Chapter 2: The Glimmer of Hope

"Maybe you're right," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "But what else am I supposed to do? Wait another three thousand years? Hope that one day, by some miracle,

she'll find her way back to me?"

Verilia stepped closer, her presence a calming contrast to the storm of emotions swirling around them. "There are other ways, Doran. Ways that don't involve destroying entire universes. If

you'd just let me help you—"

"I don't need your help," Doran interrupted, his tone sharper than he intended. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I appreciate what you're trying to do, Verilia. But this is my

burden to bear. Not yours."

For a moment, it seemed as though she might argue. But then she simply nodded, her expression resigned. "Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you when this all comes crashing down."

With that, she turned and walked away, her form dissolving into the void as quickly as it had appeared. Doran watched her go, a mixture of relief and regret settling in his chest. He was alone again, just as he always was.

But as he turned back to his work, a faint glimmer caught his eye—a small, shimmering light in the distance. It was faint, almost imperceptible, but it was there. And for the first time in

centuries, Doran felt something stir within him. Something he hadn't felt in a long time.

Hope.

The glimmer pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat in the vast emptiness of space. Doran's breath hitched as he stepped closer to the edge of his sanctuary, his eyes fixed on the distant light. It was unlike anything he had seen before—neither the cold brilliance of stars nor the chaotic glow of collapsing universes. This light felt...alive.

"Is it...her?" he whispered, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and longing. He reached out instinctively, as if he could pluck the light from the void and hold it in his hands. But it remained

just out of reach, flickering like a memory on the edge of his mind.

For a moment, he considered calling Verilia back. She would know what to do—she always did. But pride, that stubborn anchor of his existence, held him back. "No," he muttered, clenching his fists. "This is my path to walk... My hope to find."

The glimmer grew brighter, as if responding to his resolve. Doran's heart raced, his immortal senses straining to decipher its origin. Could it truly be Xiaoqi's soul, wandering the cosmos

after three millennia? Or was it merely a trick of the void, a cruel jest played by the universe he had so often defied?

As he pondered, a faint echo reached him—a whisper so soft it might have been his imagination. But it carried a warmth that melted the icy numbness in his chest. It was a voice he hadn't heard in lifetimes, yet one he would recognize anywhere.