#13
Six years after Ghei.
Sylvain was no longer the only place where the philosophy of free choice took root. News of the former city of forced resurrection that had freed itself spread across the strata of Nyania and Aetheria. Delegations arrived from many regions—some curious, some skeptical, some eager to learn.
But influence always came with consequences.
From the northern city of Valerium, the center of worship for the god Valerius (God of Hope and Social Bonds), an official warning arrived:
"The place you call Sylvain has become a cancer to the divine order. By allowing—indeed, facilitating—the choice to 'stop,' you undermine the foundations of society built upon hope and solidarity. Cease the portal practice or face consequences."
Kael read the letter aloud at the council meeting, his expression grim. "They're threatening intervention."
"What kind of intervention?" asked Tessa, now head of Sylvain's security.
"Economic—trade blockades. Political—pressuring other regional leaders to isolate us. Or…" Kael paused. "Or military. Some cities still maintain forces loyal to their gods."
Aelia, present as a cultural adviser, shook her head. "We will not close the portal. It is the core of who we are."
"But we have to do something," Lyra said from her place by the window. "We can't be destroyed because of principles. It would be ironic—to die for the right to die."
The meeting grew tense. The problem was real: Sylvain was small, relatively poor in resources, and surrounded by greater powers that saw it as a threat.
Meanwhile, within Sylvain itself, a subtle fracture began to form.
A group calling themselves The Heirs of Light grew increasingly vocal. They were former worshippers of Devaros who now revered Ghei—not as a man, but as a symbol. To them, the portal was sacred ground, and choosing to leave was "the path to enlightenment."
"We must defend the portal at all costs!" their leader, a woman named Selene, proclaimed during a city assembly. "Even if it means war!"
Another group, The Balance Keepers, was more moderate. Led by Kael himself, they believed the principle of choice was vital—but not at the cost of the city's survival.
"We can negotiate," Kael suggested. "Perhaps establish regulations—only Sylvain citizens may use the portal, not outsiders. Or restrict the hours."
"Compromise!" Selene shouted. "That's a betrayal of Ghei's legacy!"
Aelia watched the debate with a heavy heart. This was the unforeseen chain effect: Ghei, who wanted to vanish without a trace, had instead become a symbol that divided people.
That night, at her home, Aelia looked at Ghei's notebook and Kaelen's blue crystal, still glowing softly.
"You never wanted this, did you?" she whispered to Ghei's shadow in her thoughts. "You only wanted to leave. But those of us who stayed… we turned your wish into dogma."
Perhaps, she thought, it was inevitable. Once someone becomes a symbol, they lose their humanity—or in Ghei's case, his wish to not exist.
The next day brought an unexpected development.
An airship from Valerium landed in the field outside the city—not a warship, but a diplomatic vessel. Three envoys disembarked: two humans and one Aether-Touched with eagle wings.
They requested an audience with "the leaders of Sylvain."
At city hall, the chief envoy—a silver-haired man with sharp eyes named Corvin—delivered a message directly from Valerius:
"Valerius does not seek conflict. He understands… the uniqueness of your position. But the portal disrupts balance. People from other cities are beginning to come here to 'stop,' abandoning families, responsibilities, communities."
"Isn't that their right?" Aelia asked.
"Individual rights versus social obligation," Corvin replied. "Valerius believes we are connected. When one person leaves, many others are affected. Like a stone thrown into a pond."
"And Devaros once believed people could be forced to live for the sake of society," Kael countered. "We've already lived through that."
Corvin nodded. "I'm not defending Devaros. But there is a middle path. Valerius offers this: keep the portal, but impose a waiting period. Anyone who wishes to leave must undergo counseling and wait one month, to ensure it is truly a free choice—not an impulse or temporary despair."
A fierce debate followed. Some agreed—it was reasonable. Others were furious—it was a restriction of rights.
Selene stood, her voice trembling with anger. "You don't understand! Suffering doesn't wait a month! Sometimes even a single day is too long!"
Corvin looked at her calmly. "And sometimes, in one month, a person finds a reason to stay. Isn't that better?"
"Or one more month of suffering!"
Aelia raised her hand. "I have a question." All eyes turned to her. "Valerius… has he ever died?"
Corvin was taken aback. "Gods do not—"
"Devaros was once human. He died. That fear is what turned him into a god who forced others to live," Aelia said, standing. "Has Valerius ever faced the choice between life and death? Or has he only observed from a comfortable throne?"
Silence. Corvin looked uneasy. "That is… not relevant."
"It is very relevant. Those who have never stood at the edge cannot fully understand those who are standing there."
The meeting ended without agreement. The Valerium envoys stayed at the city inn, giving Sylvain one day to decide.
That night, Aelia couldn't sleep. She went to the Quiet Zone and sat on the stone bench before the portal.
There she found Elara—now a teenager—who often spent nights here thinking.
"They want to change it, don't they?" Elara asked without preamble.
"Maybe. Or regulate it."
"Is that wrong?"
Aelia sat beside her. "I don't know. On one hand, we don't want people making rushed decisions. On the other… who are we to decide when someone is 'certain enough'?"
Elara looked at the portal. "I remember Ghei's words in his notebook: 'Choice is a right. Wisdom is a responsibility.' Maybe… we need both."
"What do you mean?"
"The portal is the right. But we also have a responsibility to help people use that right wisely. Not by forbidding—but by accompanying them."
Aelia looked at Elara, struck by her maturity. "You grew up fast."
Elara smiled faintly. "Living here… does that to you."
The next morning, before further talks could begin, an incident erupted.
