#15
A decade after Ghei.
Sylvain had become a living legend — a city where death was not taboo, where choices were respected, where every person had the right to determine the ending of their own story. But legends evolve, just like the cities that give birth to them.
Elara, now twenty-eight years old, stood on the balcony of the observation tower, gazing over the city that had become her home. In her hands, she held two inherited objects: Ghei's fragile notebook, and the sketch album Aelia had given her.
The city below was no longer centered solely around the portal. There was now a small university dedicated to existential philosophy, a hospital combining physical medicine with inner counseling, even a theater that staged stories about choice — including the stories of Ghei, Devaros, and Aelia.
But tonight, something in the air felt different.
The collective dream returned — stronger than ever.
Not only the citizens of Sylvain. People in other cities, even across the strata of Aetheria, reported the same dream: a simple wooden door standing wide open, neutral light pouring out from within, calling without words.
In Sylvain itself, three people awoke on the same morning with the same certainty:
"It is time."
They were:
Kael — now the equivalent of seventy years old in his second life, feeling he had completed his duty as the keeper of the city's memory.
Lyra — an Aether-Touched being who had remained in the mortal world longer than she should have, beginning to feel a growing "misalignment" between her essence and her form.
Elara herself — who, despite her youth, felt she had reached the peak of what she could become in this city.
They did not speak of the dream.
But when they met in the morning market, they exchanged glances — and knew.
The meeting in the Conversation Hall — now led by Elara with the help of two new counselors — felt different that day.
Those who came were not seeking reassurance, but making declarations.
"It has been ten years since Ghei left," Kael said as the three of them sat together, warm tea in hand. "A full cycle. And that dream…"
"Is calling," Lyra finished softly, her wings trembling faintly. "Like the end of a chapter."
Elara nodded. "I dreamed of it too. That door… it invites. It doesn't force. It simply… offers."
Silence lingered.
Then Kael asked, "Will we answer?"
"Together?" Lyra asked.
"Not necessarily together," Elara replied. "But… at the same time." She looked at them. "We built this city. Now it may be time to trust that it will be fine without us."
"Just as Aelia once trusted us," Kael murmured.
"Yes."
They decided: three days.
Time to finish their affairs, say farewell, and… choose consciously.
Those three days passed like a dream.
The first day:
Elara trained her successor — a young woman named Sena, once her student. She handed over all her notes, all her experience.
"Remember," she told Sena, "our duty is not to make people live or die. Our duty is to ensure their choices are conscious."
The second day:
Kael completed his writing of History of Sylvain — The First Decade, a comprehensive account of the city's transformation from Neovita into Sylvain. He handed the manuscript to the city council.
"This is not the end," he said. "Only the end of my part."
The third day:
Lyra visited every corner of the city — touching trees, stones, buildings — storing her memories within the Aether.
"I will carry pieces of this city wherever I go," she whispered to the wind.
And on the night before the chosen day, the three gathered in the Quiet Zone, sitting in a circle before the calm portal.
"Are we afraid?" Lyra asked.
"A little," Kael replied. "But more than that… curious."
Elara gazed at the portal. "I remember Ghei's words: 'I only want to go home.' Now I understand — home is not a place. It's a state where we no longer have to struggle."
"Do you think we'll meet them?" Lyra asked. "Ghei? Aelia?"
"I don't know," Elara said. "But it doesn't matter. What matters… is that we choose."
They sat in silence for a while, then parted for their final rest.
Morning arrived with gentle light.
The portal had not changed. Still calm.
But the air around it felt… clear. Like the world after rain.
The people of Sylvain gathered once more — not out of shock, but understanding. Word had spread. They came not to stop anyone, but to accompany them.
Elara arrived first, wearing the simple clothes she often wore while teaching. She carried two items: Ghei's notebook (to be left behind), and Aelia's album (to be taken with her).
She faced the crowd and smiled.
"Thank you for coming," she said calmly. "I choose to leave today. Not because I am sad. Not because I am desperate. But because… I am finished."
A child — the grandchild of her first student — asked, "Will you come back?"
"I don't know," Elara answered. "But if I don't… that is all right. Because I have lived fully here."
She turned to Sena. "Take care of this city. And take care of your choices."
Sena nodded, tears on her cheeks. "I promise."
Elara placed Ghei's notebook at the base of Aelia's memorial stone.
"Return it to the library later," she whispered to Sena.
Then she stepped into the portal — unhurried, unhesitating.
Like someone returning home after a long journey.
The portal received her with gentle light. She vanished.
Kael came next.
Older now, slower in step, but serene.
"It is time for a new generation," he told the crowd. "I have recorded our history. Now… let new history be written by those who remain."
He carried nothing. Only himself.
