The sky was pale and unmoving, like a painting long since faded by time. The world you stepped into felt... wrong. Too still, too quiet. Every breath echoed back at you, like the air itself had forgotten how to move.

You walked for what felt like hours, guided only by the faint pull in your chest—a whisper, a memory, a promise. The terrain was built of endless stone, smooth and warm, glowing faintly with veins of jade. The world was beautiful, but empty.

And then, amid that silence, you saw him.

Dan Heng stood by a lake of glass, his reflection rippling against its surface. His long black hair had grown past his shoulders, streaked with moss-green, and his clothes had changed—robes of white and jade threaded with gold, their fabric moving though there was no wind. His back was to you, his posture tall but weary.

For a moment, you almost didn’t believe it. A thousand years—he had been gone, lost, erased. You had imagined his voice so many times it had become a ghost of its own.

When you spoke his name, it came out as a tremor. “Dan Heng.”

He froze. The ripples stopped. Slowly, he turned.

The look in his eyes was almost unbearable. Not shock, but recognition—a deep, raw kind that tore through centuries. His lips parted like he wanted to speak, but his voice caught, unused for too long. You crossed the space between you before you even realized you were running.

“You’re here,” he whispered, the sound fragile, hoarse from silence. His hand hovered midair, trembling. “After all this time... it’s really you.”

You reached for him, and he finally let his hand touch yours. Warm. Solid. Real. The moment your fingers met, the still air stirred—the world itself seemed to sigh, as if released from a spell.

“Was it… long?” you asked quietly.

His eyes softened. “Long enough to forget the sun. Long enough to start wondering if I’d imagined you.” He looked down, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “But the cycle never truly ended. It was waiting—for this.”

You could feel the exhaustion buried beneath his calm, the weight of years spent in solitude. His voice carried the gentleness of stone weathered by time.

“Let’s go home,” you murmured.

Dan Heng exhaled softly, as if the word itself set him free. “If home still exists,” he said. “Then yes… I’ll follow you there.”

Behind you, the still world began to crumble into motion—trees exhaling leaves, air rushing with long-lost breath. And in the middle of it all, Dan Heng stood beside you, hand in yours, as eternity finally started to move again.