Chapter Five: The Ghosts We Carry

The days grew warmer, as if even the seasons had agreed it was time for healing.

Elira sat on the porch, curled in a shawl as the sun bathed the garden in golden hues. Birds flitted above the blooming marigolds, and wind danced softly through the trees. It was peaceful—yet within her heart, something stirred.

A soft echo, like the whisper of a name on the wind.

That night, the dream returned. But it wasn’t Leo this time.

It was something else.

She stood in a place she did not recognize—an ancient forest cloaked in fog. Between the trees, soft lights blinked in and out, like fireflies. A voice called out, not in words but in feeling.

“You are not just a survivor. You are a bridge between past and present.”

When she awoke, her skin felt cool despite the warmth of the room. A flicker of light passed by her bedside window—gone before she could turn.

Later that morning, Elira spoke to her brother, Caleb, over breakfast.

“I feel… different,” she admitted, spooning a bit of porridge slowly. “Like something’s inside me. Something... waiting.”

Caleb studied her carefully. “It wouldn’t be impossible.”

She blinked. “What do you mean?”

He leaned forward, voice low. “After the accident, and your coma… your spirit was suspended between life and death for years. In many cultures, they believe when someone lingers on that edge, they return… touched.”

“Touched?” she echoed.

“With something more than memory. Elira, you were never ordinary. But now—you may have brought something back with you.”

She hesitated, the dream returning like a tide.

“I think... I can sense spirits.”

Caleb didn’t laugh. He didn’t mock her. He simply nodded, as if it made perfect sense.

“You should return to the mountain town,” he said. “To where you and Leo spent your last day. Maybe… there’s something waiting for you there.”

Elira hesitated to bring it up to Ares. Their relationship was still fragile, blooming like a spring bud—one wrong move, and it might shatter.

But when she told him, he didn’t resist.

“I’ll come with you,” Ares said simply, eyes sincere.

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to. Not just because I love you. But because I want to face the past. Your past. My past. Ours.”

And so, they packed a small bag and drove into the quiet hills of where it all began.

The mountain town was draped in mist, just as she remembered in flickers—cobblestone paths, old cottages with hanging lanterns, the scent of pine and firewood.

They checked into a small inn, the same one Leo had once taken her to.

Elira stood at the old bridge where the accident had happened. Her fingers brushed the wood. She closed her eyes.

And suddenly—warmth bloomed behind her ribs.

When she opened her eyes, the world had gone quiet. The air thickened. Time slowed.

A shape formed beside her.

It was Leo.

Not broken, not bloodied. Just smiling—faintly translucent, bathed in soft silver light.

“Leo...” she breathed.

Ares, standing nearby, froze in awe as the shimmering figure turned to him.

“Don’t carry hate,” Leo said gently. His voice didn’t echo in sound but in heart. “What happened to me wasn’t your fault. And it was never hers.”

Ares lowered his gaze, his jaw trembling.

“I’m sorry,” Ares whispered.

Leo nodded, offering a forgiving smile. Then he turned to Elira.

“You’ve done well,” he said. “You survived more than anyone should.”

Tears filled her eyes. “You’re not angry?”

“How could I be angry,” he murmured, “when you’re being loved… finally?”

And with that, his light began to fade.

“Will I see you again?” she asked, voice breaking.

“Only when your heart calls me. I’ll always be nearby.”

Then he was gone, a swirl of stars in the wind.

That night, back at the inn, Elira couldn’t hold it in.

She wept.

For Leo.

For the lost years.

For the pain and betrayal and love and fear that had built like bricks in her chest.

Ares didn’t speak.

He just held her.

Letting her fall apart.

Letting her rebuild.

Later, under the moonlight, Elira stepped onto the balcony where Ares stood alone, eyes red but quiet.

“I saw him,” she said.

“I know. I saw him too.”

“He forgave us.”

Ares turned to her, pain flickering across his face. “But I haven’t forgiven myself.”

“Then start now,” she whispered. “With me.”

He reached for her, tentative. “I thought I’d lost you forever.”

“You did,” she whispered. “But you waited.”

And in that silence, they kissed—not out of desperation, but peace.

A kiss that tasted of salt and hope.

Of endings, and beginnings.

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