That night Beautiful went to Seeker in the dream—this time on purpose. He was already there, waiting.
“It’s really you, isn’t it?” she whispered.
He nodded, eyes gentle. “You kept your promise.”
She seized his hand without hesitation—right there in front of the cottage. This was their dream. Their rules. No one could stop them.
“You can hold my hand here,” she said, lifting her chin. “Nowhere else.”
He nodded.
They raced down the stairs toward the ravine, her laughter chasing after the wind. She skipped across the stream, rock to rock, with no fear of slipping. The Stately Palace rose beside her—grand and dignified—but she barely glanced at it. Who cared about ancient halls? She had her Odysseus. They wound along the ravine, the stream leaping beside them in playful bursts.
Seeker dropped onto a smooth rock and let his boots drift through the cascading stream. He laughed. “Try this out!” he called.
Beautiful stepped in without hesitation, unconcerned about her leggings or shoes. The luminous water was cool, bright, and impossibly clean. It curled around her like wind, flowing through her fingers and around her ankles without leaving a trace. She twirled through it, laughing. Together they danced beneath the waterfall, the water around them—gentle, alive, and brimming with joy.
Beautiful settled beside Seeker and leaned into his chest—solid, steady, warm. A soft sigh escaped her lips. If only this night would never end.
At last, the time came to leave. Seeker leaned in to kiss her. This was her dream—she could do whatever she wanted. But it was real. It counted. She turned—not to meet his lips, but to offer her cheek.
