Chapter 113 – The Last Journey of Carrow
The years had flowed like gentle rivers since the Circle of Dawn first rose from the ashes of the old world. Under the Breath's guidance, life had become a living hymn — trees whispering lullabies to the wind, mountains glowing with silent consciousness, and humankind walking once again in harmony with the elements.
But even in peace, there was change.
Carrow felt it first — a soft, steady call echoing deep within him, older than memory, deeper than any song he had ever heard. It was not the voice of the Breath or the world, but something beyond both — the pull of the eternal unknown.
He was older now, his hair silver as the morning mist, his hands marked by the many lives he had touched. Yet his eyes still burned with the same quiet flame that had carried him through the dark years. He had led the world into light, but even light has its horizon.
One morning, as the mist lay thick over the green valleys, Carrow walked alone to the ridge where the first dawn of renewal had begun. The valley below shimmered with life — the rivers pulsed like veins of gold, and the cities beyond glowed softly under domes of crystal light. Humanity was thriving, not by conquest, but by communion. Children laughed among trees that spoke in colors. Scholars studied not books but dreams. He smiled. It was all as it should be.
Alira found him there, wrapped in a robe of woven light. She had grown into a woman of grace and quiet wisdom, her hair now crowned with the silver mark of the Keepers. She had carried on his teachings, spreading harmony to lands even the old maps had forgotten.
"You're leaving," she said simply.
Carrow nodded, his gaze lost in the horizon. "The Breath no longer needs me to guide it. It moves freely now. The circle is complete."
"Where will you go?"
He smiled faintly. "Where all songs return — to the source."
For a long time, they stood together in silence, the wind wrapping them in its gentle touch. Below them, the great world they had healed continued to hum with peace, unaware that its first Keeper was preparing to step beyond the veil.
"I thought the source was everywhere," Alira said softly.
"It is," he replied. "But sometimes, one must walk into its heart to remember why it beats."
He reached into his cloak and withdrew the Staff of Renewal. Its crystal still glowed with the faint rhythm of the living world. He placed it in Alira's hands.
"It belongs to you now," he said. "The Breath must always have a voice in the world. Be that voice, and let no silence devour it."
Her eyes shimmered with tears, but she nodded. "And you?"
Carrow turned toward the rising sun. The light kissed his face, tracing the lines of age like threads of silver fire. "I will walk until the Breath calls my name one last time. And then, I will become the wind that whispers your name in return."
As he stepped forward, the ground beneath him glowed faintly, like the memory of a path being rewritten. Each footprint he left shimmered for a moment before dissolving into air.
Alira watched until the shimmer became mist, until the figure of the man who had once saved the world was no longer visible — only a trail of golden light stretching across the hills, vanishing into the endless horizon.
From that day onward, strange things began to happen in the world.
Travelers spoke of hearing a man's laughter in the desert winds. Children claimed that when they whispered their dreams to the trees, a warm breeze answered with a soft hum. Sailors in the far seas said the northern lights now sang — low, steady tones that sounded like a heart beating among the stars.
The Keepers called it The Resonance of Carrow. They built no monuments, for they knew he had become part of everything. His name was spoken not in prayer, but in gratitude — whenever a storm passed gently, or a new spring bloomed from barren ground.
And in the deepest groves of the Breathlands, where the air shimmered with the memory of creation, the wind sometimes gathered itself into a whisper — a voice both human and infinite — saying,
"Breathe, and remember."
Alira would close her eyes when she heard it. In her mind's eye, she would see the same ridge, the same dawn, the same man who once carried the weight of all worlds — smiling as he walked into eternity.
And so the legend of Carrow did not end.
It became the air itself — invisible, eternal, and everywhere.
From that age onward, children were told that when they breathed their first breath, it was Carrow's wind they drew into their lungs — the same breath that once reshaped the world.
Thus the Keeper became the sky,
and the sky, forever, remembered him.
"— To Be Continued —"
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