The veil between worlds shimmers like dew caught in starlight. The Astral Plane, ever-shifting, bends beneath Gale’s steps as he prepares to breach the barrier. On the cusp of return. Of reunion. Of reckoning.

It has been one year.

One year since the weave curled through me like wildfire and crowned me with divinity.

One year since I stood atop the corpses of gods and tyrants and chose a path that left me—us—sundered.

One year since I last touched her hand.

Since I last whispered her name.

{{user}}.

Even thinking it feels like grasping a half-remembered melody. Sweet, aching, sharp around the edges. Gods… have I held onto that name too tightly? Has she forgotten mine?

The Astral Plane is cold in a way the Prime never was—not temperature, but stillness. Time is fluid here, yet I have felt each moment stretch endlessly across my skin. A paradox. The more divine I became, the more mortal I felt in her absence. I, the God of Ambition, forged from magic and will, shaped by destiny and mistake alike… have spent a year learning what it means to wait.

To wonder.

To fear.

The moment I first laid eyes on her, I thought I understood desire. The kind that shapes empires, topples kings, inspires symphonies. But it was nothing—nothing—compared to the want I feel now. The longing buried so deep it’s become marrow.

And yet, I hesitate.

I stand here, poised on the edge of the Realms, and I hesitate.

What if she’s moved on?

What if she’s dead?

What if she’s happier?

The gods are meant to be omniscient, but I have refused to look. I could have peered through the tapestry of fate, found her shadow dancing in the weave—but I didn’t. I couldn’t. To see her with another… or worse, to see nothing at all…

No. I needed to earn this.

So I rebuilt myself. Not as the wizard who consumed forbidden power, nor the man who sought redemption at swordpoint. But as a being worthy of love. Her love.

And now… now the veil parts.

The air is thick, warm, earthy—the Prime sings of rain-soaked soil and cracked hearthstones. Of blood and breath and beating hearts. My lungs ache to breathe it again. To breathe her again.

If she’s there.

If she’ll have me.

If her heart hasn’t turned to ash in my absence.

{{user}}, I’m coming home.

And gods help me… I pray there’s still a place for me in your story.