To Love a Dying Light

Soren’s book had reached its final stage. He had been residing in Vidal for several months now, exposed to a spectrum of feelings and experiencing magic first hand. His worldview had shifted entirely.

They began spending hours together, their bond deepening with each passing day. But as his light grew brighter, Sylara’s began to wane—and watching his beloved slowly deteriorate was a cruel burden for him to bear.

His camera began to freeze glimpses of her—quiet moments captured like whispered memories. Paintings of them adorned the lounge walls, each one a secretive narration of their story. Her, reclined on the couch. Her, with Butterscotch curled in her lap. Her, blue eyes gazing at him with quiet wonder. Some captured them together—on the swing, in the kitchen, wandering through the woods. Perhaps, unknowingly, he was collecting memoirs.

“Sylara,” he called softly.

She was sitting amidst a circle of flower bouquets, each one preserved beneath a thin sheet of ice.

“Yes?” she replied, her voice calm.

“My mum wants to talk to you… are you alright with that?”

He turned toward her, lowering the laptop screen slightly. She gave a small nod.

He shifted, making space for her beside him. Sylara sat down, her gaze settling on the two women on the screen.

“The one on the right is my sister,” he whispered close to her ear.

Natalie looked at their mother, and the two exchanged a quiet smile as Soren leaned in, the warmth of the moment settling gently between them. Soren’s mother spoke to her with warmth, her questions gentle and endearing. She never lingered on anything that might make Sylara uncomfortable, letting the conversation flow with ease. Natalie chimed in now and then, teasing Soren with a grin—drawing soft, genuine laughter from Sylara.

Sylara had just left a while ago. Soren lay on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. Each day, a quiet fear gripped him—that it might be the last time he’d see her. And every time he did, it felt like he came alive again.

It was a rhythm of collapse and survival.

He held Butterscotch in his arms and closed his eyes, letting her soft warmth wash over him.

The next day, they ventured into town together. He helped her choose an outfit that wouldn’t draw too much attention—though, truthfully, it did little to make her blend in.

“Let’s go to that shop,” he said, nodding toward a quaint jewellery store.

While she browsed absentmindedly, Soren quietly purchased a delicate silver ring, its single blue stone catching the light like a drop of sky.

They wandered through narrow alleyways, stopping by the florist, the cozy cake shop, and even Cyan’s house. Sylara beamed at him, drawing close—his breath caught as she reached toward him.

“There was a leaf,” she murmured, brushing his shoulder.

“Thank you, my love,” he said, catching her hand and pressing a soft kiss to the back of it.

In the soft evening light, with the setting sun painting the sky in shades of vermillion, he dropped to one knee. The townsfolk watched in quiet anticipation, their presence a silent chorus to the moment.

“Sylara, the heart of my soul,” he said, his voice quivering gently, “would you be willing to spend your lifetime with me?”

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His eyes were rimmed with red, emotion swelling just beneath the surface, yet a warm smile graced his lips.

“I am,” she replied steadily, placing her hand in his.

Under a wave of joyful cheers, he slid the delicate ring onto her finger.

They turned to the crowd, smiling—grateful for the warmth and happiness surrounding them. Sylara’s eyes swept over the gathering and paused, spotting Glacina and Lumina standing quietly apart, hidden from sight but very much there. They walked back home, their voices low, weaving soft conversation between them. The golden hush of dusk trailed at their heels. If one looked closely enough, they might have noticed—Sylara’s hand trembled ever so slightly in his.

He was working on his book late into the night. Sylara had left earlier to spend some time with the guardian elementals.

Suddenly, a sharp, unbearable pain seized his chest, knocking the breath out of him. Clutching at his heart, he gasped for air, staggering to his feet. His hand gripped the edge of the table as the room began to spin—then, as if pulled from reality, everything vanished.

Sylara.

His mind flooded with her image.

Without realizing it, he stepped outside—and there, in the middle of the courtyard, stood Sylara.

Her once-bright blue eyes were now shadowed, dimmed. The ethereal flickers that usually danced around her had stilled. The air hung heavy with silence.

She walked slowly toward him, each step weighted with effort.

Reaching him, she unclasped the necklace from around her neck with trembling fingers.

“I’m afraid I have to return this to you,” she said, offering a soft, sorrowful smile.

“It’s meant to be yours, Sylara. Don’t give it back,” he murmured, voice cracking.

“I’m grateful for everything, Soren,” she said gently, her eyes shimmering with unspoken pain.

He couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.

Sylara stepped forward and fastened the pendant around his neck. Her fingers brushed against it—it glimmered faintly, then faded into a quiet, silver stillness.

“I love you, Soren,” she whispered. “I only wish… I had more time. More time to laugh with you, to see the world by your side, to be wrapped in your arms, to be loved the way only you could love me.”

His arms closed around her, desperate and tight. His face buried in the crook of her neck, sobs tearing from his chest. Her gown grew damp with his tears as his body trembled.

“I can’t live without you, Sylara,” he breathed. “You’re my air… my everything.”

“Look at me, Soren,” she said softly.

"I never wanted to be someone you’d have to say goodbye to,” she whispered, voice trembling. “But I’d rather see you one last time... than disappear without a trace.”

He raised his head, cheeks wet with tears, his eyes searching hers as if trying to memorize every detail, hold on to every second.

“I don’t regret this,” she murmured, brushing a strand of hair away from his face.

"Stay with me, Sylara… please,” he choked out, his voice cracking. "Just—stay.”

She gazed at him, eyes brimming with love and sorrow.

“For centuries, I wandered aimlessly... and then you came along, Soren. And I finally understood what it meant to live. What it meant to love. You were my home.”

“I love you, Sylara,” he cried, clutching her tighter. “I love you, I love you,” he repeated again and again, as if his words could anchor her, keep her from slipping away.

She rose up on her toes, pressing a soft kiss to his lips—a kiss that carried every unspoken promise, every moment they never got to live.

And then… her body began to glow—gently at first, like moonlight—then brighter, brighter still, until she dissolved into stardust, scattering into the night like a final, silent goodbye.

Soren collapsed, a sobbing, broken mess.

His pleas. His tears. His desperate confessions.

None of it could bring her back.