Before the portal, he paused, gazing at the small memorial stones: Ghei, Aelia, and now Elara.
"We met through choice," he whispered. "And we part through choice."
Then he entered.
Lyra was last.
As an Aether-Touched being, her departure was different.
She did not walk into the portal.
She transformed.
Her body began to emit light — pale blue, like the first time she had met Ghei in the Silent Steppes years ago. Her wings spread wide, not to fly, but to dissolve.
"Thank you for accepting me," she said to the people of Sylvain, her voice now like rustling leaves mixed with chiming glass.
"I learned to be… more than just an Aetherian spirit. I learned to be part of a community."
Light flowed from her body into the portal, forming a bridge of radiance.
"And now," she whispered, "I return to Aetheria. But I carry pieces of you with me."
She did not enter the portal.
She became the portal — briefly — before her light was fully absorbed.
The portal then shifted colors in succession: pale blue (Lyra), then gold (Kael), then soft green (Elara), before returning to its calm gray.
After their departure, a long silence fell over the Quiet Zone.
Then Sena stepped forward, picked up Ghei's notebook, and opened its final page — the page Ghei had written in the Garden of False Dawn.
Beneath his words, she saw something new — writing that had not been there the day before:
"To those who come after us:
We have opened a path.
But you do not have to follow it.
Make your own road.
Life, death, or something in between —
the choice is always yours.
And in that choice,
we are free."
Signed below: Ghei, Aelia, Kael, Lyra, Elara
Sena looked at the words, then at the portal. She did not cry. She simply nodded.
Then she turned to the gathered citizens.
"They have chosen. Now… let us live by our own choices."
Epilogue: Several Generations Later
Sylvain still stood. The portal still existed.
But the city was no longer only about the "right to die."
It had evolved into a center of choice philosophy — a place where people learned that every decision, great or small, is an expression of freedom. That life is not about reaching a correct ending, but about choosing consciously at every step.
Ghei's notebook was now preserved in the city museum, alongside Aelia's album, Kael's historical manuscript, and Lyra's final crystal feather. Elara was remembered not only as a counselor, but as Sylvain's first philosopher, author of The Theory of Conscious Choice.
And the portal… the portal was still used.
But far less often.
Because people learned that death is only one option among many equally valid ones: to love, to create, to change, to forgive, or even simply to exist without needing to mean anything.
Somewhere between strata, in a space that was not space, in a time that was not time:
Five lights — different in color, different in intensity — gathered briefly.
"Did we succeed?" asked one light (pale blue — Lyra).
"We gave them choice," replied another (gray — Ghei). "That is enough."
"And they used it well," added a third (green — Elara). "They grew. They did not depend on us."
"That was the real goal," said the fourth (gold — Kael). "Not to be remembered. But to make ourselves unnecessary."
The fifth light (soft white — Aelia), silent until now, finally spoke:
"Now… we can truly rest."
They did not go anywhere.
They simply stopped gathering.
Each chose their own ending:
Ghei chose nonexistence — vanishing completely, as he had always wished.
Aelia chose a long sleep — with the possibility of waking again in a distant future.
Kael chose to become pure memory — dispersed throughout Sylvain's collective consciousness.
Lyra chose to return to Aetheria — not as a spirit, but as part of its flowing energy.
Elara chose… to become an idea. The concept of conscious choice, living on as long as someone remembers it.
And in those final choices, they went home — each to the "home" they defined for themselves.
In Sylvain, on the night commemorating the twentieth year since Ghei, Sena — now the city's chief philosopher — stood in the Quiet Zone with a new generation.
She pointed to the portal, then to the city behind her.
"Look. The portal teaches us that we can leave. But this city teaches us that we can stay. And both choices are valid."
A child asked, "But which one is right?"
"There is no 'right,'" Sena replied. "Only what is right for you right now. And tomorrow… it may be different." She smiled.
"We are free to choose. And free to change our choice. That is the greatest gift they left us."
They left the Quiet Zone, returning to the living, breathing city — full of small daily choices: what to eat, whom to love, how to create, when to rest.
And the portal remained behind — calm, unpressuring, unjudging.
Simply… there.
A quiet reminder that at the end of every conversation, every love, every struggle, there is one simple truth:
We are allowed to choose.
Even if that choice is to stop choosing.
#15
Final inscription in the Sylvain Museum, beneath the display of Ghei's notebook:
"They arrived as strangers.
They left as family.
They left behind no treasure.
Only one lesson:
Life is full of doors.
Some are open.
Some are closed.
Some we open ourselves.
And sometimes,
the hardest choice
is deciding
whether to step forward,
or remain at the threshold,
or close the door
and open another window.
All are valid.
Because before we arrive,
and after we leave,
the choice has always been ours."