The wind shifted that night — a low, keening breath from the mountains, as though the world itself were remembering something it wished to forget.
Arenne could not sleep.
She lay awake by the river, watching the stars blur in her vision until they became tears.
Every drop of moonlight seemed to pulse in time with a heartbeat not her own — slow, mournful, ancient.
"Elowen…" she whispered into the dark.
The name felt like a blade cutting through her tongue and soul alike. It was not a name she had spoken in millennia.
The air around her grew heavy.
Silver mist rose from the river, curling upward into faint, shimmering shapes — outlines of armor, strands of hair, a woman's form made of light and memory.
Lysander stirred at the sound of her quiet gasp.
He rose, sword half drawn, but froze when he saw the ghostly figure before them.
"Who is she?" he asked softly.
Arenne's lips trembled. "The first. The one who loved me when I still believed love could defy death."
The specter turned its hollow gaze toward Arenne. Its voice was faint — not a sound, but an ache.
"You promised me the stars would never change."
Arenne took a hesitant step forward. "Elowen… I tried to keep them still. I tried—"
"You built a world to cage eternity," the spirit interrupted, its tone neither cruel nor kind — only tired.
"You broke the heavens so you wouldn't have to watch me die again."
Arenne's composure faltered. "I wanted to save you!"
"You wanted to save yourself."
The words struck like thunder.
Arenne staggered back, clutching her chest.
The world dimmed. The stars flickered out one by one until only the red moon remained.
"Look at what your mercy became," the spirit whispered. "You gave me life for a day, and took life from a thousand years."
The mist began to bleed — crimson threads swirling into the air.
Lysander stepped forward, but Arenne lifted a trembling hand to stop him.
"No… I have to see it," she breathed.
The ghost of Elowen reached out, touching Arenne's face.
The touch was cold, but it carried the tenderness of memory — and beneath it, unbearable sorrow.
"Do you remember my last words?"
Arenne's throat closed. "You said—"
"Love should never be forever, Arenne. It should be now."
Arenne fell to her knees, tears streaking her cheeks.
She could see it now — Elowen's final moment, her body frail, her smile unbroken.
And herself, the queen who refused to let go, who called upon divine law to seal time itself.
That was the sin.
Not love, but the refusal to let it end.
The specter knelt beside her, its voice soft as dying embers.
"If you would free yourself, then remember all of it. The love, the loss, the ending. Stop trying to resurrect what must be allowed to rest."
Arenne nodded, trembling. "Teach me how."
"You already know. You just never dared to speak it."
The mist began to dissolve, but before it vanished entirely, Elowen leaned forward — pressing her lips to Arenne's brow.
A warmth spread through her — not divine, not eternal, but human.
And when Arenne opened her eyes, the night had returned. The moon was silver once more.
Lysander approached quietly, kneeling beside her. "You're shaking."
She managed a weak smile. "I remembered what love costs. And why I kept running from it."
He said nothing, only took her hand.
She turned her gaze toward the horizon.
The storm clouds were gathering again, but now she could feel something behind them — not wrath, but awakening.
"The silence is growing stronger," she murmured.
"It feeds on denial. On my refusal to end things. It is the part of me that could never accept loss."
Lysander frowned. "Then how do we fight it?"
"Not with strength," she said softly. "With surrender."
Far away, in the ruins of Velhar, the priestess—no, the Shadow Queen—walked barefoot across a wasteland of glass.
Everywhere her feet touched, the world cracked and silenced itself.
She looked to the same moon Arenne now watched.
"You remember, don't you?" she said, her voice layered with echoes.
"You remember the pain. And soon, you'll remember me."
The wind shifted, carrying her whisper across the world like a curse.
"There is no eternity without me, Arenne. I am the echo of your forever."
Arenne shivered.
For the first time since awakening, she understood — she was not merely being haunted by her past.
She was being followed by it.
And this time, it wore her face.