The path beyond the Emerald Glade was nothing but shadow.
Kyi stumbled slightly as he walked, as if something still pulled at his chest. His healed hand trembled, not from pain, but from something deeper—longing.
The forest opened before him again, and light surrounded him.
He was alone.
He stood in a field of tall sunflowers, their heads turned skyward. A warm breeze passed through his hair. No fog. No blood. Just peace.
"Kyi."
He turned.
She stood at the edge of the field.
Not as a spirit, or a Mavka, but whole—her hair in soft braids, her hands folded before her, eyes warm like summer dusk.
"Mother…"
He ran to her. She opened her arms.
When he reached her, she pulled him close. He buried his face into her shoulder.
"I never got to know you," he whispered. "Not really."
She stroked his hair. "You knew enough. You had books of mine at the library."
He looked up at her.
"Now, tell me more. About you, about father, how's the village?"
Sometimes laugh, smile appeared on their faces.
After some time she spoke again.
"The time is up."
She waited for her son to say something, but he stayed silent in her embrace.
Tears rolled down his face.
She smiled.
"My son, remember. You don't need to understand everything," she whispered. "Only believe in something… bigger than your fear."
"I miss you."
She placed her hand on his chest.
And when he opened his eyes again, he was lying on the ground back in the forest.
—
Maksym said nothing as they walked into the beautiful glade. Then his steps faltered.
His vision blurred.
The mist parted around him—and he stood in the snow.
The same clearing where his wife disappeared.
She was there again.
Her back to him, barefoot, white dress flowing.
"Stop," he called.
She turned her head slightly. "You didn't follow me that day."
"I did. I searched for hours. I never stopped."
"But you didn't find me."
Snow fell gently around them.
He took a step forward. She vanished.
And now Martyn stood there—knife drawn, eyes wide, blood pouring from his neck.
"You were too slow."
Maksym's hands shook.
"No… I tried. I fought—"
"You were afraid. You were too slow."
He dropped to his knees.
"I should have saved you both."
The snow turned to riverwater. The Mavka loomed again, raising her hand. The water twisted into blades.
Maksym didn't move.
Then he whispered, "No more regretting."
The blade struck—
And passed through harmlessly.
The vision faded.
And he stood once again, in the woods.