The house was quiet.
Too quiet.
Amir stood in the middle of the room.
Bag at his feet.
Half-packed.
"…this feels wrong," he muttered.
"Because it is," the Anito replied.
"…helpful."
Silence followed.
Not the heavy silence from before.
This one felt—
Final.
Amir knelt down.
Folded his clothes.
Slow.
Careful.
Like taking his time would change something.
It didn't.
"…you're leaving," the Anito said.
"…yeah."
"Good."
"…you always say that."
"Because it's always true."
Amir let out a breath.
"…doesn't make it easier."
"No."
A pause.
"It shouldn't."
That hit more than expected.
Amir zipped the bag shut.
The sound echoed louder than it should have.
"…I'm not ready," he admitted.
"No."
"…then why does it feel like I don't have a choice?"
"Because you don't."
Amir shook his head.
"…you really don't sugarcoat anything."
"It would not help you survive."
"…fair."
Footsteps approached from behind.
Slow.
Familiar.
Amir didn't turn.
"…I packed light," he said.
"You should."
His grandfather's voice was calm.
Steady.
The same as always.
That made it worse.
"…I don't even know how long I'll be gone."
"…then don't think about coming back yet."
Amir frowned slightly.
"…that's harsh."
"…it's practical."
A pause.
"…you'll hesitate if you think about this place too much."
Amir looked down at his bag.
"…yeah."
"…I probably will."
Silence filled the room.
Then—
A hand rested on his shoulder.
Light.
But firm.
"…you survived your first encounter," his grandfather said.
"…barely."
"…that's enough."
Amir exhaled slowly.
"…it didn't feel like it."
"It never does."
The same words.
But they carried more weight now.
"…what if I'm still not enough?" Amir asked.
A pause.
"…then become enough."
Amir let out a quiet breath.
"…you make it sound simple."
"…it isn't."
"…good."
"…it shouldn't be."
Amir finally turned.
His grandfather looked the same.
But not entirely.
There was something in his eyes now.
Something older.
Something that had been there all along.
"…you've seen this before," Amir said.
A pause.
"…not like this."
"…but enough to know where it leads."
Amir nodded slowly.
"…then I'll change where it ends."
For a moment—
His grandfather smiled.
Just slightly.
"…that's the only reason I'm letting you go."
Amir picked up his bag.
It felt heavier than it should have.
Not because of what was inside.
But because of what he was leaving behind.
"…I'll come back," he said.
A pause.
"…when I'm stronger."
His grandfather didn't answer immediately.
Then—
"…come back when you're ready."
Not reassurance.
Not doubt.
Just truth.
Amir nodded.
Then turned.
And walked toward the door.
Each step felt heavier.
But steadier.
He reached for the handle.
Stopped.
Just for a second.
"…don't hesitate," the Anito said.
"…I know."
Amir opened the door.
The wind greeted him.
Different now.
Not guiding.
Not pushing.
Waiting.
"…north," the Anito said.
"…yeah."
Amir stepped outside.
Didn't look back.
Not this time.
The road stretched ahead.
Long.
Unfamiliar.
Dangerous.
Perfect.
"…I'm coming," Amir said quietly.
The wind shifted.
Far ahead.
Like something had heard him.
And was waiting.