Golden Melody (Editing)

Chapter 127

Chapter 127

Miexha's Dreamworld

The flowers were gone, the earth wet and drained of color. No bunnies. No laughter. Just a wind that sounded like heavy, labored breathing. Miexha called out, her voice fragile as glass.

"Xefariel? Where did everyone go?"

Her voice cracked.

Only the echo replied, a hollow mimicry that mocked her.

She sank onto the wet grass, hugging her knees.

The dew didn't just touch her dress; it soaked through, chilling her skin until she was shivering.

"Why am I alone again?" she whispered to the gray.

Then—a voice. Soft. Low. Not human.

"Because, little one... You will always end up alone."

Miexha froze. The words slithered through the mist, crawling beneath her skin.

"Everyone you love," the voice continued, "will fade before you. One by one. Until only you remain."

The air turned sharp. The field blackened. Shadows spread across the grass like ink in water, forming endless rows of gravestones that shimmered faintly under the gray sky. Hundreds. Thousands. Each one was blank, yet she knew them—the weight of names she hadn't yet lost.

She reached for one of the stones—her hand passed through it like smoke.

"No... please, stop..."

The voice came again, closer now, almost a caress.

"Do you wish to see it, child?"

"W–what?"

"The end. You can see it if you dare."

Fear gripped her, but curiosity, fate's cruel twin, pulled stronger.

"I... I want to see," she whispered, almost choking on the words.

"I want to see if it's true. If they all really die..."

The ground cracked. White light poured upward, swallowing her.

As her form dissolved, she saw a woman standing at the edge of the breaking sky—
long silver hair flowing like liquid moonlight, eyes glowing green like stormfire.

The woman smiled gently.

"Don't be afraid, child. The end..."
Her voice shimmered like chimes.
"...is only the beginning."

And Miexha was gone.

Miexha woke to sunlight spilling through heavy wooden shutters, the air smelling of dried lavender and toasted grain.

It was a small cottage. No humming machines, no cold laboratory glass. Just the creak of wooden floors and the distant, rhythmic song of birds.

Her body felt strangely... light.

The pressure behind her eyes, the weight of the "Dreamworld," was gone. There was only the steady rise and fall of her own breath.

But she wasn't alone. Beneath the heavy quilt, she felt the radiance of another's warmth.

She turned her head.

A man slept beside her.

His hair was darker than she remembered, a deep raven-black, and a faint, silvered scar traced the line of his cheek. But those eyes, when they blinked open, were the same ones as his.