PROLOGUE

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PROLOGUE

The sky never changes.

It stretches endlessly above him, vast and unyielding, like a story with no ending, like a fate already written. No matter how many years pass, how many seasons come and go, the sky remains the same—untouched, unmoved. Just like him.

But something is different now.

He stands beneath that familiar, stagnant sky, staring at a world that should feel the same. But it doesn't. The air is thinner, the silence heavier. The weight in his chest—a constant companion for years—has shifted into something deeper, something hollow.

He is still here.

That should be enough. That should be the victory.

But when he closes his eyes, he swears he can still hear laughter carried in the wind, feel warmth in a place that has long since turned cold. A voice, soft and certain, whispering wishes into the night.

And when he looks up, for the first time in forever, he wonders if the sky has changed after all.

Or if the world is simply emptier without her beneath it.

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