"Even you are leaving," I said, addressing the fading luminary.

  The world was waking up. And I... I had just signed the death warrant of a thousand strangers for the ghost of my happiness.

  A week had passed since the carriage carrying my "relatives" disappeared over the horizon, leaving behind the smell of smoke and an impossible promise.

  Lucia arrived at sunset. We sat on the branches of an old oak tree, watching the shadows lengthen, swallowing the farm. I told her everything. About Alexia, about the unborn children, about the thousand souls, and about my momentary weakness.

  Lucia was silent for a long time, squeezing my hand with her cold fingers.

  "Again..." she whispered, and there was more exhaustion in her voice than one could accumulate in years. "Again they are turning you into a tool. Over and over, Zen."

  She turned to me. Her gaze pierced right through me.

  "Do you remember what you told me once? 'Only he who is held down by nothing on earth can take flight.' I tried to do that for centuries, but I could never let go of my attachments. But you..."

  She touched my cheek.

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  "You've always had wings, Greg. Massive ones, capable of blocking out the sun. But you let them hang onto your feathers. You let them make you their property. You could always say no. Why did you stay silent this time?"

  I looked at my palms. The skin on them was dry and hot.

  "I couldn't," my voice was barely audible. "I saw their eyes. There was so much despair in them... and then that fire flared up. The fire of hope. It's a terrifying sight, Lucia. It paralyzes you."

  Lucia gave a sad chuckle, running her fingers through my red strands.

  "You didn't see sadness in their eyes, Zen. You saw Her in Alexia. The one you are slowly losing in the fog of memory. You are trying to save a shadow by sacrificing a thousand living humans. Isn't that right?"

  I exhaled, and a heavy, strained wheeze tore from my chest.

  "Yes."

  "Alright, Zen," she gently patted my head, soothing the itch in my bones for a moment. "You chose the price yourself. Now live with it. But don't you dare despair, do you hear me? Mira and I aren't done yet. We are looking for a way... a way to break the curse."

  The next morning, Lucia left. Silence once again.

  I was walking across the yard and noticed a lone chrysanthemum, which had miraculously survived at the edge of the ashes. I picked it. A delicate flower, cold petals. I just wanted to hold something beautiful in my hands. Something that wasn't asking me for a miracle.

  But the moment my fingers closed around the stem, the chrysanthemum burst into flames instantly. It didn't just wither—it turned to ash in a fraction of a second, showering my boots with gray flakes.

  I stared at my empty hands.

  Everything I touch burns, sooner or later. Be it a flower, a city, or someone's hope.

  The weight of life in this cycle was becoming almost physical. I think I was starting to understand why, in some lives, I preferred to just be a rock in the forest.