The Last Flumin

Kalimo gazed at the water. He had come to his favorite place in all of Varhain, his home. Alone, because his mind was plagued with countless thoughts, and he had no desire to burden anyone with them, even though they lingered on his tongue, eager to be voiced, as if seeking a way to escape into the world. The Lavanda Pond lay before him, as mesmerizing as ever. It wasn’t just its magnificent violet hue that made it so special, but also the glowing Flumin, which had drifted down from the sky for as long as Kalimo could remember. Bright and silent, like countless tiny suns, they descended, touching the ground and nourishing it with warmth and energy. He loved the tingling sensation in his small, black hand when he touched them, but he was careful never to gather too many at once. The pretty spheres could deliver quite a sting if disturbed for too long. Yet today, he struggled to enjoy the beauty surrounding him. And rightly so. Varhain was in danger.

“Hello, Kalimo,” a slightly raspy voice broke through his thoughts. Raspy, yet unmistakable. It was Dantak, Kalimo’s favorite elder. Not his actual grandfather, but someone who had been with him since birth. Of all the people in his life, Kalimo found Dantak to be the wisest, the one who made him feel safe no matter what. “May I sit?” Dantak asked, folding his arms before his flowing blue robe, his signature pose. Kalimo nodded. He had wanted to be alone, yet deep down, he welcomed the company. Dantak sat down beside him on the ebony wood bench, engraved with ssar’tian runes, and together they watched the Flumin orbs descend from the sky.

“Is it true?” Kalimo finally asked. “Are the Flumin really leaving?” Dantak had expected this question. He had hoped Kalimo would speak to him about the looming catastrophe. The old man searched for the right words. His weathered skull, already marked by deep age-worn grooves, seemed even older now. Kalimo’s, by contrast, gleamed in the Flumin’s glow, his small blue pupil-less eyes still untouched by the gray fog of suffering that eventually consumed all who grieved. Dantak ran his long, white, felted beard, which sprouted where his lower jaw should have been, but the Ssar’tis had no need for such things. For their voices did not require mouths or vocal cords to exist. They spoke directly from their thoughts, transmitting their words to those who wished to hear them. “Yes, Kalimo…” Dantak finally admitted. “I believe the time of the Flumin is coming to an end.” The words were heavy. Should one shelter a child from reality, soften the truth when the harsh course of fate would strike regardless? No. One must name things as they are. No more sugarcoating. No more false hope. Kalimo rested his hands on his short legs, letting Dantak’s words sink in.

“In the simple act of existing, fairness does not exist,” Dantak continued. “Because in pure existence, there is no one to question existence itself. Let go of the stories the mind weaves about life, and anchor yourself in the present. I want us, together, to invite silence, so that it, in turn, may welcome us and lead us home. Do you understand?” Kalimo nodded, a little unsure. “But… I’m scared…” “Then be scared, Kalimo. Let us both feel this fear and give it the space it demands, I with mine, you with yours. Without letting it consume our minds. Are you ready?” They sat quietly for a minute. They listened to the world around them, the whisper of the wind through the leaves, the distant voices from the darkness, the rhythmic murmur of unseen things. They watched the Flumin fall and chuckled at a Tivus bird rubbing its tiny head. And they felt their fear, without judging it. They granted it the right to share their existence.

Dantak knew that such lessons were perhaps too much for a boy to grasp all at once. The real battle now was learning to let go of battle itself. And Dantak had fought this very same fight in his youth, trying to understand life, failing, rising, and failing again. He had known rage, terror, the desperate search for an escape. He had struggled with the most difficult lesson of all, to face death, the end, with neutrality. To surrender his role as a guest in existence and return to the source, whatever and wherever that may be.

After some time, Dantak finally asked, “And now? How do you feel?” Kalimo hesitated. “Uncomfortable… still afraid…” “Are you ruled by fear?” Kalimo shrugged. “No… I don’t think so.” “Do you think you are not ruled by fear, or are you truly free from it once you allow it to exist?” Kalimo exhaled deeply and this time answered with more certainty. “I am not ruled by it.” Dantak smiled softly and brushed his fingers over Kalimo’s smooth forehead. “Good, my boy. You see… Reality is simple. It is we who complicate it. We must learn to be present when our mind spins its tales, stories about life, relationships, situations, and people. Because if these stories are false, but we believe them, we suffer.”

