Wandering light

The forest seemed to hold its breath. The rain softened into a whispering drizzle, dripping from leaves and pooling in the hollows of broken stone. Cael pressed forward, boots slick with mud, arms scraped and raw from grasping at branches. Each step carried the weight of exhaustion, despair, and the relentless drive to find Lucien.

And then—the faintest shimmer of light, black hair, hovered ahead.

Cael froze, chest heaving. The air was heavier here, thick with presence, as if the storm itself had stepped back to make room. A shiver ran through him—not fear, but anticipation.

A figure emerged from the mist, luminous and unreal, yet unmistakable. Lucien. But not as Cael remembered him in life, warm and breathing, but as something between shadow and light, neither living nor dead. His hair floated around him, as if underwater, and his body glimmered faintly, translucent yet whole.

“Cael,” the form whispered, voice soft, echoing as if carried by the rain itself. “You shouldn’t have come here alone just because someone was nudging you .”

Cael’s throat tightened. “Lucien… is it really…?”

Lucien’s outline flickered, the light around him pulsing gently. “Yes. It is me. But not as you remember. Not fully. I… have existed like this for countless cycles. I was never meant to survive beyond my own choice. I had to die. I… I had to carry it all, for everyone. Every time, in every cycle, it was me who chose… to bear the burden, so that no one else would have to. More than the story told, more than anyone could imagine. Every cycle you died saving me.”

Cael stumbled forward, mud sucking at his boots. “You… you don’t have to say that! I can… I can save you—”

“No,” Lucien said, voice firm yet mournful. “Every time you tried to save me, every time Cael rewound, every time you risked yourself… it hurt more than you knew. Arian breaks each cycle. You break, even when you do not realize it. Every time you force the timeline to bend… it costs more than life itself. I wanted to spare you that. I wanted… to spare all of you from endless grief.”

Cael fell to his knees, rain dripping down his face, mingling with tears he hadn’t noticed falling. “I can’t… I can’t just let you die!” His voice cracked. “I can’t watch you—again and again—like this!”

Lucien drifted closer, light pulsating softly. “I bore it all, Cael. I carried the grief, the sacrifice, the pain. I did this so that you, so that Arian, could live without watching me shatter over and over. It wasn't just your story Author. I, we aren't just fictional, we live by deciding ourselves. And I’ve waited—watched you, studied you, guided you from the beginning. At first, I could not even hold this form. I could not appear. I could only whisper, move as a shadow, nudge without showing myself. But through countless cycles, I have learned. I can remain visible for a few moments now. Just long enough to speak to you… to tell you this.”

Cael’s chest ached, the weight of endless cycles pressing down. “Say it… what do you want me to hear? But no matter what I'll—”

Lucien’s form flickered, edges softening and refracting the rain’s light. “It’s okay to stop trying. You do not need to punish yourself anymore. I carried this burden… not you. I sacrificed… so that everyone could live without carrying the endless cycle of grief. You… you don’t have to keep forcing yourself to save me.”

Cael shook, trembling, tears falling freely. “But I can’t… I can’t just let you go.”

“You can,” Lucien said softly, almost a caress carried in the wind. “Because I… chose this. Not you. I bore it all for you. For Arian. For everyone. And it is… okay. It is okay to cry. It is okay to grieve. It is okay to be human. It okay Author, letting everything go is fine now.”

The ethereal Lucien drifted closer still. Cael could see the faint impressions of wounds across his form, scars and bruises not just of body but of time itself, etched into the very light he radiated. “Every cycle, I watched… every attempt, every death, every failure. And I could do nothing. I could see Arian crumble, I could see you break… and I knew I could not stop it. Not then. Not ever. I bore it alone, so that you might live.”

Cael’s sobs shook him, the forest echoing his grief. “I… I’ve been so selfish… so blind… I wanted to save you, but…”

“You were never selfish,” Lucien whispered. “You just loved your character, me enough to defy fate itself. That… is your choice. But now… you may rest. You may live without punishing yourself. You may stop trying, Cael. Truly stop. For you, for Arian, for everyone.”

Cael’s hands trembled as he reached toward him. “Stay with me…” he whispered. “Don’t vanish.”

Lucien’s light pulsed, radiant yet fragile. “I will always be with you. Always. Watching. Guiding. Even when you cannot see me. You are not alone, Cael. Never alone. And now… I will guide you. I will show you the path to the Lucien of this cycle, held captive. He needs you, but you must be careful. The dangers ahead… are more than any cycle has faced. You must tread wisely, or he will not survive.”

A soft breeze rustled the leaves, carrying his voice. “Remember… I bore it all… so you don’t have to. So you may choose life, choose hope, and carry it forward. Cry, grieve… but do not destroy yourself. That is not your burden to bear.”

Cael closed his eyes, tears blurring the forest around him. Rain dripped into his hair, his clothes, his face, but the warmth of Lucien’s presence, fragile yet certain, lingered in every nerve. “I… I understand,” he whispered. “I’ll try… I’ll live… but I’ll find him.”

Lucien’s form began to shimmer, edges dissolving into the mist, yet his presence lingered, a heartbeat in the air. “Follow the light, Cael. It will guide you to him. To Lucien. But beware… the path is perilous. More danger comes, beyond anything we have endured. Trust your instincts. Trust your heart. And know… I am always watching. Always with you.”

As the spectral form faded, his voice drifted, carried by wind and rain:

“I am with you, with everyone… always.”

Cael sank to his knees, chest heaving, body trembling from the mixture of grief, relief, and the strange solace of knowing Lucien was watching, guiding. The forest was quiet now, only the drizzle remaining, and ahead a faint pulse of blue shimmered through the trees—a path, narrow and winding, leading deeper into darkness.

Step by step, he rose, drawing strength from Lucien’s words, from the knowledge that he was not alone, that he no longer had to carry the weight of endless cycles alone. His hand clenched into a fist. “I’ll find you,” he whispered into the forest, rain and tears mingling. “And I’ll bring you back. This time… this time it won’t hurt anymore.”

The path ahead twisted into shadow and mist, faint pulses of light guiding him forward. Every footfall carried the memory of sacrifice, every step a promise—to Lucien, to Arian, to himself. And somewhere, deep in the ruins of countless cycles, the real Lucien waited.

The glow ahead pulsed once more, steady, like a heartbeat. A promise. A whisper of hope. And in that heartbeat, Cael felt it, as if Lucien’s voice were a hand upon his shoulder:

“I am with you… always.”

With trembling legs but unwavering resolve, Cael pressed on, toward the unknown, toward the danger, toward the light that was both a guide and a promise. He would find Lucien. He would save him—not to undo fate, not to erase cycles, but to honor the sacrifices made, to protect the life that deserved to live beyond pain, beyond death, beyond cycles themselves.

And the forest, once oppressive and hostile, seemed to bend slightly to the rhythm of his determination. The blue shimmer ahead marked the way, and Cael knew… he would not walk alone.

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