Where the river endsHello

This is my first fanfiction in this fandom, and it's a trial piece. I decided to try my hand on a small canvas. I kept it mostly without fluff. I wanted something a bit depressing. I haven't written anything like this in a while. I hope you enjoy this mess.

Originally, I wanted to add male pregnancy to intensify the drama, but then I thought it was better without it.

The fanfiction is loosely based on the anime "Ride Your Wave".

Read this fanfiction while listening to the OST "Given" especially Fuyu no Hanashi and Yorugaakeru.

This fanfic was written at half past two in the morning.

English is not my native language, so there might be mistakes. If you find any, please let me know.

Enjoy




After years of struggling with themselves and the outside world, Ballister and Ambrosius had finally found their place. It wasn't just a physical space, but a special sense of peace within. What they had both been searching for so long seemed to be within arm's reach. Their new life began to take shape in a house built on a hill overlooking the river, standing like a beacon of hope, a symbol that they had overcome everything that had once stood in the way of their happiness.

The house stood in a secluded spot, hidden from prying eyes. It was simple, yet extraordinarily beautiful in its simplicity. The gray walls, made of rough stone, seemed to absorb the history of the place, reminding them of strength and resilience. The roof, painted in a muted dark blue, blended seamlessly with the sky, while the large windows offered a view of the endless river flowing into the distance, carrying away their past pains and doubts.

For Ballister, this house became a place where everything was in its rightful place. He had insisted on keeping the walls gray, believing they merged with the surrounding landscape, as if they and nature were inseparable. It was his desire—to be part of this world, not something foreign or intrusive. Meanwhile, Ambrosius filled the house with vibrant colors and warmth. He hung paintings he'd found at flea markets, brought in old rugs that created coziness, and placed green plants around, giving the space a sense of life and freshness. In this house, they both found not only peace but also the opportunity to open up.

The interior reflected their unique personalities. The walls, lined with books, became a true temple of knowledge for Ballister. He had collected a library of ancient tomes—myths, legends, scientific works—everything that had always fascinated him, everything he lived for. It was his need—to understand the world, to try to find answers to the questions that haunted him. Ambrosius, on the other hand, brought his energy, brightness, and creativity into the house. In every room, there was something unusual: vintage lamps, bright cushions, eccentric throws. He was a master at creating coziness in any setting, adding elements that gave the house its unique character.

Every morning in this house began the same way, but that didn't make their rituals any less special. Ballister, as always, was the first to wake. His inner discipline, honed by years of training and service, didn't allow him to stay in bed any longer. He carefully got up so as not to wake Ambrosius and automatically put on one of his shirts—the one that was slightly too big for him. This gesture had become part of his morning routine, a habit that had formed almost immediately after they had reconciled. It was as if this moment symbolized that their life would now be different—calmer and filled with the present, rather than endless anxieties.

Descending the old wooden staircase, Ballister heard only his footsteps and the sound of waves crashing against the rocks—these sounds became his personal symphony. In the kitchen, he made coffee—a nearly meditative process for him. He felt the warmth of the cup in his hands, the aroma of coffee filling the house and greeting Ambrosius, who, as always, woke up later.

Ambrosius, in this morning ritual, was his complete opposite. His blond hair was always slightly disheveled, and his movements were lazy and smooth, like someone who fully surrendered to the moment. He loved to stretch out the morning, enjoying the silence that settled in the house before the new day began. Barefoot, he descended the stairs, and the sound of his light footsteps seemed like a musical chord in the morning quiet.

When Ambrosius reached the kitchen, Ballister was always holding a cup of coffee. He would look up and, despite his tiredness, smile as his beloved, rubbing his eyes sleepily, hugged him from behind, pressing his face to his shoulder and kissing his cheek.

"You're up early again," Ambrosius would say, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Someone has to keep things in order while you sleep," Ballister would reply, handing him the mug. "Here, take it."

"Is this what you call order" Ambrosius teased, peeking into the cup. "Too much sugar, Bal."

"But the sweetness makes up for your morning grumpiness," Ballister smirked, savoring the moment.

They spent their mornings discussing something important and utterly trivial at the same time, doing it so naturally that the world outside their home seemed distant and unimportant. These moments, filled with laughter and lightness, were their refuge from the outside world.