Dantak paused. “Our bodies exist only in the present moment. But when we let our thoughts drag us into a nonexistent past or future, the body reacts as if it were real. Recognizing these mental stories for what they are is the key. No more ‘This was done to me.’ No more ‘I did this to them.’ No more fear. No more despair. And in the end… no more death. Physically, perhaps. But we, as awareness, as the silent observer who perceives the body, the sights, the sounds, the sensations, we reunite with the source of all things.”

Kalimo sighed, his dreamy gaze drifting toward a Dalrot tree nearby, its yellow and orange leaves glowing softly. A Sarut squirrel darted nimbly up the dark trunk, peeking through the foliage with its tiny face. It stretched a hand out, reaching for an Akara nut, a delicious, blood-red delicacy. The squirrel snatched the nut, scurried to a sturdy branch, and cracked it open. Then, as if completely natural, it tossed the empty shell over its shoulder. Kalimo watched closely, just as Dantak tracked the shell’s trajectory with curiosity. With a wet plop, the discarded shell hit a Tivus bird right on the head, knocking it into the shallow pond. The two onlookers groaned in unison, shaking their heads. They chuckled softly, full of sympathy for the dazed little bird.

After a minute of quiet amusement, Kalimo spoke again. “I’d still like to stay here for a while.” Dantak nodded warmly. “I understand, my boy,” he said, placing a comforting arm around Kalimo’s shoulders. He squeezed him gently, offering silent reassurance, letting him know he was not alone. “Then let’s do just that… let’s stay a little longer.”

The hours after Kalimo left the elder were not easy. Again and again, a voice crept through the back door of his consciousness, whispering, “We’re all going to die. Mama and Papa will die. You will never visit the pond again, never grow up. It shouldn’t be this way. We must do something, it’s not too late.” Kalimo struggled not to believe this voice. After all, his life would eventually end, and… No, stop. He interrupted the thought and once again sought acceptance and peace in the present moment. But he kept swinging between fear and outright resistance, where anger and disbelief, worry and panic collided in his mind. Could it really all end now? The horrifying thought of being helplessly subjected to finality was too much for any mind to bear. He chased away the unbearable images and instead latched onto a different thought. Immediately, Mavi’s face appeared before his inner eye, those slightly greenish-white eyes, the delicate shape of her slender skull with its high cheekbones.

And her voice… The words she had spoken yesterday resurfaced in his mind, carried by her soft, crackling tone. “If you ever want to visit me, I think my dad wouldn’t mind. After all, you’re kind of sweet, but don’t forget to bring me a Talmut blossom. They smell better when given as a gift.” The blossom. He had completely forgotten about it. So instead of heading left towards the Machur Valley, he turned right before reaching the Ashmar Tower, the militia’s watchtower. He knew that Talmut blossoms grew right in front of the massive gate, even though he wasn’t really supposed to be wandering around there. The guards, clad in silver armor plates and flowing magical robes, barely noticed him. They were too busy rushing back and forth, agitated about something. What were they up to now, he wondered as he passed them. But even if they were planning something, what difference would it make when the end was already in sight?

As he made his way down the slope towards the great gate, he looked into the distance. The darkness had crept even closer. The voices, accompanied by that eerie rumbling, echoed throughout the valley. The land, made up of pale yellow, Flumin-infused grass that stood out like a glowing oasis against the blackened earth, along with crumbling ruins, hills, and ravines, seemed to absorb the ominous sounds. Kalimo hurried. He wanted to get away from this terrifying sight as quickly as possible. At a run, he reached out for a Talmut blossom growing from the wall and grabbed it before dashing away, not daring to look back.

Once he reached the tower again, he took the other path. After only a few minutes, Mavi’s dwelling came into view. Like all Ssar’Tis homes, it was a burrow carved into the ground, reinforced with sturdy walls. Her father, a tall man with a kind face and simple, rural clothing, was working in the garden, using a pickaxe to dig between clusters of bluish Chascheas flowers, their surfaces lined with fine black veins. “Hey, Mr. Novun! What are you doing?”, Kalimo called out. The man paused in his work and greeted Kalimo with a long, high-pitched tone, a sound that signaled goodwill. “Ah, Kalimo, good to see you. I’m harvesting the Chascheas. Look at how strong and vibrant they’ve grown.”

