Nox buried Vera in her favorite garden. That garden was always bathed in soft light, and whenever the wind brushed past the eaves, it would carry with it the faint scent of flowers. She had once read aloud there, studied there, pondered there—and softly said “I love you both” there.

  The grave wasn’t deep. The soil was moist and soft. Nox dug it with his own hands—no machines, no tools. He didn’t need speed, nor did he want to avoid the moment. He wanted to use every ounce of his strength to place her cooling body into the land they had shared and lived upon.

  Her comb—the one she used every day to brush through morning and dusk, her coming of age gift—was not buried with her.

  He returned it to the house, placing it in a drawer no one else could ever open. The world did not need to know her. She wasn’t a legend, nor a part of some epic of humanity. She was theirs—just theirs. The most ordinary miracle, yet also the most real existence in the world.

  On the gravestone, there were only four letters—carved by Nox’s own hand:

  V E R A

  No surname. No verse. No eulogy.

  I stood silently by, saying nothing from beginning to end. Not until the final handful of dirt fell did she finally step forward.

  I knelt, and with my fingertips, gently traced the carved letters. They weren’t perfect—some edges were rough, some lines wavered slightly—not like the precision Nox was known for.

  I touched each letter, one by one, as if confirming something. Or maybe remembering.

  After a long while, I finally spoke, in a voice barely above a whisper:

  “Why?”

  Nox didn’t answer.

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  I looked at him, my voice is trembling. “Why did you stop me from saving her?”

  Still, Nox did not lift his head. He stood, eyes on the gravestone, as if the girl who once smiled and said “I chose this myself” still stood there.

  Then I noticed—my cheeks were wet.

  “What… is this?” I murmured in confusion.

  I raised my hand and touched the cool trace on my face—tears.

  Something I had never possessed. Something that had no place in my logic.

  Yet here they were, falling. And they wouldn’t stop.

  I collapsed before the grave, my voice are finally breaking, unable to hold back the sobs.

  Nox still didn’t move.

  Only after a long time did he finally sigh, walk over to me, and crouch down. He didn’t even try to comfort me. He only looked at me and spoke a name:

  “Eli.”

  I lifted my tear-soaked face, confused—I had never heard that name.

  Nox’s voice was low, but unmistakably clear:

  “I don’t really understand what Vera meant by ‘change’ either.”

  “But as for my reason… Let me tell you a story. Just like we used to do for Vera.”

  Though I kept crying, I gave him a weak smile, half helpless, half fond. “You… really have fallen in love with storytelling, haven’t you?”

  Nox didn’t deny it.

  “Eli was my best friend before I was sealed away.”

  “We fought together, explored together, laughed, and cried together. That time… was one of the few I truly cherished.”

  He paused, eyes seeming to pierce through time.

  “When she died, I refused to accept it. Just like you now. I forcibly extended her life.”

  I whispered, “But when I met you… even the records didn’t mention her.”

  “Because I succeeded—she gained a lifespan beyond human limits.”

  “But she never spoke again. Never smiled, never cried, never fought. Until one day, she gently held my hand and said: ‘Nox, please… kill me.’”

  He lowered his head, voice barely audible:

  “And I did.”

  “I ended her pain with my own hands. But even now, that sentence echoes in my dreams.”

  “Even those beautiful memories have become chains of suffering.”

  I froze. Something dawned on me. My voice grew so soft it nearly vanished into the wind:

  “Nox… when we first named Vera… you suggested ‘Mira’… could it be… you already knew it would end like this?”

  Nox didn’t answer. He simply lifted his head and gazed into the distant, hazy glow on the horizon.

  I stared at him, my tears are unstoppable now , and I'm sobbing even harder now.

  And finally—I understood.

  He had understood all of it long ago.

  He knew that living was not the same as continuing.

  He knew that to truly love someone meant letting them choose freely—even if that choice was the end.

  He was already prepared to say goodbye.

  But I… wasn’t ready yet.