One day, sitting on the porch during breakfast, Ambrosius, looking at the river, suddenly said:

"You know, Bal, the river is like us."

"In what way" Ballister asked, not looking up from his book, raising an eyebrow slightly.

"It's always changing. Sometimes it's calm, sometimes it's stormy. But it's always here, strong and relentless."

Ballister smiled, setting the book aside:

"You're an incurable romantic."

"And you're my anchor," Ambrosius replied, winking.

These words, like many others, became part of their shared world. In their home, there was no room for pretense. Every day was unique, but it was in this mundane harmony that they found their happiness.

And though Ballister sometimes felt a slight unease deep inside, knowing that nothing lasts forever, he tried not to pay attention to it. He preferred to live in the present, to savor every moment, every glance, every word. The anxiety, like everything else, seemed external, something they could face together.

Their home was filled with the voices of friends, laughter, and endless conversations. Nimona, as a frequent guest, always brought an atmosphere of lightness and fun. She, like a whirlwind, shattered the silence of their house, but her energy was vital for both of them, like sunlight on a cloudy day.

"You two need a child or at least a dog to make life more interesting," she said with a smile, dispelling the dull shadows.

"We have you," Ballister retorted. "That's enough chaos for one life."

Ambrosius laughed, watching their banter, but in truth, he cherished these moments when their home came alive thanks to their friends. Yet nothing could replace the silence that fell when everyone left, leaving the two of them alone in their quiet, cozy world.

Their dream was a garden on the hillside, a project they had started right after moving in. Ballister planned and organized the space, while Ambrosius, in his own way, filled it with flowers and plants that always caught his eye. Together, they argued over the details but always found a compromise. The garden became their symbol: a place where they could pause, forget everything, and simply be together.

One day, as Ambrosius was planting flowers, Ballister smiled and said:

"You know your garden probably won't survive the first storm"

"Then I'll plant new flowers," Ambrosius replied, smiling back. "The point isn't for everything to be perfect. The point is the process."

These words struck a deep chord in Ballister. They became his reminder that life wasn't just about the result, but the journey they were on together.

Later, when night fell and the stars began to twinkle in the sky, they went up to the bedroom. The room was bathed in the soft light of the moon streaming through the large windows. Ambrosius approached Ballister, his fingers brushing his cheek, his gaze full of tenderness and love.

"Do you know how much I love you" he whispered.

"Show me," Ballister replied, his voice quiet but filled with desire.

Their lips met in a kiss that was both gentle and passionate. Ambrosius slowly unbuttoned Ballister's shirt, his fingers trailing over his skin, sending shivers down his spine. Ballister responded in kind, removing Ambrosius's shirt, feeling the warmth of his body.

They sank onto the bed, their movements in sync, as if they knew each other by heart. Every touch, every sigh, every whisper was filled with love and trust. In that moment, the world outside their room ceased to exist. It was just the two of them, their home, and the sound of the river outside.

***

A few weeks after moving in, life settled into a surprisingly calm and cozy routine. Ballister and Ambrosius enjoyed the quiet of their new home by the river, where each day brought simple yet profound happiness: the sound of waves, the smell of freshly cut grass, and the soft light of the setting sun fading into the darkness of night. These moments felt eternal, but one morning brought news that could change their world.

Ambrosius sat at the kitchen table, his fingers nervously tapping on his phone screen, his eyes shining with an uncharacteristic excitement. He couldn't hide his joy, and his smile was so genuine that Ballister, who was watering plants on the porch at the time, froze, sensing a shift in the air.

"Bal, you won't believe it" Ambrosius exclaimed, looking up and meeting his gaze. "I've been offered a teaching position at the Institute."

Ballister stopped, carefully setting the watering can down in the grass. For a moment, he forgot about his tasks and, stepping closer, studied Ambrosius with surprise, trying to understand what had him so excited.

"Teaching" he asked, unable to hide a hint of wariness. "You said you wanted to take a break after everything… after what we've been through."

Ambrosius nodded, but his smile didn't fade. There was something bright, almost childlike, in his eyes—this was more than just a professional opportunity. It was a chance he had been waiting for, and Ballister could feel it.