“They look really tasty. Isn’t this the plant used to make Geshkj? But why are you using a pickaxe to harvest them?” Novun let out a hearty laugh. “Haha, yes, you’re right. We use them to make Geshkj, but that’s not for little boys. Without the Machur ritual, when you’re of age, that stuff would knock you right off your feet. Haha! The pickaxe is necessary because these plants are so deeply rooted. See?” He tugged at one of the flowers, which barely budged. “Phew, yeah, I see…” Kalimo murmured.

Novun studied him. The Ssar’Tis had no facial muscles to express emotion, but they had an acute sense for the emotional state of others. “How are you, Kalimo? Do you think about… the terror often?” Kalimo shrugged. “More about the Flumin. It makes me sad and angry that there’s nothing I can do.” Novun nodded thoughtfully. “Do you believe this is really the end? Forever? Everything?” Kalimo asked. They were briefly distracted by a Flumin drifting down nearby before Novun responded. “No, Boy, I don’t believe that. You see, we are all energy, we are life itself. Throw anything into the air, and suddenly bacteria form, or something else begins to grow. Life always finds a way, because it wants to be lived.”

“Do you see that as the meaning? The meaning of life?” Kalimo asked curiously. Novun nodded. “Yes, I think that’s the meaning, to consciously live life. When you focus on that, any search for a secondary meaning becomes unnecessary, do you understand?” Kalimo chuckled. “You’re almost as wise as Dantak.” Novun bowed slightly and grinned. “Thank you. But now, off you go, I bet you’re eager to see Mavi. She’s making a Dirodean troll out of Flumin clay! You know, those strange tree creatures from the Cad’Wait legend. I have no idea why she finds those things so fascinating. Haha!”

Kalimo laughed and said his goodbyes. He made his way underground, where Mavii’s home lay. As he pulled out the Talmut blossom and focused on the moment of giving it to her, the flower changed. Its brown, withered appearance transformed into a vibrant pearl white, and a soft, enchanting fragrance filled the dwelling.

The corridor he stepped into was dimly lit, with torches placed before each open doorway. Green flames flickered lazily from Merudrit sconces fastened to the walls. Merudrit was not a particularly valuable metal, but it was durable and easy to shape, its pitch-black surface absorbing the eerie glow of the fire. The flames themselves were conjured through Amnar, a minor enchantment so simple that Kalimo figured he might have been able to cast it himself, even without undergoing the ritual. As he passed by one of the flames, he let his hand glide through it, momentarily scattering the green light before it swiftly snapped back into place.

“Thirteen years old and still playing around like a child. Haven’t they taught you in the abbey that you shouldn’t play with fire?” Mavi’s voice rang out behind him, catching him off guard. Kalimo froze, then tried to recover quickly. “I… uh… was just testing the quality of the spell.” Mavi folded her arms against her slim waist, tilting her head slightly. The way the fire’s glow shifted over her features made her expression all the more intimidating. His excuse had failed.

“Lame excuse. My father casts spells like Haradras the Bonebinder, these flames are nothing to him,” she stated flatly, then after a small pause, added, “But I’m glad you came. Follow me, I want to show you something. Something truly interesting.” Kalimo gave a resigned shrug and followed his beloved as the hem of her ashen-gray evening robe drifted over her sturdy novice boots. Mavi was already fifteen and had completed the ritual, which allowed her to practice Amnar magic. Unlike the boys, who had to prove their worth by venturing deep into the Machur Valley and overcoming its many challenges, the girls simply had to pass a theoretical aptitude test. From there, they could choose from a wide range of magical disciplines, depending on what form of Amnar resonated with them the most.

But all of that had been disrupted by the death of the Flumin. The creeping darkness had consumed entire lands, swallowing them without mercy. They were among the last of the Ssar’Tis, the last survivors of Mualora. Kalimo stepped into the pleasantly dim room and took in his surroundings. Here and there, lamps flickered, each containing tiny luminescent moths that emitted a soft, prism-blue light. Their glow illuminated a table in the left corner, upon which sat the creation, the tree beast, as Novun had mockingly called it. With reverence, Kalimo approached the table and examined the creature. It was unmistakably a Dirodean troll. Mavi truly had talent.