A group of Selene's supporters—about twenty people—locked themselves inside the Quiet Zone, threatening to "enter the portal together" if new regulations were imposed.
"We won't let them restrict Ghei's sacred legacy!" Selene shouted from behind the locked fence.
Kael and the security force faced them. Tension peaked.
Aelia arrived, followed by Corvin and the Valerium envoys.
"Selene," Aelia called, her voice calm but clear. "Ghei did not want to be sacred. He did not want followers. He only wanted… to leave."
"You don't know that!" Selene shot back.
"I read his writings. He said: 'Do not follow. My path is only one.' Do you remember?"
Selene fell silent for a moment, then said, "But he gave us freedom!"
"And that freedom includes the freedom not to turn him into a symbol." Aelia stepped closer, despite Kael trying to stop her. "He didn't want followers. He didn't want a movement. He only wanted… to stop. By turning him into a banner, you're betraying his wish."
Tears streamed down Selene's face. "But… without him, what does all of this mean?"
"Maybe it means… we have to find our own meaning. Not borrow his."
The incident ended without casualties. Selene and her followers left the Quiet Zone, drained and confused.
In the follow-up meeting, a compromise was finally reached—not with Valerium, but among Sylvain's own people:
The portal remains open to all.
A Talking Room will be built beside the portal—a place where anyone may speak with trained counselors about their choice, without coercion.
There is no mandatory waiting period, but at least one conversation in the Talking Room is strongly encouraged before deciding.
Sylvain will not promote the portal as a "solution," but as one possible choice.
Corvin, representing Valerius, accepted the compromise. "This is a beginning. Valerius will observe. If it works… perhaps other cities will learn."
Before leaving, Corvin met Aelia privately.
"Your words yesterday—about Valerius never standing at the edge—they troubled me."
"Why?"
"Because they're true," Corvin said, staring at his hands. "I… I once stood at the edge. Long ago, before I served Valerius. I tried to… stop. But I failed. And now I serve a god who says life is always better." He inhaled slowly. "Maybe… maybe I should sit in that Talking Room one day."
"You'll always be welcome," Aelia said.
Corvin nodded, then left.
The Talking Room was built within a week—a simple wooden hut beside the portal, with a table, two chairs, and a kettle of tea always kept warm.
The first counselors were Aelia herself, Kael, and several others considered wise—including Mira, the old woman who had once died of old age.
On the first day, only one person came: Renn—yes, Renn who had always hesitated, who left last year? No, a different Renn. The name was a coincidence.
"Is this mandatory?" he asked nervously.
"No," Aelia replied. "But you're welcome to sit."
Renn sat. He spoke of chronic pain that persisted even in his second life, of feeling like a burden, of fearing endless suffering.
Aelia did not try to convince him to live. She only listened. Asked occasional questions. Offered tea.
After an hour, Renn said, "I… still don't know. But it feels… lighter. Like someone heard me."
"That's the purpose of this room," Aelia said. "Not to change your mind. But to make sure your mind is truly your own."
Renn left without deciding.
The chain effect began to show:
Some who initially wanted to leave chose to stay after talking—not because they were forced, but because they found their own reasons.
Some still left, but with greater calm—having been heard and acknowledged.
Some came from other cities, not for the portal, but for the Talking Room—because where they lived, no one would listen to thoughts of wanting to die.
The portal was still used. But now there was a pause. A conversation. A recognition that decisions of life and death are complex—and deserve to be discussed, not carried alone until they explode.
Months later, Elara—now a young counselor's assistant—asked Aelia:
"Would Ghei agree with this? With the Talking Room?"
Aelia considered it. "I think… he would understand. Because the point isn't prohibition. It's ensuring the choice is conscious. And Ghei was deeply conscious of his own choice."
"Are we straying from his path?"
"We're making our own. That's what he wanted—that we have choices. Even if our choices differ from his."
Elara nodded. "I'm glad we have the Talking Room. Today there was a young woman… she desperately wanted to leave. But after talking, she said, 'I don't want to die. I just want the suffering to stop.' And we could help her stop the suffering without her leaving."
"That's good."
"Yes. But…" Elara hesitated. "Will we one day become like Valerius? So focused on life that we forget death can also be a valid choice?"
"We have to keep remembering. That's why the portal stays—as a reminder."
Aelia's final dream in this chapter:
She stood in the Liminal Veil. Before her was the simple wooden door. This time, it was slightly open.
From within came Ghei's presence—not words, but a feeling: "Good. You found your own way."
Then the door closed.
And Aelia woke with a sense of peace.
The chain effect continued:
Sylvain was no longer seen as a "suicide city," but as a city brave enough to speak of the most taboo subject: the right to stop, and the responsibility to ensure that choice is made consciously.
Other cities began opening their own versions of the Talking Room—under different names, with different approaches, but the same core: listening without judgment.
And the portal in Sylvain remained, calm and steady, a symbol that sometimes, after all the conversations are done, the final choice still exists:
To leave.
Or to stay.
And both are valid.
That was the true legacy of a man who only wanted to stop—not death itself, but the recognition that life and death are choices.
And that in a world full of coercion, having a choice—whatever that choice may be—is both a luxury and a responsibility.
The responsibility to choose consciously.
The responsibility to respect the choices of others.
The responsibility to keep asking: "What do I truly want?"
And sometimes, the answer is simple: "I want to stop."
And that is okay.
#13
Entry from the Talking Room counseling log:
*"Today, 3 people came.
1 chose to stay after talking.
1 chose to leave with greater calm.
1 has not decided—and that is okay.
Today's lesson:
The goal is not to make people live or die.
The goal is to ensure that whatever they choose
comes from the deepest part of themselves."*