Long after the sun dipped below the forest's edge, the clearing still shimmered.
Eira lay beside Solen beneath the Firelight Tree, listening to the quiet thrum of his heartbeat like it was music only she could hear. His fingers were laced with hers, a tether back to now, to safety. To something real.
But even as the stars blinked to life above them, she could feel it—that lingering magic. Not loud or flashy. Something older. Something gentler.
Something she had once been.
Solen sat up slowly, glancing toward the woods. "You feel it too, don't you?"
She nodded, following his gaze. A soft glow pulsed through the trees, golden and pale, like moonlight wrapped in memory. "It's her," Eira whispered. "The version of me I left behind."
Solen looked at her quietly, not with fear, but with wonder. "What do you mean?"
"I think... when I broke—when I thought I had to walk away from you—I left a piece of myself here. The part that still believed in magic. In us. And now she's calling me back."
Solen didn't speak, just reached up to brush a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Then let's go find her."
They rose together and stepped into the trees. The light led them—sometimes flickering, sometimes bright—but always ahead. It curled around trunks, danced across roots, and whispered in the leaves.
Every step closer, Eira's chest tightened—not with fear, but recognition.
The path led them to a grove she hadn't seen in years. Wildflowers bloomed beneath a twisted yew tree, and a ring of mushrooms circled a flat stone in the center. Eira gasped. "This was mine," she said. "My secret glade when I was small. Before everything changed."
Solen turned in slow wonder. "It feels like a memory."
"It is." She stepped forward, her fingertips brushing the edge of the stone. "This is where I first felt magic. Where I first spoke to the forest and thought it spoke back."
A sudden wind stirred the leaves, and the golden light flared—just for a moment—until something shimmered atop the stone.
A journal.
Worn and faded, its leather cover stitched with ivy. Eira's breath caught. "That's mine," she whispered. "I used to write here—dreams, spells, wishes. Things I was too scared to say out loud."
She picked it up with shaking hands. The pages rustled softly as she opened it. And there, in looping childlike script, were the words:
"One day, I'll be brave enough to love out loud."
Tears stung her eyes.
Solen stepped behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. "You were always brave," he said softly.
"No," she said. "I was just pretending. Until I met you."
The journal glowed faintly in her hands, and suddenly, she knew what the magic had been trying to tell her—not just about the past, but the future.
This wasn't about reclaiming who she used to be.
It was about becoming who she was meant to be.
"I think I'm ready," she said, voice trembling.
"For what?" Solen asked.
Eira turned, holding the journal close. "To forgive the pain. To keep the magic. To let myself love fully—even if it hurts."
He kissed her then, not with fire or urgency, but with the gentle reverence of someone who knew her whole soul.
And the forest—silent for so long—sighed in relief.
Later, as they walked back toward the Firelight Tree, the golden light followed them, no longer a guide, but a part of them. A soft glow behind their steps, reminding them that magic wasn't something left behind.
It lived in every choice to love again.
It lived in every word once left unsaid.
It lived in Eira.
Because the magic she left behind was never really gone.
It had just been waiting—for her.