Passage

As the gate began to open, the villagers felt the presence of their beloved ones, their spirits taking shape around them. The air thickened, not with sorrow, but with the unmistakable warmth of homecoming. A gentle breeze stirred, carrying whispers of familiar voices. Slowly, the figures of the ancestors emerged, materializing from the ethereal glow that poured from the opening gate. They stepped forward with grace, their forms translucent yet tangible, a soft luminescence surrounding them.

Monica and Joseph stood at the threshold, their hands intertwined, their bodies glowing with a soft radiance that matched the brilliance of the gate. The village fell silent in reverence, their eyes fixed on the spectacle before them. The ancestors had returned to guide the living once more, and at that moment, the boundaries between the worlds seemed to vanish.

Joshua stood at the front, his heart aching, his eyes brimming with tears. He could see his parents—his mother's familiar smile, his father's gentle gaze—as they glowed with the serenity of those who had transcended this world. Their presence filled him with an overwhelming sense of peace, yet also deep sadness, knowing this was their final departure.

The villagers, too, stood in awe. They felt the comforting embrace of their ancestors as their spirits circled them. There were murmurs of recognition, hushed words of greeting, and silent exchanges of love. Each soul, each figure, had a history—a legacy of those who had once lived among them. The living could feel them now, as though they had never truly left. Their beloved ones were near, a bridge between the past and the present.

Joshua felt his mother's presence first. She turned to face him, her eyes meeting his for the first time since she had passed. Her figure shimmered as her lips did not move, yet her voice reached him with clarity in his heart.

"Joshua," she whispered, her words reaching him as though spoken directly into his soul. "Live well, my son." Remember us, and live with honor.

Her form remained still, and though her presence seemed to fade with each moment, her gaze lingered on him.

Joseph's form shimmered beside her, equally radiant. They shared a silent moment, their spirits intertwined. In his father's gaze, Joshua saw not sorrow but encouragement. His presence was a quiet strength that gave Joshua the courage to carry on.

The weight of the moment was unbearable, and though Joshua wanted to cry out to them, to ask them to stay, he knew it was their time to go. Slowly, Monica and Joseph began stepping forward, their forms growing increasingly transparent. The villagers made way for them as they moved toward the gate, now wide open. The golden light that poured from it was inviting, drawing them closer.

The villagers, too, stood in silence, witnessing the departure of their beloved ancestors. Monica and Joseph's figures slowly faded into the golden light, their spirits lingering for just a moment, their eyes meeting Joshua's one last time before they stepped beyond the threshold.

Joshua reached out, a silent plea in his heart, but it was too late. His parents had crossed, and the gate began to close. The golden light began to dim, and the figures of the ancestors began to dissipate, their forms gently fading like mist in the morning sun. The gate closed behind them with a soft, reverberating thud, sealing the passage between the worlds.

As the gate faded, the villagers remained still for a moment, their eyes searching for the last traces of their loved ones. There was no sadness in their eyes, though—only a quiet reverence. The villagers knew that death was not an end but a beginning, a transition into something greater. As the last shimmer of the gate vanished, they slowly turned back to the village.

One by one, they began to walk back to their homes, their heads held high, their hearts filled with both pride and peace. The village that had once been cloaked in the weight of goodbye now hummed with a quiet energy, as the celebrations began in earnest. The drummers resumed their rhythm, and the villagers began to sing, their voices rising in joyful harmony. It was a celebration of life, a celebration of continuity, of their ancestors who had gone before them and those who would one day follow.

The feast was laid out across the village square, tables brimming with food, while children danced and laughed, their spirits lifted by the collective joy of their people. Songs were sung, stories were shared, and there was no room for sorrow, for in the village of Sagama, death was but a part of the cycle of life.

The night passed in a haze of music, dancing, and shared memories. As the first light of dawn began to break over the horizon, the villagers slowly made their way to their homes, weary but content. They had honored their departed, and now they would rest, knowing their ancestors watched over them.

Joshua, however, remained where the gate had been, his body still shaking with the weight of the moment. His tears had not stopped flowing, though the surrounding celebration seemed to go on without him. He stared at the spot where his parents had stepped into the gate, still feeling their presence lingering in the air.

"Live well, Joshua," his mother's voice echoed softly in his mind, and he clutched his chest, the ache of their absence threatening to overwhelm him.

The villagers began to disperse, walking back to their homes, leaving Joshua standing alone in the fading light of the ceremony. The festivities had ended, but for him, it felt as if the world had stopped turning. He didn't move as the last of the villagers left. He stayed there, his heart still heavy with grief, until the stars faded, and the sun began to rise.

The next morning, the villagers worked together to clean the square, gathering the remnants of the feast, sweeping away the signs of the night's celebration. There were a few hushed conversations about the ceremony, and some villagers exchanged words of condolence with Joshua, offering their sympathy for his loss.

"You're strong, Joshua," an elderly woman said, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Your parents would be proud of you. You'll honor them in your life."

Joshua nodded quietly, too lost in his thoughts to respond. He watched as the villagers continued their work, many of them exchanging glances and heading off to the next task. A few of them lingered to talk with him, offering quiet condolences and words of comfort. But it was all a blur, as if the world around him had moved too fast.

As he wandered through the village, deep in thought, he passed an alleyway where a small group of children had gathered. They were clustered around something, murmuring to one another in hushed tones. Curious, Joshua approached, his steps slow and cautious.

When he reached the group, his eyes widened in surprise. The children weren't playing. Instead, they were bullying a small, fragile figure—a boy who looked strangely weak and twisted. The children were laughing among themselves, not noticing Joshua's approach.

His heart raced. Something wasn't right.

"Stop!" he shouted, his voice loud and full of authority. "What are you doing?"

The children froze, their eyes darting towards him in surprise. The boy who had been bullied lay beaten and bruised, his body curled up in the corner, trembling. His face was swollen, his clothes torn, and he barely had the strength to lift his head. He hadn't even noticed Joshua standing there, watching the scene unfold.