The figure was about twenty-five centimeters tall, composed of intricately interwoven root-like tendrils that made up its body. Its tiny button-like eyes pulsed with a gentle green light at regular intervals, while its four slender arms were held before its chest as if trying to appear menacing. “I don’t know much about the legend, but I think I read somewhere that the souls of the trolls become new species of trees on distant planets after they die. Is that true?” Kalimo asked, turning to Mavi, who had settled onto her bed a short distance from the table. “Well… whether it’s true or not is hard to say. After all, it’s just a legend. But to help you out a bit, here’s the tale of Cad’Wait, the Four World Trees.”

Mavi sat up straight, as if about to give a lecture. Kalimo chuckled but quickly silenced himself when Mavi shot him a dark look. He listened attentively. “At the beginning, the planet was surrounded by Agson’s black void. No life, no plants, no magic. But help was on the way. From the depths of space, from where exactly, no one knows, four massive seeds came hurtling down to the planet and crashed into the barren land. Despite the absence of light, water, or any nurturing conditions, the seeds sprouted regardless, for they had come to restore balance, knowing full well the dire state of Utajus.”

“The first tree to grow, Flyr, flooded the world with its radiant lights, the very same lights we now call the Flumin. Once light had been established, Kour took the stage, piercing the earth with its power. And lo and behold, plants, forests, lakes, and rivers came into being. Then came Dessya, whose purpose was to fill the land with creatures, the first of which were the Dirodean trolls, designed as caretakers of Kour’s lush flora. Finally, Indvur, the last of the four, breathed the Amnar into Utajus, the magic that allows us to interact with the world and its elements. And that, dear Kalimo, is how the legend goes.”

Mavi gave him a knowing look, then smirked. “That is, of course, unless you’ve already dozed off.” Kalimo laughed and raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright, you win.” They laughed together, and for a moment, everything felt right. The world felt whole. But where there is laughter, sorrow is never far behind. And suddenly, Mavi began to cry. Kalimo sat beside her on the bed and wrapped an arm around her. “Our beautiful world…” she sobbed, golden tears trailing down her cheekbones. “I feel so awful when I think about my father, about Mrs. Gavar, about everyone in the school, about Dantak and… and… everything. Kalimo, it’s all ending. Everything is dying. What are we supposed to do?”

Kalimo felt his breath hitch. He didn’t know what to say. It was unfathomable. The days had always seemed so constant, so endless, and now, it was all just… vanishing into nothing? No more sitting on benches by tranquil ponds. No more stories and legends. No more food, no more conversations, no more art, no love, no hate… no Flumin. No life. Or was there? “Do you think… do you think we’ll come back? Somewhere else? Someday? Somehow?” Mavi asked, her voice trembling.

Kalimo thought for a long time before answering. “Hmm… Your father told me earlier that life always finds a way. And I think he’s right. We should trust in life.” He hoped his words could bring her some comfort. She pressed closer to him and whispered, “I’m glad you’re here with me. Will you stay, until it’s over?” Of course he would, he thought. But before he could say it aloud, a voice interrupted from outside. A voice filled with anger, concern, and barely contained fury.

“No, I said no! I won’t allow it!”

The two exchanged startled glances before running upstairs to see what was happening. In front of them stood Mavi’s father, his stance rigid with tension, facing three cloaked figures. Their robes were tattered and caked with dirt, their hoods pulled low over their faces, and cloth masks concealed their non-existent mouths. Only their eyes were visible, and those eyes gleamed with malice. But Kalimo knew who they were. He recognized them instantly. Not by their thin frames or their tattered garments, but by the coarse, grating voice of the leader in the center.

When Tyrn spoke, his gaze locked directly onto Mavi and Kalimo as they stepped into view. “Oh, look who we have here,” he sneered. “Little miss goody-two-shoes… and her weakling boyfriend. How adorable.”

Kalimo’s eyes darted past them to the ever-looming darkness that had gathered at the horizon. It was creeping forward like a living thing, draping itself over the valley like a suffocating blanket. It was as if the world itself was preparing to close its eyes for the final time, ready to disappear into oblivion. Kalimo could not believe it. These three fools were the last thing he needed right now. At school, they had never missed an opportunity to torment him, to humiliate or deceive him. Normally, he brushed off their cruelty, Kalimo was tough. But now? As if his mind wasn’t already drowning in thoughts of impending doom, the weight of existential dread, the fear of the unknown. And yet, here they were. If fate came knocking, there was no choice but to open the door.

