Kai approached slowly, the fading light casting hard shadows across his face. He had come looking for me—perhaps out of concern, or maybe something darker. As he stepped into the clearing and saw the glowing spirits surrounding Mary's body, his eyes narrowed—not in awe, but in something colder.
When the spirits faded and silence returned, he stepped forward, his voice sharp and low.
"Unbelievable," he muttered. "You couldn't do that for anyone else. Not for me. Not even for us."
I looked up, startled by the edge in his voice. He wasn't crying. He wasn't reverent. He was angry.
"You fell apart when she died, Anna. You gave her a ceremony, summoned spirits, got a blessing from the dead like some chosen one. But when we were tearing ourselves apart? When I was bleeding trying to keep us together?" He scoffed. "You didn't even look at me."
His gaze dropped to the glowing feather in my hand. "She gets peace. She gets your soul. What do I get? Silence. Distance. A broken goodbye."
He stepped closer now, his words like glass. "Maybe I should've died too. Then maybe I'd finally matter enough to be mourned."
His voice dropped even lower, bitter with hurt. "But I guess I was never sacred enough to deserve your tears."
His words struck like a blade.
I stood there, gripping the feather so tightly it almost cracked in my palm. The warmth it carried—Mary's peace, the spirits' blessing—seemed to flicker under the cold shadow of Kai's voice.
For a moment, I said nothing. I refused to let him see me flinch. My voice, when it came, was steady, sharp as steel.
"She died, Kai. She didn't walk away. She didn't choose to hurt me. She was ripped from this world—and I'm the one who found what was left."
I looked him dead in the eyes, my voice trembling with restrained emotion. "Don't you dare stand there and compare your heartbreak to her death. Don't you dare make this about you."
But even as the words left my mouth, I felt the ground shift beneath me. The rage that steadied me was just a dam, and behind it… everything was breaking.
I turned away from him, my shoulders beginning to shake. "You think I didn't mourn you?" My voice cracked. "You think I didn't bleed when we fell apart? I died a little every time you looked at me like I was a stranger. Like I was something to be fixed—or thrown away."
Tears streamed freely now. I fell to my knees in the grass where Mary had just been laid to rest, the feather slipping from my hand and landing softly beside me. My voice broke into something hollow.
"I gave her peace because I couldn't save her. I couldn't save any of you."
The silence that followed was thick and choking. My fingers dug into the earth, trying to ground myself in something real. I didn't know if Kai would leave, or stay, or throw more knives—but in that moment, I had nothing left to give him but the truth.
"I didn't choose her over you, Kai," I whispered. "I just… chose to feel. And you never let me."
Kai stood there, arms crossed, jaw clenched tight. For a second, it looked like my words had hit him—but not enough to stop the venom already working its way through his heart.
"So that's it," he snapped. "You're the victim. Always the one carrying the weight, right? And I'm just the cold one, the one who didn't let you feel."
He scoffed, shaking his head. "I tried, Anna. Gods know I tried. But you were always reaching for someone who wasn't there—someone who had already left. Maybe I was just too alive to matter to you."
I flinched, but I didn't rise. I couldn't. The earth beneath me was the only thing keeping me together.
Then—finally—his voice cracked, just slightly. And something in him shifted.
"…But seeing you now… I didn't think you'd fall like this. I thought you were stronger than this."
He took a step closer, but hesitated. "I didn't mean to—" He stopped himself, swallowing hard. "I just… I didn't expect you to feel so much."
I lifted my head slowly, my tear-streaked face catching the last silver threads of twilight. And that's when he fell silent.
The defiance in my eyes. The pain. The way my body trembled from holding too much, for too long. It stunned him.
Kai's mouth opened slightly, as if to speak, but no words came out. Whatever rage he had left was gone—drowned by the truth he hadn't wanted to see.
He looked at the glowing feather lying beside me… then back at me.
And for the first time, Kai didn't have anything cruel to say. He didn't have anything at all.
He just stood there—speechless, hollow, and maybe, just maybe, finally seeing me.
I stared at him through the blur of tears, my breath shaking but steady enough to carry what needed to be said.
"You want to know why I didn't mourn you the same way?" I asked, my voice hoarse. "Because you were still here, Kai. I kept hoping—praying—that the version of you who once fought beside me, believed in me, loved me… would come back."
I pushed myself up from the ground slowly, the feather in my hand once more, its soft glow reflecting the weight in my eyes.
"But that version died long before Mary did."
I took a step forward, not out of anger—but from something deeper. Something settled. "You say I didn't cry for you, but how do you mourn someone who keeps choosing to hurt you instead of hold you? I broke, Kai. Over and over. And every time I reached for you, you pushed me further into the dark."
