📘 Chapter 14
The wind shifted again.
Not the haunted wind of whispers past, but something earthy and warm — the scent of old wood burning, of memories rekindled.
The village held a small bonfire festival that week — a tradition to honor those who had passed and the lessons they left behind. Amira and Elias joined the gathering for the first time since her arrival.
Children danced with lanterns. Women sang songs passed down through generations. Offerings were cast into the flames — letters to loved ones, drawings, old items with lingering pain.
Amira stood before the fire, the obsidian pendant in her palm. It had protected her when the veil between worlds grew thin, but now it felt heavy with stories concluded.
She stepped forward and let it fall into the flames.
Beside her, Elias clutched a small note.
He hesitated, then read it aloud — not to the crowd, but to the wind:
To Selene and Mirabelle — I remember you now. I carry you now. And I forgive the boy I was who could not understand what love meant.
He folded it, placed it in the fire, and stood with Amira in silence.
Later that night, as the embers glowed soft orange beneath a darkening sky, Elias turned to her.
"Do you believe the past ever truly lets go?"
Amira thought for a moment. "No," she said. "But I believe it can stop holding us by the throat."
They returned to the lighthouse hand in hand. The sky above was streaked in deep tangerine and violet, like the memory of a bruise healing.
And in the corner of Amira's window that night, a single seashell rested on the sill — smooth, spiral, silent.
She picked it up, held it to her ear.
No whispers.
Just waves.