Chapter 142
Time crawled slowly, eighteen seconds that felt like eighteen seasons passing, filled only by the whisper of the wind singing a lonely song between the trees.
In her petrified stillness, all of Theo's philosophical questions and declarations of freedom were stirred, kneaded, and filtered within the darkest corner of her inner world.
Then, without a single echo, without even one audible breath, her body—once frozen like a sculpture of ice—began to move.
Not through any rough or hurried motion, but through a transition that bordered on the mystical.
Her sturdy feet lifted from the ground with an unnatural smoothness, as if guided by invisible hands of the wind.
Her next steps were not impacts but soft touches, like the delicate brush of a feather kissing the earth, leaving behind no sound nor trace.
She walked forward, away from Theo for the second time, yet now with a new kind of silence entirely.
Her movement was a silent poem, a body-language that conveyed more than thousands of spoken words.
She did not turn, nor offer a gesture of farewell, as if she no longer belonged to a world capable of producing sound.
'Better to wait, and when the time comes, I'll prepare this stage for her alone—Aldraya Kansh Que.'
With eyes sharp and probing, Theo watched Aldraya's silent steps until her figure grew smaller, merging with the shadows of the night, and finally vanished entirely.
Her departure was like mist swept away by the wind, leaving no trace except the lingering impression carved deep within Theo's mind.
The silence that followed felt so dense, as though the world itself held its breath to honor that moment of parting.
The night air, biting and merciless, finally reminded Theo of the cold creeping into his body.
With a slow, contemplative motion, he zipped up his black sweater to his neck, as if trying to shield himself not only from the weather, but from the ache left behind by Aldraya.
A short breath slipped from his nose, releasing a puff of white vapor that merged with the mist, carrying away the burden of thoughts and tension that had weighed down their conversation.
Then, with resolve crystallizing in silence, Theo began to move.
His body, once frozen in contemplation, decided to follow the woman's trail.
He stepped carefully, striving to make as little noise as possible, like a shadow faithfully following its master.
Each step was measured, light yet sure, tracing the same path Aldraya had taken.
He knew this was the woman's path home—a journey back to her sacred homeland, a reunion with the Almighty after so long lamenting sins and memories of her past.
First arc, early episode nine.
'Keep walking.'
The night breeze drifted softly over the frozen earth, gently sweeping away the traces that should have remained from her steps.
Each time her soles kissed the ground, it was like a feather touching the surface of water, leaving only an impression without a mark—an embodiment of presence within absence.
Her upright silhouette slowly shrank behind a curtain of mist, moving with a steady rhythm untouched by worldly gravity.
In the distance, the trees bowed in quiet reverence to her passage, forming a natural corridor filled with the whispered secrets of the night.
Her slightly curved back, perfect like a crescent moon, became the only remaining sight for the watching eyes—a silent bastion containing unspoken storms of thought.
Each breath she exhaled merged with dew glittering under the starlight, creating a shroud of mystery around her.
The fabric draped over her body fluttered gently with the wind, like wings of darkness carrying her between reality and dream.
Her steady yet tender steps portrayed a determination born from the deepest contemplation, a decision that no longer sought confirmation from the outside.
Behind each movement that seemed simple lay layers of complex thoughts, like an ocean whose surface remained calm while its depths roared.
The events that had just occurred crystallized within her awareness, forming new patterns in how she perceived the reality she had walked upon.
Every centimeter she traveled became a process of merging old knowledge with new paradigms she had just received, a quiet transformation unfolding within the most private space of her soul.
And when her silhouette finally blended completely into the darkness, what remained was an echo of silence more expressive than a thousand spoken words.
Night returned to shroud everything with its dense mantle, guarding the secrets of a woman who chose to write her destiny with invisible ink.
'Too quiet, far too comfortable.'
She continued walking in a silence so thick it seemed the air itself froze around her.
Each breath was held deep within her lungs, becoming a meditation that made time itself flinch.
Her lips were sealed tight like a rusted iron gate, refusing any possibility of uttering a single word.
Even the faintest hiss of breath felt to her like an intrusion upon the sacredness of the moment—an offense against the purity of silence she embraced with full awareness.
Her steps flowed like an underground river moving through eternal darkness, unheard yet filled with power.
Each movement of her feet was a sentence in a poem without letters, each swing of her arms a declaration without sound.
The night mist wrapped around her body like a gentle embrace, becoming the only witness to the intensity of her inner journey.
Within her petrified quietude, the entire universe seemed to speak more loudly, delivering messages through rustling leaves and the whisper of the wind.
Her eyes stared straight ahead, piercing through darkness and fog as though she could see what was invisible to others.
Within that trembling stillness, the greatest conversation unfolded—between her soul and destiny, between a past that shackled her and a future still shrouded in haze.
Every cell in her body became a resonator for cosmic vibrations heard only in perfect silence, a symphony without notes that reshaped her consciousness.
And she kept walking, becoming part of the living night, like a spirit merged with the elements of darkness.
Her departure left behind an emptiness more meaningful than presence—a kind of absence more present than presence itself.
'Perhaps this is how it should be.'
The biting cold continued to lash mercilessly at her, freezing her breath into crystals of ice with every short exhale.
Each breath formed delicate shards that were immediately swept away by the night wind, like tiny ghosts born and extinguished in an instant.
Her pale skin grew red under the icy air, yet she offered herself no warmth—accepting every discomfort as part of her soul's purification.
Her feet moved with machine-like precision, rhythmic and measured, carving the most efficient motion across the frozen earth.
Every muscle worked in perfect harmony; no energy wasted on unnecessary gestures.
Her body moved like an arrow launched toward its target, cutting cleanly through fog and deepening darkness.
Even the thin snowfall drifting down could not disturb her concentration—the white flakes melted softly on her shoulders before disappearing without a trace.
Within each silent step lay a steel resolve forged in the deepest quiet.
Every non-existent footprint became a testament to her unyielding will to move forward without leaving behind remnants of her past.
To be continued…