“What’s wrong, little one? No one around to protect you?” Tyrn taunted, his smirk widening. He was the worst of the three, not just dangerous but cunning, which made him unpredictable. His two lackeys, Ascar and Jassurin, who stood beside him gripping wooden clubs, were nothing more than simple-minded fools who basked in the shadow of their leader’s notoriety.

Novun stepped forward, positioning himself between Kalimo, Mavi, and the intruders. “Boys, I’m asking you, please,” his voice was steady, but the weariness in his posture was undeniable. “Haven’t we suffered enough already? You have families too. Why aren’t you with them, spending what little time we have left together?”

For a moment, something flickered across Tyrn’s face. A crack in the mask. Then it was gone. “They’re already gone,” he muttered, his voice almost too quiet to hear. A beat of silence passed.“What…?” Novun’s brows furrowed in genuine concern. “What happened?”

“That’s none of your damn business, old man!” Tyrn snapped, his tone shifting back to sharp hostility. His head jerked toward Mavi, eyes narrowing. “Now, step aside and hand over the girl. I’ve got unfinished business with her.” A dark chuckle escaped his throat, sending a cold shiver through Kalimo.

Kalimo knew exactly what Tyrn meant. Half a year ago, Mavi had stood up for him when Tyrn and his thugs had been harassing him. Things had escalated, and the school elders got involved. Tyrn and his gang had been expelled from school early, despite the world already crumbling around them. It shouldn’t have mattered in the grand scheme of things. And yet, Tyrn’s family had reacted violently to his failure. The household fell into constant fighting, and in the end, his parents took their own lives, leaving him behind without so much as a farewell.

Since that day, Tyrn had been nothing but a walking storm of rage, bitterness, and self-loathing. He had chosen Mai as his scapegoat, directing all his blame toward her. Because it was easier. Easier to make someone else the villain than to face the darkness inside.

“Let it go, Papa,” Mavi said softly, moving past her father with quiet determination. “What can these Stankerers possibly do to me? The terror will take care of that soon enough.” Panic surged through Kalimo’s veins as he felt the raw energy of Tyrn’s hatred swelling. “Mavi, come back!” he shouted, stepping forward just as Novun hesitated. But it was too late.

Tyrn struck first. A swift, vicious blow to Mavi’s head sent her collapsing to the ground. Kalimo gasped, frozen in horror. Tyrn threw his head back and let out a manic laugh, his voice shrill and unhinged. “Aaaahahahaa! I can think of a few things we can do with you before this all ends, Mavi!” he cackled.

“You… you filthy bastards! How dare you?!” Novun roared. He thrust his palm forward, and a blast of bluish energy surged from his hand. Tyrn reacted quickly, raising a barrier spell that deflected the attack. But the energy rebounded, straight toward Jassurin, who wasn’t nearly as adept in magic. The blast struck Jassurin square in the face, tearing through his head and sending him crumpling lifelessly to the ground, his hood singed and curling from the heat.

“Shit! He killed Jassu, Tyrn! Novun killed him!” Ascar’s voice cracked, his finger shaking as he pointed at Novun. The old man stared at the scene in shock, his mouth working soundlessly, his hands trembling. “I… I…” he stammered, unable to comprehend what had just happened.

Tyrn, however, was hysterical. His laughter grew louder, more erratic, as if he had finally lost all reason. “Yes! Hahaha! Yes! Now we all die! Everything, EVERYTHING ends!” His hands ignited with a burst of fire. Before anyone could react, a streak of flames shot from his palms.

Novun had no chance. His body was instantly engulfed. His axe slipped from his grasp, clattering to the dirt as he fell, writhing in agony. The fire consumed him rapidly, his screams slicing through the night like blades of sound.

Kalimo clutched his ears, but nothing could drown out the wails of a man being burned alive. Those cries, the sheer suffering in them, would never leave him. Mavi lay motionless. Tyrn towered over her, his crazed eyes gleaming with an unsettling light.

