Chapter 1747: Story 1747: The Lake of Unspoken Goodbyes
The shimring blue path rippled beneath their steps like water—cool, distant, the kind of cold that seeped not into the skin, but into the heart. The air grew thin, quiet, almost reverent, as though the Weave itself was holding its breath.
Tovin rubbed his arms. “Okay, this cold isn’t normal cold. This is… sad cold.”
Marra nodded slowly. “It feels like mourning.”
Erian slowed his pace as the corridor widened into a vast, silent lake. The water was perfectly still—so smooth it looked like a sheet of glass tinted deep blue. A pale fog drifted low over the surface, hiding the far shore.
Marra whispered, “No ripples… no wind.”
Tovin crouched and touched the surface. It didn’t even move around his finger.
Erian frowned. “It’s frozen, but not with ice. It’s frozen with mory.”
The Weave’s voice floated over them—soft, trembling:
“This fracture was born from a goodbye never spoken… a farewell swallowed before it could be said.”
A small wooden dock extended into the lake. At the end of it sat a young man, knees drawn to his chest, fingers clutched tightly around a small locket. His shoulders trembled with each silent breath.
Marra approached gently. “Who did you lose?”
The young man didn’t look up. His voice was barely audible:
“My sister.”
The lake darkened, waves of sorrow radiating outward despite its stillness.
The boy continued, every word weighted:
“She was sick for a long ti… but I kept pretending she’d get better.”
“I visited less. Told myself there’d be more ti.”
“But when the end ca…”
“…I wasn’t there.”
The locket slipped from his hands, clattering softly on the wooden boards.
Tovin’s chest tightened. “He never got to say goodbye.”
Erian nodded. “And the regret froze everything.”
Suddenly the lake trembled. The fog thickened, swirling into a massive shape. A towering guardian rose from the water—its body a twisting mass of pale blue mist, with countless faces drifting across its surface. Each face whispered the sa word:
“Why?”
The guardian’s arms stretched outward, waves of frozen sorrow billowing toward them.
Marra’s daggers bounced harmlessly off its shifting form.
Tovin’s blasts passed straight through, rippling fog but doing no harm.
Erian’s blade sparked uselessly against its cold, fluid body.
“It won’t break,” Erian shouted. “It’s made of grief—his grief.”
The young man clutched his arms around himself, curling inward.
“I should’ve been there… I should’ve said goodbye…”
Marra knelt beside him. “You can say it now.”
He shook his head violently. “It’s too late.”
Erian approached, eyes softening. “Not in dreams. Not in mory. Not in your heart.”
Tears finally broke loose, running down the young man’s cheeks.
He picked up the locket with trembling hands.
He whispered, voice shaking:
“Goodbye, Lira.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I miss you.”
The lake erupted in shimring blue light.
The guardian wailed—a sound not of anger, but release—before dissolving into a thousand gentle motes drifting upward like fireflies. The lake thawed, rippling softly for the first ti. The fog lifted, revealing clear water and a distant glowing shore.
The young man’s form lightened, turning transparent.
“She heard …”
“…thank you.”
He dissolved into warm blue sparks that drifted into the Weave.
Tovin wiped his eyes quickly. “Allergies. Really strong lake allergies.”
Erian exhaled. “Ten fractures healed.”
Marra looked at the shore ahead—brighter, sharper, more fragile than any before.
“The deeper we go,” she whispered, “the more it hurts.”
She stepped onto the next forming path—its threads shimring like fractured glass.
“Let’s keep going.”
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