The Gate in the Whisper of the Sea

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The sky lay heavy over the cliffs, a pale blue that only deepened the shadows. The sea below roared, like an endless breath of the earth itself, spraying spray against the rocks. Among the grass on the slope, the glowing white plants stood like silent guardians, their light faint but constant, as if to mark the path no one dared to tread anymore. Avelin stood still among them, her fingers tightly wrapped around the shaft of her bow. Her heart beat faster than the waves. She was used to reading the silence of the forest, the language of the wind, and the rustling in the undergrowth. But this glow here—it was different. It wasn't nature she understood. It was memory wrapped in flower petals. Serel, her companion, was already kneeling beside one of the plants. Her blond hair shone in the light, her long black horns silhouetted against the sky. Carefully, she held her hands over the blossom until the light flowed into her palm and gathered there like a breathing sphere. It looked as if it carried a small sun. "Avelin," she said softly, "don't you hear it?" Avelin shook her head but stepped closer. "I only hear the sea." "No. The sea repeats what was forgotten here." Serel's eyes shimmered as she stared at the light. "Many centuries ago, a gate stood on this spot. Not of stone, but of path and will. Two peoples used it—the children of the night and the wanderers of the day. They never saw each other. The gate ensured that time stood still for some when others left. Until that night when the lines crossed. And the gate disappeared into the sea." Avelin was silent. Her fingers drummed restlessly against the bow. Stories were beautiful, but stories could also be chains. "And what does that have to do with us?" Serel raised her head. "The light here is a key. If we gather enough, we can call back the Gate. But..." She paused, her voice dropping to a whisper, almost lost in the wind. "...the price is memory. Every light demands something from us. A laugh we'll never hear again, a face we'll forget, a name that slips away." Avelin felt her chest tighten. Memories were more than possessions. They were roots. Without them, one could leave, yes—but where would one belong then? The sea thundered, as if to confirm what Serel said. Avelin gazed out into the darkness, which seemed endless, and imagined the Gate. A passage between times, perhaps between worlds. A path both peoples had lost. If it were found again, alliances, knowledge, or perhaps even an entire future could arise. But everything gained came at the cost of what was lost. "Which light will you sacrifice?" Avelin asked finally, almost harshly. Serel closed her fingers around the ball in her hand. "A memory of fear," she said softly. "The night I first walked alone through the Darkwood. I remember the trembling, the sweat, the feeling that every leaf could be an enemy.