Ascar, still gripping his club, hesitated for only a moment before letting out his own battle cry. He raised his weapon high and brought it down hard onto Novun’s burning, writhing form. The thuds of impact mixed with the crackling of flames, as if Ascar had lost himself in the same madness that consumed his leader. Kalimo couldn’t believe what he was witnessing. He wanted to run, to fight, to scream, but his body refused to move. Tyrn turned toward him now, stepping forward with slow, deliberate strides.

And then.. Everything went black.

The last thing Kalimo remembered was the looming figure of Tyrn, closing in fast. Then, silence. For a long while, there was nothing. But slowly, consciousness returned, trickling in like water seeping through cracks in stone. Kalimo stirred, blinking against the haze clouding his mind. His head throbbed, his limbs felt like lead. When his vision finally cleared, he wished it hadn’t. Smoke curled over the charred remains of Novun’s corpse. Mavi, Tyrn, and Ascar were gone. And as for the city, there was almost nothing left.

Kalimo tried to process the impossible. The world around him had shrunk, literally. What was left of the city barely stretched over a kilometer in diameter, a fraction of what it once was, of life, but now it felt frail, hesitant, as if even they were unsure if they had the strength to continue. He clutched his arms, the overwhelming sense of isolation wrapping around him like a suffocating blanket. This was it. This was the end.

The darkness had drawn close, surrounding what little remained of his home. It no longer seemed like an unthinking force, merely consuming as it advanced. No, now it felt alive, watchful, waiting. It was not in a rush. The terror that had swallowed everything was taking its time, as if savoring these final moments, as if it knew that resistance had already crumbled. Kalimo’s breath came shallow, his chest tightening. He wanted to run, to do something, anything, but where? Where could he possibly go when all roads led to nothing? His feet moved before he even made the decision, guiding him toward the only place left that still stood. The Bastion of the Magi.

The ruins of his city were unrecognizable. Buildings were reduced to rubble, streets were nothing but broken stone. The eerie silence amplified every step he took, making it feel like the world itself was holding its breath. And then, like a god’s fury striking the heavens, a thunderous explosion shattered the quiet. A beam of blinding energy erupted from the direction of the watchtower, a pillar of raw magic cutting through the darkness, splitting it apart. Kalimo threw up his arms, shielding his eyes from the impossible radiance. For a moment, hope flickered within him. They had done it. The Magi had unleashed their ultimate weapon. They were fighting back.

But then the light faded. It did not shatter the darkness. It did not push it back. It was swallowed whole. The energy simply vanished into the abyss, as if it had never been. And for the first time, the darkness moved. It stirred, it rippled, it breathed. It had been struck, and now, it was fully awake. A deep, rumbling vibration filled the air, resonating through the very ground beneath his feet. Kalimo had never heard a sound like it before, something both vast and empty, something that did not belong to the world he knew. The Magi had failed, and in doing so, they had angered whatever force lay beyond the void.

At the edge of his vision, he saw figures, small and frantic, scrambling in the wake of the failed attack. The last of the Ssar’Tis, the remnants of his people, throwing themselves into battle with reckless desperation. Fireballs streaked through the air, lightning crackled against the ground. Warriors charged forward, wielding weapons infused with magic, screaming in defiance. And yet, it was meaningless. The darkness surged forward like a tidal wave, washing over them, swallowing them in an instant. Kalimo stood frozen, his mind unable to process what he was seeing. It was not a fight. It was not even a slaughter. It was complete and utter erasure.

His legs buckled, and he fell to his knees. There was nothing left to do, nowhere left to go. The last lights of his people flickered and died, one by one, as the darkness advanced toward him. It was almost gentle in the way it moved, creeping closer like a slow tide. Kalimo exhaled shakily. No more fighting. No more running. This was it. His fingers twitched as he reached out, as if to grasp something unseen. And then, he saw it. A single Flumin, drifting down through the air, as if it had been waiting just for him.

It was small, delicate, its glow softer than any he had seen before. It pulsed gently, like a heartbeat, as it descended toward him. Kalimo’s breath caught in his throat. He raised his hands, cradling the tiny sphere of light as it settled against his palm. It was warm. Not hot, not burning, just warm, like a gentle touch. He held it close to his chest, gripping it as if it was the only thing left that was real. The darkness hesitated. It stopped advancing, circling around him in a wide, patient arc. It did not consume him, not yet. It was waiting, watching.

