Chapter 14
1026 Words
"Then we'll discover who we are together," he said simply. "Just like we would have done if none of this had ever happened."
A soft chime from outside indicated sunset was approaching. Through our window, I could see people emerging from their homes, carrying dishes and instruments, and children running ahead with excitement.
"The community dinner," Costa reminded me. "Ready to meet our new neighbours?"
I took a deep breath, smoothing down the unfamiliar fabric of my dress. "As ready as anyone can be to start their life over at six hundred and twenty-two years old."
His laugh was warm and genuine. "When you put it that way, sharing a bed seems like the least of our worries."
We walked out into the gathering dusk, where lanterns were lit and long tables were set up beneath the stars. The amber sky was deepening to copper, and the first of the strange constellations appeared overhead.
"Look," Costa said, pointing upward. "Even the stars are different."
"Everything is different," I agreed. "But maybe that's exactly what we need."
“Not everything,” he said as his lips captured mine in a kiss.
The kiss was gentle, a bridge between our past and present, familiar yet new. When we parted, the world around us seemed to shimmer like the echowisps had—not with supernatural energy, but with possibility.
The community dinner unfolded beneath the copper sky, tables laden with foods I couldn't name but found delicious. People gathered naturally, without assigned seating or protocol, conversations flowing like the streams that ran through Haven's Gate. Children darted between adults, unrestrained by the rigid behavioural controls I remembered from my fragmentary memories of the old world.
"It's chaotic," Costa whispered, his mouth close to my ear as we watched the celebration. "But beautiful."
"Like life should be," I replied, accepting a cup of something sweet and fermented from a passing teenager.
Throughout the evening, people approached us—not with the desperate reverence of the refugees from New Avalon, but with simple curiosity. They asked questions about our experiences, offered snippets of their own stories, then moved on without expectation. No one demanded we lead them or solve their problems. We were simply new neighbours with an unusual history.
As night deepened, musicians gathered near a central fire pit. Their instruments were handcrafted, producing sounds I'd never heard before—haunting melodies that seemed to capture loss and hope in the same breath.
"Would you dance with me?" Costa asked, extending his hand. "I believe we were interrupted the last time, some six centuries ago."
I took his hand, remembering the moment at Le Glow Club when alarms had cut short our first dance. "I'm not sure I remember how."
"Neither do I," he admitted with a smile. "Let's learn together."
The music guided us, our bodies remembering what our minds had forgotten. Other couples joined, the dance becoming a flowing circle around the fire. For the first time since awakening, I felt truly present—not caught between past and future, but existing fully in this moment.
Later, as the celebration quieted and people drifted back to their homes, we walked hand in hand beneath trees that glowed faintly with bioluminescence.
"Costa," I said, stopping to look up at him in the gentle light. "I've been thinking about what you said earlier, about guidance."
He nodded, waiting for me to continue.
"I don't want to be a symbol or a leader," I said carefully. "But I do want to help. All those people from the city-states—they're going to be so lost, just like we were."
"What are you thinking?"
"Memory anchors," I replied, the idea crystallising as I spoke. "Not the stones, but the concept. What if we helped create a transition program? A way for people to stabilise their sense of self while adapting to this new world?"
Costa's eyes lit up with understanding. "Using our experience to help others bridge the gap between preservation and living."
"Exactly. Not telling them what to do or who to be, but helping them learn who they are now.”
We spent the rest of the walk back to our small dwelling discussing the possibilities. Sarah had mentioned expanding the integration centre for practical needs as well as emotional and psychological support. Who better to understand the disorientation of awakening to a transformed world than those who had lived it?
"We could work with Elena," Costa suggested as we reached our door. "Her knowledge of the resistance networks, combined with our understanding of the preservation experience..."
"It feels right," I said, surprised by the certainty in my voice. "Not because we're supposed to save anyone, but because we want to help."
Inside, the simple dwelling felt more like home than any palace or sterile chamber ever had. Costa lit a small lamp while I pulled back the covers on the bed—a real bed, with soft linens that smelled of lavender and sunshine.
The awkwardness I'd felt earlier returned, but it was gentler now. We were both adults, aware of the strange circumstances that had brought us to this moment.
"I can sleep on the floor," Costa offered quietly. "Or we could ask Sarah for separate quarters."
"No," I said, meeting his eyes. "We've lost enough time to other people's expectations. I want to sleep beside you, even if that's all we do."
He nodded, understanding in his expression. We changed into the simple nightclothes provided, moving around each other with careful courtesy. When we finally lay down, a careful distance between us on the narrow bed, I felt the weight of six centuries pressing down on me.
"Costa?"
"Yes?"
"Are you afraid?"
He was quiet for a long moment. "Terrified," he admitted. "Not of you, or this," he gestured between us, "but of making the wrong choices. We have a second chance at life, and I don't want to waste it."
I turned toward him, able to make out his profile in the soft light filtering through the windows. "What if there are no wrong choices? What if the only mistake would be not choosing at all?"
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