The last day of that month, as the horizon opened once again onto the crystal — immense, distant, bathed in that pale light that always seemed to float around it like an ancient memory — Lysara turned to me.
Her gaze was calm. But not empty.
— When we get there… everything will change, won't it?
I took a moment before answering. Just a nod, slow, almost imperceptible.
— Yes. The world will resume its rhythm. Its pain. Its demands.
She said nothing at first.
Her eyes were fixed on the horizon, but I felt she wasn't only looking ahead. She was looking at what we were leaving behind.
Then, in a barely audible breath:
— Then let's walk slowly.
And that's what we did.
We walked. More slowly than ever before.
Not out of fatigue. Not out of caution.
But as if to delay the inevitable. As if to anchor ourselves a little more deeply in this world that, in a strange, gentle, and discreet way, had welcomed us. A world that had not judged us. A world that, for a time, had loved us.
