadable, before settling on the ground again.
"Elias!"
Aria's voice rang out, bright and eager, as she ran up to me. She grabbed my arm without hesitation, tugging me toward the swings.
"Do you remember?" she asked breathlessly, pointing to the spot in the grass. "Right there. That's where we made our promise. Pinkie swear and everything."
I followed her gaze. The fireflies weren't out yet, but I could still see us lying in that very spot, small hands linked, swearing to never let go.
"Of course I remember," I said softly.
Aria smiled, satisfied, before pulling Kael over as well. He resisted for a moment, but she wouldn't take no for an answer.
"Come on," she said firmly. "All three of us, just like before."
Reluctantly, Kael stood beside us. His posture was stiff, but his hand found Aria's without hesitation. She reached out her other hand to me, eyes glowing with the same childlike warmth she'd never lost.
I hesitated before taking it. The warmth of her fingers wrapped around mine, pulling me back into a memory that felt both comforting and cruel.
"We promised we'd always stay together," Aria said, her voice gentle now, almost wistful. "No matter what."
For a moment, I wanted to believe her. I wanted to believe nothing had changed, that Kael wasn't jealous, that I wasn't aching in ways I didn't understand, that we were still just three kids chasing fireflies.
But when I looked at Kael, his eyes weren't soft. They were sharp, searching, almost accusing.
And when I glanced past him, I noticed Seren again at the far end of the park. She sat quietly beneath the lamppost with her book, as though she'd always belonged to this place in the background. She wasn't part of the promise. She wasn't tangled in it.
Yet when her eyes met mine, I felt something I couldn't explain. A different kind of promise, unspoken but real.
Aria squeezed my hand tightly, pulling my attention back. "We'll keep our word, right? Always?"
Kael didn't answer. His jaw tightened.
And me… I forced the word out, even though it burned. "Always."
But deep inside, I already knew. Nothing lasts forever. Not even promises made beneath the fireflies.
The word "always" tasted hollow on my tongue, like a promise made from habit rather than truth.
Aria, though, seemed satisfied. She smiled and tugged us all down into the grass, sitting cross-legged like she used to when we were kids. Her laughter bubbled out, soft and innocent, as she leaned back on her hands and tilted her head toward the sky.
"Do you remember when we tried to catch the fireflies in jars?" she asked, eyes twinkling. "Kael nearly cried when we let them go because he thought they'd never forgive us."
"I didn't cry," Kael said quickly, though a faint flush crept up his neck.
"You did," Aria teased, poking him in the side. "And Elias… you told us the fireflies would always come back if they wanted to. That they weren't ours to keep."
Her voice softened at the memory, and she looked at me with something I couldn't quite name. Fondness, maybe. Or maybe just nostalgia.
I swallowed hard, unable to hold her gaze for long. "I just didn't want you both sad," I murmured.
Kael's eyes flicked toward me then, sharp and searching, but he didn't say anything. He only reached for Aria's hand, pulling it into his lap like he was staking a claim. She didn't resist, though she glanced between us as if sensing the tension simmering just beneath the surface.
For a while, we sat like that — the three of us in the fading light, pretending we were still children who believed in forever.
But then, as the streetlamps flickered on, I noticed movement at the far end of the park. Seren had closed her book and was now standing, the soft glow of the lamp haloing her figure. She tucked the book under her arm and glanced our way again. This time, her eyes lingered for a heartbeat longer.
Something about that simple look steadied me. As though the weight of the promise in Aria's voice, and the storm brewing in Kael's silence, didn't have to define every corner of my world.
Aria's laughter pulled me back once more. "See? Just like the old days," she said, squeezing our hands together. "And no matter what, we'll make new memories too. Ones just as good, I promise."
Kael didn't respond. His grip on her hand was too tight, his jaw locked. I wondered if he even heard her words at all.
And me… I forced a smile, but inside, I felt it — the first true crack in our promise.
Fireflies don't always return. Sometimes, they choose new skies.