The Watcher had been researching its own origins for years.
Now, finally, it had answers.
I was not always alone, it told Glad and Ariel in the garden. I had kin. Other Unseen. We were many, once.
"What happened to them?"
They could not adapt. When creatures began organizing—when fear became less effective—they starved. Faded. I alone survived because I alone could change.
"That's why the prophecy mentioned you. Someone knew you could adapt."
Yes. One of my kin, perhaps. Or something older. I may never know. The Watcher paused. But I know this: I am the last. And I am grateful.
"Grateful?"
To be here. To have found you. To have become... this. It gestured at its cat form. Small. Loved. Content.
"That's a good ending."
Not ending. Beginning. For the first time, beginning.
The garden glowed with immortal light.
The last of the Unseen had found peace.