The library felt like a tomb of silent knowledge.
The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving the massive room in a state of suffocating twilight. I sat on the floor, surrounded by mountains of open books, my eyes stinging from the strain of reading ancient script.
I was searching for that elusive two percent—the miracle that Elian claimed did not exist.
The soft thud of a staff against the floor announced his arrival. Elian stood in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the dim light of the hallway. He looked at the chaos I had created, and a small, pitying sigh escaped his lips.
"It is time to stop, Leo,"
he said, his voice a weathered rasp.
"The answers you seek are not written in these pages. Nature has made its decision."
I did not look up. I gripped the edges of a tome so tightly the parchment began to crinkle.
"Nature does not get a vote," I hissed.
"You are exhausted,"
Elian continued, stepping into the room.
"You are fighting a storm with a wooden shield. It is a brave gesture, but it is ultimately meaningless. You must accept that—"
"Accept what?!"
I snapped. I surged to my feet, the books around me sliding across the floor like discarded junk. My chest heaved, and the "Exception" rot in my veins burned with a cold, venomous fire.
I turned on him, my face a mask of raw, unfiltered rage.
"You speak as if you know everything! You stand there with your twelve hundred years of wisdom and you tell me to sit down and watch her die? You look at me with those pitying eyes and act as if my struggle is just some tragic comedy! You speak of fate and the natural order because it is easy for you! You are old, Elian! You are tired! You have seen so many people die that you have forgotten how to fight for a single life!"
I stepped toward him, my voice rising until it echoed off the vaulted ceiling.
"You speak of branches snapping? You talk as if this is some natural cycle? Do you have any idea what I did to get back here? I walked through a literal hell. I burned. I bled. I let a part of my soul wither away just to keep moving! You, who have lived a hundred years? What is the point of all that age if you just sit there and watch her flicker out like a spent candle? If all our blood and sweat amounts to nothing, then what are we even doing here?."
I slammed my fist against the oak table, the sound like a gunshot in the quiet library.
"What was the point of all that? Tell me! If the result is the same, why did I even try? Why did I survive the fire? Why did I not just die in that clinic and save myself the agony of failing like this? I know I am an idiot! I know I am a loser who refuses to give up even when everything I do is completely useless! I am a pathetic, talentless child who is playing at being a hero, and I am failing at every single turn!"
My voice broke, the anger dissolving into a jagged, painful sob that I tried to swallow.
"I have nothing but this refusal to quit. It is the only thing I have left. If I give up, If I stop, then I am just a murderer who played her memories and gave her nothing in return. I hate myself! I hate how weak I am! But I will not—I will not just sit here and let you tell me that my hard work was for nothing!"
Elian did not flinch. He did not grow angry. He stood there, a pillar of ancient stone in the middle of my emotional hurricane. He waited until my breathing slowed, until the silence of the library became heavy again.
"Leo,"
he said softly. His voice held a depth of sorrow that made my heart ache.
"A man who tries to hold the ocean in his hands is a fool. But even a fool can feel the coolness of the water before it slips away."
He walked toward me and placed a hand on my shoulder. His touch was light, but it felt as heavy as a mountain.
"You did not fail because you were weak. you failed because you are human, and you are fighting a god's curse. You gave her a heart that beats for you, Leo. You gave her a reason to smile when the world wanted her to break. That is not nothing. In a world this cruel, that is a miracle of its own."
I looked away, unable to meet his gaze. The rage was gone, replaced by a cold, hollow emptiness.
Elian turned toward the door, his robes rustling against the stone. He stopped at the threshold, the silver candlelight casting his shadow long across the floor.
"Go to her,"
he whispered.
"Do not waste the few hours you have left shouting at an old man who has already made his peace with the dark."
He left without another word.
I returned to Alisa's chamber as the moon reached its zenith. The room felt like a sanctuary, isolated from the rest of the cold, unfeeling world. I sat in the chair by her bedside, the silence stretching out like an endless sea. I did not want to break the spell of the moonlight.
I reached out and took her hand. Her fingers were slender and pale, resting in mine like a fragile bird. It was soft and surprisingly warm, a contrast to the icy terror that had been gripping me all day.
"Hey, Alisa,"
I whispered into the quiet air.
I thought about the way she looked in the garden and the rare, sharp wit she showed when she was feeling bold. I began to talk in a steady voice so I wouldn't show my rage, but I want her to hear me
"I heard that you like White Star-Lilies," I murmured.
"Sebastian told me they are your favorite. And the Sun-Daisies. When you wake up... if you can... I will take you back to that garden. I will make sure."
It was a lie. I knew it was a lie, and she probably did too, somewhere deep in her dreaming mind. But tonight, the truth was too cruel to bear.
The hours of the night dragged on, marked only by the slow rotation of the stars outside the window. Around midnight, her fingers twitched against mine.
I froze, my heart leaping into my throat. Her eyes did not open, but her grip tightened just a fraction—a subconscious acknowledgment that she was not alone.
"I am not going anywhere,"
I promised, leaning my forehead against the side of the mattress.
I felt a strange sense of peace settle over me. It was the peace of the defeated. I had stopped fighting the tide, and now I was simply letting it carry me. I realized that Elian was right; there was a different kind of strength in just being there.
As the sky began to turn from black to a deep, bruised purple, the air in the room grew colder. The "bloom" Elian had spoken of was fading. The unnatural glow of health in her cheeks was beginning to dim, returning to that pale, translucent marble.
I stood up and leaned over her,
"Thank you," I whispered.
I don't even know what I was thanking her for—for giving me a reason to fight, for the fake memories that felt so real, or just for being the one person in this world who looked at me like I mattered or something.
I sat back down and watched the horizon. The first sliver of the morning sun began to pierce the clouds, signaling the end of the night.
The time was up. I took a deep breath, squeezed her hand one last time, and waited for the morning to take her away.