Chapter 6
1273 Words
His father nodded quickly and spoke up in agreement. "Yes, withdraw it at once! I am his father, and I admit I have failed to raise him properly. He has always been willful and troublesome, creating these outrageous scenes just to draw attention. We are truly sorry for the inconvenience he has caused you."
His mother stepped forward as well. "And I am his mother. We spoiled him terribly. We raised him to be so twisted inside that he speaks nothing but wild, untrue words!"
Draven stood frozen where he stood. His heart felt as though it were being pried open, piece by piece, with cold iron tongs.
These people, they were meant to be his family, the people who should have loved him most in all the world.
Yet here they were, spurning him, condemning him, treating him as though he were nothing but a shameful disgrace.
Draven closed his eyes. It felt as though every drop of strength had been drained from his body.
'Stop hoping.'
Even if the police had believed him, even if they found his body… not a single one of these people would have grieved for him.
He watched as his report was struck from the records.
At that moment, Draven understood what it truly meant to have a heart turn to ash.
He walked away from the station afterward in a daze, barely remembering how he had gotten back to the house at all.
He stood alone in the silent living room when Cressida's voice rang out, cold and sharp. "Draven… before you go seeking the company of another woman, you would do well to remember exactly who you are. If you ever dare—" She stopped short.
Her eyes had fallen upon the bright red mark of a handprint across his pale cheek. The sight struck her like a searing brand against her chest.
For a moment the words died in her throat, and she could not bring herself to speak another syllable.
She drew a breath, pushing the strange, heavy feeling aside. She fetched an ice pack and reached out toward his bruised face.
Draven lifted his head, saw her coming, and turned sharply away.
Cressida's hand hung suspended in mid‑air. Her expression hardened instantly.
The ice pack struck the floor hard and bounced away. Cressida's eyes turned cold and hard once more.
"Fine then! Try to suffer for all I care! I offered kindness, and you repay it with arrogance. You invent lies and drag everyone through the mud; you deserve every bit of pain you feel. I only hope it hurts enough to teach you some sense." With those words, she turned and stormed out of the room.
Draven watched her go. A faint, bitter smile touched his lips.
"Cressida," he whispered to the empty air. "You are right. I am dying. I am dying from all this pain."
He remained there a long while, until a message arrived from Director Huxley inquiring about his work.
Only then did Draven rise slowly to his feet and walk quietly into his bedroom.
He sat before his computer and wrote the final chapter of "Moonlight Across the Void."
The monastery bells rang out across the valley. He turned toward the north.
She turned toward the south. And so they went their separate ways.
Mountains and rivers lay between them henceforth. They would never cross paths again.
For the rest of their lives, they would remain strangers.
When he had finished writing, he pulled the covers up over his head, closed his eyes, and drifted slowly into sleep.
*****
The next morning dawned gray and heavy. When Draven checked his phone, he found the internet had erupted over his newly rewritten ending.
A: [If I remember correctly, this story was written by Moonscribe about the one person he truly loved. Why change it to such a heartbreaking end?]
B: [I have loved this story for years. I waited patiently for them to find happiness, and this is what I got? A goodbye with no reunion at all?]
Yet others had written in support.
C: [Thank you. This is exactly the ending I always hoped for. Two people walking away from each other forever. No more pain. No more longing.]
D: [It is the truth, isn't it? She never truly loved him. This ending is perfect. At last he belongs only to himself.]
Arguments raged back and forth across every comment thread. Draven paid them no mind.
To him, this was not merely a story ending. It was his and Cressida's, their final goodbye.
Shortly after breakfast, his phone rang.
A calm, polite voice spoke at the other end. "Good morning, sir. This is the Sanctuary of Saint Celeste. One year ago, you entrusted us with a Prayer Pouch. Its appointed time has come. You may come and claim it whenever you are able."
Draven remembered. Three years ago, the Sanctuary of Saint Celeste opened its doors in Silvermere City.
He had passed by one afternoon, stepped inside, and written down his deepest prayers, hoping and praying that, in time, each one might be answered.
Half an hour later, he stood before the sanctuary. The attendant handed him a small cloth pouch, its colors faded with time.
Inside lay two things: his wedding ring, the band he and Cressida had exchanged before all the world, once the most precious thing he had ever owned.
And beside it, a single sheet of paper, yellowed at the edges, bearing the words he had written so long ago.
First, I hope to heal the rift between my parents and me one day. That we may love and accept one another as family should.
Second, I hope one day Cressida will see me, that she will know my heart and love me in return. I will wait however long it takes. I will wait forever if I must.
Draven read the words slowly. His face paled.
The attendant noticed his sorrow and spoke gently, "Sir? Are you quite all right? Did your wishes not come true?"
Draven's voice came out rough and low. "No. Not a single one."
The attendant placed a comforting hand upon his arm. "That is not the end, you know. You may join our Farewell Ceremony. What the heavens do not grant at first, they often make whole in other ways. Let go of what was, and what is meant to be will find you."
The attendant gestured toward the center of the courtyard. There stood a tall tower woven from parchment and willow, the Farewell Pyre.
People stepped forward one by one and placed their letters, their trinkets, their hopes and sorrows into the open windows of the tower.
When his turn came, Draven took a long, steadying breath. He placed his wedding ring and his faded wish list into the pyre alongside everyone else's offerings.
The attendant stepped forward and then touched a torch to the base. Flames rose bright and golden, climbing high and consuming everything within.
Heat washed over Draven in waves. He stood watching the fire burn bright and tall.
Every hope he had ever held, every wish he had ever whispered, every dream he had ever cherished, all rose together in smoke and flame, drifting upward until they vanished completely into the gray sky.
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