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Years from now, the paladin finally wrote her story.
Mike Wheeler didn’t call it that, though—not out loud. He called it fiction. He called it fantasy. He even let interviewers call it a metaphor. He smiled, nodded, and deflected. He signed books until his wrist ached and his handwriting dissolved into muscle memory.
But he knew it in his heart.
The mage was real.
She’d always be with him. That was what she told him.
And as we already knew, the mage was still gone.
At least, that was what the world believed.
Except the party, of course. Because they needed it to be true.
The novel was a worldwide sensation now. It was being translated into languages Mike couldn’t even begin to get himself to pronounce, shelved in airport bookstores, stacked in windows with gold-lettered praise.
A modern myth. A love letter to loss. A story about choosing to believe.
No one knew her name came from a girl who literally saved the world and disappeared into it.
But the world knew her anyway.
She was remembered.
Forever.
And Mike was supposed to stop holding himself back. It worked for a while, but breathing still felt like something he had to remind himself to do.
Because now—now he felt strangled. Strangled by the quiet. The absence. The way grief didn’t end; it just learned how to sit beside you without screaming all the time.
The signing was supposed to be easy. He’d been doing it for almost a month now. One more city, one more folding table, one more line of people who told him his book changed their life.
He was smiling when it happened.
But he felt it first.
It was the strangest thing—this tug behind his ribs, this soft pressure in his chest, like the world had tilted a single degree off its axis. He stiffened mid-signature. The room faded into noise. Laughter, cameras, the hum of fluorescent lights—all of it dulled.
Because he knew that feeling.
He’d known it since he was twelve years old.
Mike looked up.
And saw her.
She was in line. Disguised, technically. Blonde hair instead of brown. A pink coat too big for her frame.
Anyone else would have missed her completely. Anyone else would have seen a stranger. But Mike Wheeler had known her before she ever learned how to blend in. He had known her when she barely knew herself.
She finally reached the table he was at.
“Hi,” she simply said.
Her voice was softer now. Older. But it still hit him like a punch to the gut.
He didn’t let her finish. Didn’t let her say anything else.
Mike stood so fast his chair scraped loudly against the floor. People gasped. Someone laughed, assuming this was a bit—an author being dramatic. But Mike didn’t care. He rounded the table, gently but urgently took her wrist, and pulled her away from the crowd, past the curtains, into a quiet hallway that smelled like dust and paper.
The moment they were alone, he broke.
He wrapped his arms around her like he was afraid she might dissolve if he didn’t hold her tight enough. Like the world might take her back if he loosened his grip even a fraction.
He buried his face into her shoulder, his breath coming out shaky and wrecked. “El,” he breathed her name like a plea and a promise at the same time.
She melted into him instantly, like this was where she was always meant to end up. Her arms came up around his back, her fingers clutching his jacket, grounding him.
“Yes, Mike… it’s me.”
She smelled like cold air and fresh soap and something familiar he couldn’t name without crying harder. He pulled back just enough to look at her, his hands framing her face, his thumbs brushing under her eyes like he needed to check that she was real. That she was solid. That she was really, truly here.
She just nodded in confirmation.
And that was when he kissed her.
It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t tentative. It was years of waiting and choosing and believing poured into one desperate, anchoring moment. His lips pressed against hers like he’d been holding his breath since the day she vanished—and now he could finally exhale and breathe easily again.
“I never gave up on you,” he said against her mouth, his forehead resting against hers. His voice broke. “Not once. I always chose to believe you were still there. Always.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
She nodded, swallowing hard. “I know,” she whispered. “I felt it.”
They stayed like that for a long moment—their hands tangled, foreheads touching, noses brushing—like the world could wait.
Because, honestly? It should.
Finally, she spoke again. “They’re not looking for me anymore.”
Mike stilled.
“What? Are you sure?” he asked carefully, even though the answer had been pretty obvious from the day it happened.
El nodded again. “Too much time has passed,” she explained. “They were convinced I died. You all were. Your reactions… they believed it, Mike.”
His chest tightened. Relief and anger and grief collided inside him. “How did you—” He stopped himself, because he already knew.
He just needed to hear it from her.
El gave him a small, sad smile. “I know what you mean.”
She took his hand and squeezed it.
“Kali found a way,” she told him. “Before she passed. She put the thought inside you—just enough. So you’d keep believing in me. So you’d keep writing and telling stories. She told me it would inspire you to be more creative… and successful.”
Mike’s breath caught when he finally realized that she was holding a copy of the book he wrote about her.
“So… so you’re saying that—that’s why,” he whispered. “That’s why I always felt like—like you weren’t gone. Even when it seemed like everything said you were.”
El nodded for what seemed like the hundredth time, more tears spilling down her cheeks.
“You were my anchor. My flashlight… remember?”
Mike finally got himself to snort, but it came out watery and probably even disgusting. She didn’t care. She never did. All she cared about was him.
“Yeah… in the woods. When I first met you in that Benny’s Burgers T-shirt.”
They sat on the floor then, their backs against the wall, their knees pressed together, their fingers intertwined like they were afraid to let go. They talked for a while. About random things. Memories that overlapped and blurred. Things she missed out on when she was away—things he caught her up on.
They laughed quietly. They even cried a little more because they couldn’t believe this was really happening. It felt like a dream come true.
But most of all, they existed.
Right there, in the present moment.
Years from then, they looked better. And the years hadn’t hardened them. Not really.
Or—well—not that much, anyway.
There was evidence, though.
Lines around Mike’s eyes now, from trying to keep up a brave, happy face in front of the tabloids and squinting at typewriters for too long.
El carried herself differently—steadier, surer.
Safer.
And most of all, free.
She told him she picked up gardening. She liked flowers. Blue and yellow ones, specifically, which he remembered. She even told him she wanted to open a small flower shop in Iceland, where she’d been hiding out and starting over.
He offered to start the business for her. He had the money for it now.
But they were still themselves.
And they were once incomplete.
Until now.
Their story might have been unfinished before.
But it wasn’t anymore.
Eventually, they left the city quietly. No announcements. No interviews. Just the two of them, packing it all up and choosing each other without anything—or anyone—getting in their way.
Iceland felt like a promise. Cold air that burned clean in their lungs. Open space. Silence that didn’t hurt. Just healed.
They stood together near a waterfall, their hands clasped, their coats whipping in the wind, laughing because the water was louder than they expected.
“So… you’ve been here, huh?” Mike asked, grinning.
She nodded, not really saying anything—just smiling up at him with that look that made him weak in the knees.
“I’m not even gonna ask you the logistics of how you ended up here without a passport,” Mike said, shaking his head with a smirk.
She smacked his arm playfully.
He rolled his eyes. “I’m just saying… I knew you’d find three waterfalls here.”
El’s smile widened. “I think there’s two. If we’re being realistic. There could be a third one somewhere in the distance. Do you want to explore?”
He kissed her temple. “Of course. Lead the way.”
She leaned into him as they walked together through the vast greenery.
It was the ending they deserved. They earned it.
By choosing to believe.
Which they did.
***
Ever since then, everyone wanted to talk about the storyteller who disappeared into his own book. Some said he even retired, despite being the simple age of twenty-eight.
But the family? The one you all knew about?
They seemed to have already guessed where he ended up.
With his mage.
And they even visited them.
The end.