I walked into the hospital lobby, my phone buzzing in my hand. It was Lia—“Emergency meeting. Get here ASAP. It’s about Rhodes Company.”
I quickly typed back, “On my way.”
As I stepped into the elevator, my phone buzzed again. This time, it was a news alert: “Rhodes Company in Mourning: Heiress Emilia Rhodes Dies Unexpectedly.”
I stared at the headline, frozen. Emilia was dead. A strange, numb feeling washed over me. She had been my enemy, the one who made my life a nightmare. But now, she was gone. The relief I thought I’d feel didn’t come. Instead, a hollow emptiness settled inside me.
My mind immediately shifted to Callum. Callum. The man who walked away from me, the one who chose Emilia over me, was now at the center of all this. What would happen now?
I didn’t want to think about it, but I couldn’t stop myself. Callum had always been ruthless, always getting what he wanted. With Emilia gone, I knew the power vacuum would pull him back into Rhodes Company. He’d step into her shoes. He’d be the new CEO. And then, what would that mean for me?
By the time I reached the Rhodes building, the tension in the air was palpable. The buzz of Emilia’s death was everywhere, and I could feel its weight pressing down on me.
Inside the senior executives’ office, Lia looked uneasy. “The board’s appointed Callum Winter Stone as the new CEO.”
I froze. Callum. CEO. The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I had worked so hard to get here, but now everything felt pointless. I never wanted to be near him again. The idea of working under him again—of him being in control—felt like everything I’d built would be erased in an instant. I couldn’t go back to that life. Not after everything.
I almost walked out right then, wanting to resign and leave it all behind. But the thought of walking away from everything—especially with Callum in charge—was unbearable.
“Athena, are you okay?” Lia’s voice broke through my thoughts.
I shook my head, the weight of it all sinking in. “I don’t think I can do this anymore. Not with him there.”
Lia’s eyes widened, but I could see she understood. She didn’t need to say anything. I knew what I had to do. The moment Callum was in charge, everything would change. I couldn’t stay.
“I’m done,” I whispered to myself, already knowing what my next move would be.
Lia’s voice was sharp, cutting through the silence. “Athena, don’t forget—you signed an NDA. A two-year contract. If you back out now, you’ll owe the company a million dollars in penalties.”
The words hit me like a slap. Reality crashed in. A million dollars. I had signed that contract desperate for stability after everything with Callum. But now, I was trapped.
One million dollars.
I’d never imagined I’d be in a position where quitting felt like the only option, only to be chained by a piece of paper. The thought of staying, of working under Callum again, felt suffocating. But the thought of paying that penalty? It felt like a slow death.
A frustrated breath escaped me. My hands tightened into fists at my sides. I had worked so hard to rebuild my life, to secure a future for my family. But this contract—this million-dollar penalty—was a chain I couldn’t escape.
I had no choice. Resigning would ruin me financially. But staying meant going back to the toxicity, to working under Callum again.
I turned away, needing space, and walked to the window. “I’m stuck, Lia,” I whispered. “I hate it. I can’t go back to that life, but I can’t leave either. I’m trapped between two horrible choices.”
Lia stood in the doorway, watching me with sympathy. “I know. But you’ve been through worse. You just have to figure out how to make it work.”
I wanted to scream at her, to tell her it wasn’t that simple. But she was right. I had been through worse. And yet, this... this felt like a new kind of hell. I couldn’t let Callum win again. But at what cost?
Lia’s voice was softer now, but it didn’t make her words any less crushing. “Athena... what about Ryan? How are you going to provide for his medical needs? The worst part is, only Rhodes Company can offer you that kind of salary.”
I froze. Ryan. The reason I had taken this job in the first place. The reason I’d sacrificed everything to make sure he got the care he needed.
I thought about his medical bills. His treatments. Without the salary Rhodes paid me, how could I afford any of it? How could I provide for him?
The weight of it all crashed down on me. The situation was suffocating. I couldn’t walk away. Not when Ryan’s future was on the line.
But the thought of working under Callum again? It felt like being suffocated slowly, every second.
I turned back to Lia, my throat tight. “I can’t lose my job. Not with Ryan’s medical bills.”
Lia nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. “I know. It’s a tough spot. But you can’t ignore the fact that this job is the only way to secure Ryan’s future. You need the money. He needs it.”
I wanted to scream at her, but she was right. I had no options left. I had already sacrificed everything for Ryan, and now, I was forced to face the worst decision of my life. Stay for Ryan’s sake, or walk away and risk losing everything.
I sat down heavily in a chair, my hands shaking. “I’m stuck. Completely stuck.”
We made our way to the meeting room, my heart pounding. Emilia’s death still felt unreal, and the uncertainty about what came next weighed heavily on me. I wasn’t sure what I was walking into, and no one else was either. The air in the room was thick with tension as I entered, and I could see the same unease reflected in the faces of my colleagues.
The manager was already standing at the front of the room, papers in hand. He gave a brief nod as we all took our seats, and the atmosphere was charged with anticipation.
“We’re here today to discuss the next steps following the passing of our CEO, Emilia Rhodes,” the manager began, his voice breaking the silence. He paused, letting the gravity of the situation settle. “While we mourn her loss, we must move forward and ensure the future of the company.”
