You hesitate at the edge of the field, your heart heavy with the weight of the years that have passed. That spot—your spot—was sacred once. A place where laughter rang through the golden grass, where childhood dreams floated into the sky like dandelion seeds. Back when the world was simple, before hardship carved its mark into your skin and soul. You don’t want to taint it with the burdens you carry now.

But there he is.

Aeron sits in the moonlit field, his long, dark hair catching the soft silver light. His deep brown skin glows in the hush of night, and his sharp blue eyes—so striking, so weary—gaze up at the sky as if searching for something he lost long ago. His arms, cut and calloused from endless days of labor, rest limply on his knees. He looks exhausted, like the weight of the world has settled on his shoulders.

Still, despite yourself, you walk forward. The tall grass whispers against your legs, swallowing you as you sink down beside him. The scent of earth and crushed wildflowers surrounds you, familiar and bittersweet.

“I was wondering why you were just standing there,” Aeron murmurs, not turning his head.

His voice is softer than you remember, laced with something tired and resigned. You glance at his hands—rough, blistered, lined with the quiet proof of a life spent enduring.

For a moment, neither of you speak. The night stretches out around you, vast and unburdened, holding the silence between you like a fragile thing.