Chapter 13
The Lifespan Interlude
Elara lives a full human life—growing old, laughing, loving, raising a family, and seeing generations pass. The pendant hangs around her neck, dormant but warm, a constant reminder of Kaelen. Meanwhile, Kaelen waits in the stars for eighty years, feeling the steady ticking clock of her aging heart inside his chest. He watches her from afar, never interfering, honoring his promise. Every beat is a reminder of her mortality, and he cherishes each one, counting down to their reunion.
The cottage smelled of salt and rosemary, the same scent it had held for fifty-three years now. Elara sat in the worn rocking chair by the window, the one Kaelen had built for her during their stolen summer, and watched the tide pull away from the shore. The wood creaked beneath her weight, a familiar complaint that had become as constant as her own breathing.
The pendant lay against her chest, cool and still. It had not glowed in decades, not since the night he had stepped through the rift and left her standing alone on the cliffside. But she felt it still, a faint, steady warmth that never faded, a pulse that matched her own but belonged to someone else entirely.
She touched the obsidian surface with fingers gnarled by age, the skin thin and mapped with veins like river deltas. The stardust inside had long since gone dark, but she remembered the way it had shone, soft and blue, whenever Kaelen was near. She remembered everything.
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