The grey plain stretched endlessly before him, the landscape unchanged, a world of dust and ash. But something in the air had shifted—there was a faint stirring, a ripple in the stillness.
The rider said nothing as they walked. He simply guided the pale horse forward, moving at a pace that left the boy with nothing but his thoughts. In his heart, a hollow ache had taken root, one that deepened with each step. For a moment, he thought of his family—his parents, his siblings—and the images of them that had haunted him since his death. The way they had looked at him in his final moments, their love heavy and suffocating. Their grief had been unbearable, yet in that suffering, he knew they would survive.
But the pain of leaving them was still there. Sharp. Raw. Unrelenting.
The boy's steps faltered as they neared the horizon, a flickering light appearing in the distance. He froze, narrowing his eyes. The light was faint, almost imperceptible, but it grew brighter the closer they came, like a candle flame dancing in the distance.
The rider turned his head toward the boy, as if sensing the question in his mind. "It is not real. Not what you see, not what you hope."
But the boy's heart pounded as the light grew, filling the space with a warmth that had long since vanished from the grey world. The edges of the light sharpened, and soon, he could make out shapes—figures, moving.
"Mother?" he whispered, his voice trembling.
The rider's voice was distant, yet firm. "This is the veil. A reflection of what remains when you look back. But what you see is not true."
The boy's hands gripped his chest as the figures took form. His mother, standing at the door of their small house, her face pale but filled with sorrow. His father stood beside her, his strong frame weakened with grief, but still holding on. His siblings huddled together, their faces etched with confusion and loss. The boy could see the tears in his mother's eyes, the way his father's hand rested protectively on her shoulder.
"They're… they're waiting for me," he whispered. The air around him seemed to hum with their presence.
The rider spoke again, his tone unchanging. "They wait because they cannot see. They cannot hear you, for you are no longer part of their world."
The boy's chest tightened as he watched his family in the distance, his eyes locking onto his mother's face. He could see the trembling in her hands, the way she clutched her robe tightly to her chest. She looked lost, waiting for something that would never come.
"Mother…" His voice broke, a desperate cry that echoed across the plain. He reached out, his hands trembling, but no matter how much he willed it, he could not move closer.
His mother's eyes flickered, her gaze shifting, as if she felt something in the air, something stirring. For a heartbeat, it seemed as though she might look directly at him. Her lips parted, a soft word escaping her. "My son…"
His heart leaped, but the moment passed, and her gaze turned away. She remained trapped in her grief, unaware that he stood there, so close, yet so impossibly far away.
The boy fell to his knees, his voice breaking with the weight of it. "Please… please see me. I'm here. I'm still here. I didn't leave you."
But the veil began to fade, the light dimming, as though the very air rejected his plea. The figures blurred, their shapes twisting like smoke, dissolving into the endless grey. His mother's face vanished into the distance, his father's silhouette receding into nothingness.
"Please!" the boy cried again, but the words were swallowed by the void.
The plain was silent again.
He collapsed onto the ground, his heart thundering, tears falling from eyes that no longer wept. "I can't let them go. I can't… I can't move on without them."
The rider's presence was silent, unwavering.
"Love them from here," he said, his voice almost soft. "Let them go so they may live."
The boy's chest tightened. "How? How can I? How can I move on when they need me so badly?"
"They do not need you. They need what you gave them. They need your memory, your love. They will carry you in their hearts."
"But I was supposed to stay with them. I was supposed to protect them," the boy whispered, his voice shaking. "I wasn't ready to die. I wasn't ready to leave them."
The rider did not speak, but his pale horse shifted once more, its hooves soundless against the dead earth. The boy's eyes drifted back to where his family had been, the faintest traces of them still lingering like a memory. He had protected them in his last moments, and for that, he could rest. He could be at peace.
The boy stood slowly, wiping his eyes. He knew the truth now. The life he had lived was not meant to last forever, and that was a truth he could not fight. But what he had left behind—the love, the memories, the sacrifice—that was enough.
He glanced back at the rider, his voice steady now. "I'm ready."
The rider nodded, the faintest tilt of his head. "Then let us go."
The boy took one last look at the fading veil, the images of his family growing fainter until they were gone completely. Then, he turned, and without another word, he walked forward.
The pale horse moved beside him, and together, they crossed the threshold of the grey plain into what awaited beyond.