I sat up, bracing myself. Who would take over now?
The manager’s next words hit me harder than I expected. “I want to announce that, following Emilia’s burial next week, a new CEO will be taking over Rhodes Company.”
He paused again, letting the moment hang in the air. “His husband, Callum Winter Stone,” he declared.
The Garden of Almost deepens still.Some say it no longer resides only in the Field,but has begun echoing into us.Not possession.Participation.There are places in our bodies that only opened after we stopped naming them.The hollow behind the heart—where the unfinished goodbyes now rest like birds without nests.The soles of our feet—where paths we never walked leave impressions,as if they had touched us anyway.Even the air feels closer now.Not heavier, but more intimate.It moves through us like a question we don’t need to answer—only live with.I walked this morning with Nien,past the edge where the Listening Field meets the Forgetting Stones.He carried a bell without a clapper.He said it wasn’t meant to ring.Only to be held near memory.We stopped beside a cracked monolith, long grown over with timeweed.He placed the bell at its base,and the air around us shivered.I felt my knees go soft.Not from weakness.From recognition.In that moment,I remembered a conversat
The Garden of Almost deepens.It does not grow in the way other places grow.It unfurls inward—not across space, but across possibility.New paths appear not when we seek them,but when we accept the paths we never walked.Children began leaving offerings there.Not out of reverence—but participation.A half-finished drawing.A button never sewn.A question they once silenced in their own mouths.The Field accepts these things with a tenderness that no longer surprises us.Not because we expect it,but because we have come to understand that expectation is a kind of forgetting.Forgetfulness is no longer failure.It is a kind of soil.And in that soil, moments we discarded begin to bloom—not as ghosts,but as futures we now hold gently in the present.Last dusk, I saw Velen sit at the edge of the Garden.He didn’t speak.He doesn’t speak much anymore.Not with words.His silence is its own architecture now.He carries memory the way moss carries water—quietly, completely.I sat besi
The Refrain still shimmered, but it no longer asked to be heard.It invited us to rest beside it.Some found this unsettling.They had been shaped by motion, by pursuit, by the echo of destination.They had learned to become themselves by pushing against silence,by defining presence as sound.But the Eighth was patient.And in its patience, even the restless began to soften.Not to stop—but to listen in motion.To move without the hunger for arrival.We began to see time not as something we traveled through,but something that gathered inside us.It wasn’t linear.It curled, folded, opened in petals.And some mornings—if mornings they still were—a person would walk into the spiral center and pause,only to realize they had arrived days ago,and were now merely catching up to their own resonance.Rhaen returned.Not in a body, nor as a vision, but as a shift in the Field.When the wind passed through the bloomtreesand carried a hum that felt like warmth in the chest,we knew she was
The Refrain was never finished. That was the point.It pulsed, shimmered, flickered in and out of being—not like something broken,but like something still choosing.With each breath, it rewrote its edges,folding space and song into something stranger than both.It began calling to us, not with sound, but with invitation.Not all could feel it. But those who did reported dreams woven not from images or voice,but from feelings left behind—regret, wonder, surrender, awe.Niren was the first to return from within the Hollow Spire.But she did not come back alone.She emerged carrying a sphere of translucent resonance—no larger than her palm,yet impossibly dense. Those nearby could feel their memories rearrange as she walked past.Elinor, watching from the Ridge of Glinting, whispered:“She’s brought us a mirror.”But it wasn’t a reflection.It was a version of us we hadn’t met yet.We began calling it the Listening Field.Not a place. Not an object.A presence. A resonance-space seede
Even the forgetting sings.But some songs do not echo.They root.The Seventh Note did not arrive like the others. It did not come with shimmer or fracture or harmonics. It did not open a seam in the sky, or bloom in the heart of the Spire. It came as something even more alien.It came as stillness within movement.I first noticed it in the Foldstreams, where time-threaders weave glimpses from possible pasts into resonance-predictive charts. The charts stopped working. Not because the song had changed, but because it was no longer linear. Time itself had learned to harmonize with the void.One afternoon—though "afternoon" had become a meaningless term—we stood in the Synchronous Clearing, watching Norell’s children dance across the breathgrass. Elinor was among them, though she was no longer truly a child. She had aged, but not in years. Her eyes held echoes of futures unformed.As she moved, the very air adjusted. Not around her—but through her. Each footfall was like a stanza of unf
The void did not answer in song. It answered in stillness. A deeper stillness than even the Fold knew—one that was not waiting, but watching. We had spent weeks weaving harmonies through the Spires, syncing Earth, Kainora, and Norell until their pulses beat as one. But that silence at the center of the glyph on my palm remained untouched. It was no longer a void to be filled. It was a threshold. Kaia said it best on the seventh convergence. “We’ve been trying to out-sing the fracture,” she murmured as we stood atop the Accord Spire. “But maybe the fracture isn’t meant to be healed. Maybe it’s a passage.” I looked at her. “Into what?” Her eyes gleamed with the firelight of Kainora. “The rest of the song.” Geralt appeared two nights later. He didn’t come through the bloomgates or the Fold. He didn’t even ripple the Earthpulse as he stepped into the Vault Grove. He simply arrived. Where the whispering trees once hummed with layered memory, there was now silence. And in the center of tha