The Flumin continued to pulse, and with each beat, Kalimo felt something stir inside him. The fear was still there, the sorrow, the helplessness. But beneath it, there was something else. Something older, something deeper. A truth that had always been there, hidden beneath the noise of life. He closed his eyes, focusing on the warmth in his hands, the warmth spreading through his chest. His body relaxed. His breath steadied. The horror that had once paralyzed him lost its grip. It did not matter if this was the end. Life had no true opposite. The cycle would continue. He understood now.

A shape emerged from the darkness, a figure stretching its hand toward him. Its arm was long, thin, its fingers resembling the twisted branches of an ancient tree. The darkness did not tremble, did not roar. It simply waited. An invitation, not a command. Kalimo’s eyes reflected the light of the Flumin one last time. He took a deep breath and reached forward. His fingers brushed against the outstretched hand, and then, at last, he let go.

Somewhere… Somehow… Fifteen billion years later.

“Excuse me, young man. Is this seat taken?” Karl looked up from his thoughts and turned to the old man who had suddenly appeared beside him. He was thin, his face lined with deep wrinkles, yet his sharp eyes gleamed with an unusual brightness. Karl studied him for a moment, then shrugged. “Go ahead, it’s not my bench.” The old man smiled warmly and settled onto the seat next to him. A few minutes passed in silence as they both gazed at the small pond before them. The water was calm, dotted with floating lilies that swayed gently in the afternoon breeze. Somewhere in the distance, a frog let out a deep croak. Karl felt the warmth of the sun against his skin, the kind of warmth that made him drowsy, that made time seem to slow.

“May I ask you something?” the old man finally spoke, his voice smooth yet filled with an undeniable weight of years. Karl hesitated for a fraction of a second. He wasn’t in the mood for conversation, but there was something oddly familiar about this man. “Sure, go ahead.” The old man leaned back slightly, folding his hands in his lap. “Have you ever noticed how some people make you uneasy the moment they sit beside you? As if they are silently reaching for something within you, even if they never say a word. And then, there are others, those whose presence alone makes you feel at ease, like an old friend you’ve somehow known forever.”

Karl blinked. It was such a strange thing to bring up, yet it made perfect sense. He nodded slowly. “Yeah… I think I know what you mean. I’ve felt that before. A lot, actually.” The old man chuckled, his amusement warm but knowing. “And which one do you think you are?” Karl smirked. “Hopefully not the first.” “Good,” the old man said, nodding as if he had just confirmed something important. “You are the second kind, my boy.” There was something about the way he said it, something that sent a shiver down Karl’s spine, but not in a bad way. It was as if the words carried an unspoken truth, something Karl couldn’t quite grasp. He found himself relaxing despite himself, his usual wariness melting away.

“You come here often?” Karl asked after a moment. “Feels like I’ve seen you before.” The old man nodded, his gaze still fixed on the pond. “Yes, I find this place… soothing. There’s a kind of peace here that no medicine can replicate.” Karl exhaled, tapping his fingers lightly against his knee. “Yeah, I get that. I come here all the time too, but I can’t really explain why. Something about this place just feels right.” The old man turned to him then, his eyes twinkling. “Some places have memories, even if we don’t remember them ourselves. Some say it’s because we’ve been there before, in another time, another life. Do you believe in things like that?”

“Oh, not really..”, he started, but before he could finish the sentence, another voice cut in. “Not really?” Karl turned to see Nadine, his girlfriend, approaching with a playful smirk. He let out a chuckle, scratching the back of his head. “Well, speak of the devil.”

Karl turned back to Nadine. “You took your time.” She rolled her eyes. “Traffic. Some idiot stalled his car right in the middle of the road.” Karl smirked. “Maybe it was fate, keeping you from interrupting my deep conversation with a wise man.” The man grinned and rose to his feet. “Call me Derek,” he said, his smile never wavering. “Perhaps we will meet again..” Karl nodded. Nadine laughed, nudging her boyfriend playfully. “Come on, let’s get something to eat. I’m starving.” Karl glanced one last time at Derek, as they walked away. The man just stood there and watched the couple leave - His arms crossed before his waist. Karl felt like something significant had just happened, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on what.