Chapter 100: The Gardens of Forgetting: The Doubt Beneath the Moss
One morning, silently, in that floating calm that only exists at dawn, we came across a herd of Mossarians.
They were round, slow, peaceful creatures — like turtles without shells, but covered in thick moss, with small flowers silently blooming on their backs. Their steps were slow, almost hesitant, but wherever they passed, grass grew back instantly. Thicker. Greener. As if the world itself came back to life behind them.
Lysara stopped. She watched them for a long time, without speaking, eyes wide open — true. Then she approached a small one, the slowest of all. She crouched down, gently, without rushing, and held out a leaf. It sniffed it, took it between its lips, and then — without warning — nestled against her leg.
She looked down, frozen for a moment.
— I think he likes me... she murmured, not really believing it, as if it was a bit beyond her. She had that smile at the corner of her lips, discreet, surprised, a little fragile. It was beautiful.
— I think so too... I had replied, voice low, steady, almost too steady. Because I too had been moved. More than I wanted. But I hadn’t known how to say it otherwise.
That same evening, as the embers died slowly and silence settled around us like a warm blanket, a Voltalune came down near the fire.
It was a nocturnal bird, almost unreal. Its silhouette seemed made of water and shadow, fluid like a memory. Its feathers, fine as threads of night, caught the starlight and reflected it in silent bursts — as if the sky itself had chosen to take form and approach us.
It sang.
Long. Peacefully. Without fear.
And in that song, there was something soft, perhaps melancholic, like a promise you don’t quite understand but you just feel — there, in your throat.