Perhaps it was sentiment—or something deeper—that led the couple to choose this place.
The soil where their cottage once stood. The ground that had known the soft rhythm of their footsteps, the warmth of quiet meals, the weight of tender glances. The place where they had once pretended to be newlyweds, free from prophecy, free from duty. Free to simply be Lanling and Haruki.
It felt right to end it where they had once felt the most alive.
The black katana pointed toward the earth. Lanling's left hand gripped it just beneath the guard, and Haruki's rested gently over his, steady and warm.
This moment was unlike any of their past farewells. There was no sorrow in the air. No sharp grief clinging to their ribs. Instead, there was a hum of anticipation—quiet, steady, a heartbeat away from something vast. The unknown loomed, as uncertain as it was immense, but their hands did not tremble.
They had lived too long to be afraid.
