The villagers had gathered at the same place where I first met them—a place that once carried a cautious and wary air, now brimming with warmth, gratitude, and a heavy sadness. Their eyes reflected the weight of this farewell, and my heart ached at the thought of letting them go. One month may have been brief, but it was enough to leave an indelible mark on me.
As I approached, the storm in my chest seemed to swell with every step. It wasn't just sadness—it was the suffocating grip of loss, the same cold emptiness that had followed me since that day. Was I always destined to lose the people I cared about? To stand still while they moved on without me? The thought wrapped around my heart like a vice, tightening with every breath.
The entire village knelt down in unison, heads bowed, their silent reverence carrying more weight than words ever could. I stood frozen, overwhelmed by the gesture, unsure how to respond. Their humility only deepened my internal battle, each bowed head whispering to me, This is the end. You cannot follow them.
"Please, stand up," I said gently, my voice trembling just enough to betray my emotions. "There's no need for this. If you wish to show your gratitude, you can do it without kneeling."
But they didn't move. The air grew thick with the weight of their sincerity, pressing down on me like an invisible force. One of the elders raised his head slowly, his expression calm yet resolute.
"No, my lord. To stand would be to diminish the depth of our gratitude. To not kneel would be disrespectful. You have given us more than we could ever repay."
I tried to argue, but the words tangled in my throat, swallowed by the immense weight of this parting. Their sincerity left me speechless. Reluctantly, I accepted their gesture, yet my heart ached as though it were being torn apart, piece by piece.
The children were the first to approach, their innocent eyes wide with curiosity and a tinge of sadness. "Big brother," one of them asked, "why are we glowing? Why aren't you glowing like us?"
The question hung in the air, simple and pure, yet it struck me like a blade. Their innocence was so untainted by the world, unburdened by the gravity of what was happening. How could I tell them the truth? How could I say they were leaving this world forever? That I had no way to follow them?
I knelt down, forcing a soft smile despite the turmoil in my chest. "You're not dying," I said gently. "You're just… going to the sky. To where the stars are."
"The stars?" Their eyes lit up with wonder. "Are we really going there?"
"Yes," I nodded, steadying my voice. "You'll shine just like them."
"But why aren't you coming with us?" one of the younger children asked, his voice trembling, his concern pure and unguarded.
My smile faltered. The pain radiated outward from my chest, nearly breaking through my carefully maintained composure. "Because my time hasn't come yet. But one day, I'll join you. I promise."
"Then come early!" they exclaimed, their voices filled with innocent excitement, unaware of the finality in their departure.
I laughed softly, the sound fragile and fleeting. "I'll come when it's my time. Wait for me there."
That brief moment of laughter lightened my heart—if only for a second. But as the time drew closer, the reality struck me with full force. One by one, the villagers began to glow more brightly, their forms fading into particles of light. I tried to hold onto the smile, to remain strong for them, but it slipped, and the weight of their departure crushed me.
Tears streamed down my face, falling silently onto the ground. My shoulders shook with the force of my sobs, each breath raw and unrestrained.
"Aaaaaahhhh…" My grief tore through the silence, a sound I couldn't hold back.
The wind picked up, swirling around me as though echoing my turmoil. Leaves rustled, petals lifted into the sky, carried away by the current. As the villagers faded into light, the world around me seemed to mourn with me, the sky darkening as if sharing my sorrow.
Amidst the storm of my emotions, a calm voice spoke beside me. It was the fisherman—the one who had taught me the importance of flowing with life, like a river. His steady presence grounded me, just like it always had.
"Letting go is part of life, child," he said, his voice gentle yet firm. "It is only when you learn to let go that you begin to understand the reality of the world."
I looked up at him, my vision blurred by tears. His words didn't immediately make sense. How could I let go of them? How could I accept their departure? But his eyes were steady, unwavering in their calm.
"Life is not just the present," he continued. "It is woven from the past and extends into the future. There is nothing wrong with being nostalgic—remembering those moments that brought you happiness. But living your entire life in that nostalgia… that is where many fail. They fear letting go, thinking they will never experience something so beautiful again. But how do you know that's true? Who's to say there isn't something even more beautiful waiting for you ahead?"
His words struck a chord deep within me. My grief, my reluctance to let go, wasn't just a natural response—it was a form of fear. A fear of loss. A fear of forgetting. But his words reminded me that the future held more. It wasn't the end of something beautiful; it was the beginning of something new.
"You must stop guessing at the future," he said. "But that doesn't mean you should live recklessly, as if there's no tomorrow. Live a life that you can be proud of—a life that, even when it ends, you can smile and say, 'I gave it everything.'"
He paused, his gaze steady. "If you fear the future or constantly dwell on death, then you are not truly living. Trust that there will be more moments—moments that will leave an even stronger mark on your heart."
The weight in my chest began to lift. It was difficult to accept, but he was right. This wasn't the end—it was just one chapter in a much longer journey. These villagers had become a part of my story, and I, a part of theirs. Nothing could take that away.
I wiped my tears and nodded, a new determination settling within me. "Thank you," I said softly. "I won't forget your words."
The fisherman smiled, his eyes full of warmth. "Go now, child. The path you've been searching for is waiting. Walk it without hesitation."
With a final glance at the fading lights of the villagers, I turned toward the horizon, my heart lighter than it had been in a long time. For the first time since arriving in the mortal realm, I knew what I had to do.
This was the beginning of a new journey—a journey to help others, to be the light in their darkest moments. The path I had been searching for was finally clear.
And with that newfound purpose, I took my first step forward.