Chapter 7 — The Final Nights (Complete Version)
Two years had passed since that night.
Arya was twelve now.
The same old cabin… the same forest…
But everything felt heavier.
Like a weight that pressed harder on her shoulders every single day.
Donati…
Ah, Donati.
More worn than ever,
Gray strands in his hair,
Eyes filled with old memories.
That night,
Arya sat by the fire,
Turning the fang necklace Donati had brought her two years ago, between her fingers.
The door opened.
Donati, with wounded hands and red eyes.
He smiled.
"Still awake?"
Arya replied:
"You promised you wouldn't come back hurt again…"
Donati laughed.
"Promise? Me?
This world, kid… it's no place for promises."
He sat down silently,
Staring into the fire.
"You know…
There's always been something… following me since I was young."
His eyes locked on the flames.
"They called it fate…
But I say it's some cursed thing…
Nameless…
Faceless…"
Arya asked:
"What is it?"
Donati said:
"Something that steals away everyone I care about…
And keeps me alive…"
Arya's throat tightened.
Somewhere farther…
In the heart of the shadows,
Erik
Cloaked in dark,
A silent sword at his side,
Ran his hand along the weeping willow's bark.
The tree's skin cracked.
A faint glow.
Erik quietly said:
"Donati… my dear old friend…
You never realized…
We've been prisoners of that same cursed thing you called fate."
He fell silent for a moment…
Then slowly turned toward the reader.
Toward you.
Toward us.
Toward the world beyond this story.
"You see it too, don't you?
Strange…
You and I…
Two worlds apart…
But you understand what I mean.
You, who've been following this all along…
Maybe it's time you knew…
One day… my turn will come too."
A bitter smile.
His gaze returned to Donati.
"I'll see you… my beloved friend."
Quietly, he stepped back…
Merging into the shadows.
Back in the cabin…
Donati stood up.
"I can't sleep…
I'll go for a walk…
And if I don't come back…
Remember…"
His words faded.
A small smile.
He left.
His footsteps vanished into the darkness.
Arya sat alone.
The weeping willow…
Its branches shivered.
A dim light.
A voiceless whisper.
"It was always… a sign…"
Arya shivered.
She didn't know where it came from.
From the tree…
From the wind…
Or from her own heart.
That night…
Was the last.
But no one…
Ever…
Called it fate.