I looked at him, truly looked at him—at the pain, the confusion, the regrets he tried to bury beneath cruelty. "I don't hate you," I whispered. "But I can't carry you anymore."
Then I turned away from him, feather in hand, Mary's peace burning soft and sacred in my palm. "Go, if you need to. Stay, if you can be quiet. But don't come back if all you have to offer is your hurt disguised as love."
And with that, I walked toward the tree line—leaving behind the grave, the ghosts, and the boy who didn't know how to hold what he still had until it was already letting go.
Kai's inter-thoughts
She walked away with the feather in her hand and a fire in her spine that I hadn't seen in a long time—not since before the distance, the silence, the fights.
And I just stood there.
I wanted to yell after her. Say something. Anything. But nothing felt right. Nothing felt worthy of her anymore.
Her words kept replaying in my head like broken echoes:
"That version of you died long before Mary did."
And gods, maybe she was right.
Somewhere along the way, I stopped being the man she could lean on and became the one she had to defend herself from. I saw her hurting and instead of holding her, I threw knives because it made my pain easier to carry. Because watching her grieve someone else made me feel invisible.
But now? Watching her walk away?
I wasn't invisible.
I was just... too late.
The worst part? She didn't look back.
She always used to look back—even when she was angry, even when she said we were done. This time, she didn't.
That feather in her hand… it wasn't just Mary's blessing. It was her freedom. Her peace. And I wasn't part of it.
I wanted to believe I still mattered, that I could claw my way back into whatever was left between us. But now I wasn't sure if there was anything left at all.
So I stood there—speechless, heavy, small—watching the woman I once swore I'd protect walk away from the grave of someone she loved…
…and maybe from me, for good.
I couldn't let it end like this.
As she disappeared between the trees, that feather still glowing faintly in her hand, something inside me cracked wide open—raw and shaking. I took a step forward, then another, my feet moving before my mind could catch up.
"Anna!" I called out, my voice rough, strained—too loud in the sacred quiet she'd left behind.
She didn't stop.
I pushed through the grass, the wind biting at my skin, guilt rising in my throat like bile. "Anna, wait! Please!"
The trees swallowed her shape, but I kept going—branches scratching at my arms, leaves whipping past me. My breath came hard and fast, but I didn't care.
I had to try.
When I finally caught a glimpse of her again, she was standing still, her back to me, the feather's light gently pulsing at her side. She didn't turn, didn't speak.
I slowed, unsure how close to get. "I was cruel," I admitted, chest heaving. "I know that. I didn't mean half the things I said—I just... I didn't know how to lose you without burning everything around me."
The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.
"I was so caught up in what I needed from you," I continued, voice softer now, "that I never asked what you needed from me. And when you finally gave me the answer… I punished you for it."
Still, she said nothing. And gods, maybe that was what I deserved.
But I took one more step closer, not daring to reach out. "I don't know if I can fix this. I don't even know if I deserve to."
My voice dropped to a whisper. "But if there's even a part of you that wants me to try… I'll follow it. I'll follow you."
Anna's Pov:
I stood still as his voice reached me—ragged, desperate, full of words I'd once begged to hear. The wind stirred the trees, carrying his guilt like a whisper through the leaves. Part of me wanted to keep walking. Part of me needed to.
But I turned.
Slowly, I faced him.
He looked wrecked—his chest rising and falling, dirt on his hands, eyes raw with something too close to pain. But I didn't step toward him. Not yet.
"You want to follow me now?" I asked, voice steady despite the storm still in my chest. "You had so many chances to walk beside me before, Kai. And every time I reached out, you stood still."
I shook my head, the hurt breaking through in my tone. "You didn't just hurt me today. You watched me break, and you used it as proof that I wasn't strong. That I wasn't enough."
My fingers tightened around the feather. "You say you didn't mean what you said, but cruel words don't just fall out of people. They live somewhere inside them first."
He flinched. Good. He needed to feel it.
But then I softened—just barely. "But… you're here now. And I see something in your eyes I haven't seen in a long time."
I stepped forward, just one pace. "Don't follow me to fix yourself. Don't follow me because you hate the silence. If you follow me, do it because you're ready to change. To heal. Not just for me—but for yourself."
I held his gaze. "I won't carry you, Kai. Not anymore. But if you can walk with me—not behind me, not ahead—then maybe… maybe we still have a path."
The silence that followed wasn't heavy. It was open. Waiting.
I turned again, slower this time, and took a single step forward—leaving the choice in his hands.