Yasmin did not sleep that night.

  The temple courtyard had emptied, and the sacred flame burned lower, steady and indifferent.

  Ardeshir knelt in prayer until exhaustion bent his spine.

  Midas remained in the shadow of a pillar.

  He did not intrude.

  He had learned not to intrude upon faith.

  It fractures on its own.

  A soft voice came from behind him.

  "You do not bow."

  He turned.

  Yasmin stood there, leaning against the stone for balance.

  Her breath trembled in her chest, but her eyes were bright.

  "I bow when I must," he said.

  "You do not look afraid of the fire."

  "I have survived worse than fire."

  She studied him carefully.

  "You are the man it leaned toward."

  He did not answer.

  Children do not require confirmation.

  They sense what adults refuse to.

  "Will you walk with me?" she asked.

  Her brother still prayed. He did not notice her leave.

  Midas hesitated only a moment.

  Then he walked beside her — careful, distant, gloved hands hidden.

  They moved toward the edge of the temple courtyard, where the wind carried cooler air.

  "I heard my brother say you are marked," she said softly.

  "Many have said that."

  "Are you chosen?"

  "No."

  "Then what are you?"

  He watched the sacred flame flicker in the distance.

  "I am what remains when a god grows jealous."

  She did not understand fully.

  But she understood pain.

  "I am dying," she said simply.

  He did not lie.

  "Yes."

  She nodded.

  "I am not afraid of the dark," she whispered. "I am afraid of leaving my brother."

  Her voice caught.

  "He talks to the fire because he cannot talk to me about dying."

  Midas felt something shift in his chest.

  A memory.

  A small hand in his own.

  Gold hardening around fingers.

  Yasmin continued.

  "If I could stay," she said quietly, "I would. I would stay forever so he would never be alone."

  Midas stopped walking.

  The wind moved between them.

  "Forever," he repeated.

  "Yes."

  She looked up at him.

  "You do not age."

  It was not a question.

  "No."

  "Then teach me," she whispered.

  The words did not carry desperation.

  Only hope.

  "Teach me how to stay."

  If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  For a moment, the world seemed smaller.

  Quieter.

  The flame crackled faintly behind them.

  Midas removed one glove slowly.

  He did not touch her.

  He never would.

  But he let her see the bare skin.

  "You do not want this," he said gently.

  Her brow furrowed.

  "Why?"

  "Because forever is not staying," he replied.

  "It is watching."

  She frowned.

  "Watching what?"

  "Everything leaves."

  Her breath trembled.

  "But you would not leave," she insisted.

  "I cannot."

  "That is better than dying."

  "No," he said softly. "It is lonelier."

  She searched his face.

  "You have been alone a long time."

  "Yes."

  "Did you love someone?"

  He swallowed.

  "Yes."

  "And they died?"

  "Yes."

  "Then why do you still walk?"

  The question struck deeper than accusation.

  He had no answer ready.

  After a long silence, he said:

  "Because I cannot stop."

  She studied him carefully.

  "I do not want to watch my brother cry," she whispered.

  "You will not."

  "How do you know?"

  "Because he will speak your name."

  She smiled faintly.

  "You think that helps?"

  "It does."

  She looked toward the flame again.

  "If light is truth, why does truth not heal?"

  The same question Ardeshir had nearly asked earlier.

  Midas felt the weight of it.

  "Light does not promise healing," he said. "Only clarity."

  "That is cruel."

  "Yes."

  The wind picked up.

  Her breathing grew shallower.

  She swayed slightly.

  He stepped closer instinctively — but stopped himself before contact.

  "Do not wish for immortality," he said gently.

  "It is not mercy."

  "What is it?"

  "Delay."

  She closed her eyes.

  "For what?"

  "For acceptance."

  A quiet passed between them.

  Then she surprised him.

  "I think you are wrong."

  He blinked.

  "Why?"

  "Because you are still here."

  He had no defense for that.

  She smiled again — weaker now.

  "If I stayed forever," she whispered, "maybe I would learn how to fix it."

  "Fix what?"

  "Whatever broke you?"

  The words pierced more cleanly than any blade.

  He replaced the glove slowly.

  "You cannot fix what refuses to end," he said.

  She did not argue.

  She looked at him with a softness that felt undeserved.

  "Then stay near my brother," she murmured.

  "Until he learns to stand without fire."

  Midas did not promise.

  Promises are dangerous for men who cannot die.

  But he inclined his head slightly.

  "I will remain awhile."

  She seemed satisfied.

  Her strength left her suddenly.

  Her knees buckled.

  He caught himself before touching her.

  Ardeshir reached them moments later.

  He gathered his sister carefully in his arms.

  "Yasmin," he breathed.

  She looked at him with steady eyes.

  "Do not burn yourself trying to make me stay," she whispered.

  His face shattered.

  Yasmin's strength left her in waves.

  Her fingers tightened around her brother's sleeve.

  "Ardeshir," she whispered.

  "I am here," he said desperately. "The fire will hold. Light will hold."

  She shook her head faintly.

  "No more fire."

  Her breathing slowed.

  The sacred flame flickered once — not violently, but as if bowing.

  And then Yasmin's eyes shifted.

  Not to her brother.

  Not to Midas.

  To something standing just beyond them.

  Her expression changed.

  Not fear.

  Wonder.

  "He has come," she murmured.

  Ardeshir froze.

  "Who?" he asked, panicked.

  Yasmin smiled faintly.

  "He is... beautiful."

  Midas felt the air change.

  He turned.

  Death stood at the edge of the courtyard.

  But not as he saw her.

  Not the quiet woman wrapped in dusk.

  Not the figure with eyes like distant stars.

  Before Yasmin stood a young man.

  Radiant.Gentle.Calm.

  His presence carried warmth instead of shadow.

  His hand extended not like a claim —

  But like an invitation.

  Yasmin's eyes glistened.

  "You are not frightening," she whispered.

  The figure smiled.

  "No," he answered — though only she heard it.

  Ardeshir wept openly now.

  "Stay," he begged. "Please stay."

  Yasmin looked back at her brother.

  "He is not cold," she said faintly. "Do not be angry at him."

  Her hand slipped from Ardeshir's.

  Her breath left quietly.

  The sacred flame steadied.

  No thunder. No divine sign.

  Just stillness.

  Ardeshir screamed.

  Midas did not.

  He was watching Death.

  The young man who had taken Yasmin dissolved slowly into something softer.

  And then —

  There she stood again.

  The woman Midas knew.

  The same presence.The same inevitability. But now carrying something gentler in her gaze.

  "You change," Midas said quietly.

  "For them," she replied.

  "For you?"

  She tilted her head slightly.

  "You do not need comfort."

  The answer struck deeper than accusation.

  He looked at Yasmin's still form.

  "She called you beautiful."

  Death glanced toward where the young man had stood.

  "She saw what she hoped for."

  "And I?"

  "You see what you expect."

  The wind moved through the courtyard.

  Ardeshir's sobbing echoed against the stone.

  Midas studied Death carefully.

  "For me," he asked softly, "what are you?"

  She did not answer immediately.

  Instead, she stepped back into the shadows.

  "You are not ready to see," she said.

  And then she was gone.