"I know what I said, but…" His voice trembled slightly, and he paused, as if searching for the right words. "This isn't just teaching. It's an opportunity to mentor a new generation. A chance to show them what it means to be a knight—not in terms of armor and swords, but in terms of honor, loyalty, and courage. I've always dreamed of passing on that knowledge."

Ballister listened carefully, feeling a strange mix of emotions. On one hand, he understood how important this was to Ambrosius, and he couldn't stand in his way. On the other hand, this decision could disrupt the little world they had worked so hard to build.

"What do you think" he asked, sitting down across from Ambrosius. His face was serious, but his eyes still reflected concern.

Ambrosius thought for a moment, his gaze softening, and he gently took Ballister's hands.

"I think this is a chance I need to take, but…" His voice grew quieter, "I don't want to make this decision without you. It's important to me that you know: our life here is everything to me. I don't want you to feel abandoned."

Ballister was silent. He felt his heart tighten, but an inner voice told him this was the right step. He knew how much Ambrosius gave to his work, and at the same time, he realized this could change their rhythm. But if this truly made him happy—if this was what he wanted—he couldn't stand in his way.

"If this makes you happy, then I'm for it," he finally said, taking his hand. "But only if you promise that our life here remains your priority. This place, our home… nothing should change what we've built together."

Ambrosius took a deep breath, his eyes filled with gratitude and warmth. He squeezed Ballister's hand.

"I promise, Bal. This is our home. And nothing will change what we've built."

When Ambrosius's first day at the Institute arrived, he felt a nervous excitement like never before. He put on his old, perfectly polished armor, which seemed to have become a part of him. But this time, he added a golden stripe to his gorget, swirling like a wave—a symbol of their new life by the river, which was now inseparable from who he was.

Ballister stood in the bedroom doorway, watching as Ambrosius looked at himself in the mirror. His gaze was full of pride but also a hint of uncertainty. Ballister couldn't resist teasing him:

"You look like you just stepped out of a portrait," he smiled, leaning against the doorframe.

Ambrosius laughed, adjusting his pauldrons.

"I hope I make the same impression on the cadets," he replied. "Are you sure you'll be okay alone"

"Ambro," Ballister crossed his arms, "I've handled entire armies. I think a few hours of solitude won't kill me."

Ambrosius leaned in, leaving a light kiss on Ballister's lips before heading out. His light footsteps echoed in the silence of the house, and in that moment, Ballister felt how empty the house had become. He tried not to dwell on it, busying himself with the garden, reading books, sorting through old blueprints. But as time passed and Ambrosius stayed away longer, the emptiness in their new world grew more pronounced. It wasn't just loneliness—it was a sense of waiting, as if the world they had built could collapse if one of them disappeared.

When Ambrosius returned that evening, his face was tired but happy. He took off his coat and, without even removing his shoes, walked over to Ballister, hugging him from behind as he loved to do in the mornings.

"How was your day" Ballister asked, feeling his anxiety slowly fade.

"Exhausting, but incredibly inspiring," Ambrosius replied, taking off his shoes and placing them on the rack. "These kids are so young, so eager to learn. But… I thought about you all day. How are you How did you manage without me"

Ballister smiled, feeling his heart warm at those words.

"I thought about you too. The silence in the house isn't the same as your voice, your footsteps on the floor, your jokes," he admitted, hugging him back.

They spent the evening on the porch, Ambrosius telling him about his students, how challenging it was to instill discipline and patience in them, but also how rewarding it was to see them absorb his words, gradually becoming individuals rather than blank slates. Ballister listened intently, not rushing to respond, savoring this moment of closeness that filled his soul with warmth.

However, as the days passed and Ambrosius spent more time at the Institute, Ballister began to feel a growing sense of loneliness. One evening, when Ambrosius came home later than usual, Ballister was sitting in the kitchen, mechanically flipping through the pages of a book.

When Ambrosius walked in, his face was tired but still glowing with happiness.

"Sorry I'm so late," he said, taking off his coat. "Today was particularly tough."

Ballister looked up, the closed book in his hands.

"You know you can say no if they're asking too much of you," he said softly. "I don't want you to burn out. You're not alone in this."

Ambrosius walked over and kissed him on the lips.

"I know, Bal," his voice was full of gratitude. "And I'll try… I'll try not to forget that my life isn't just the Institute."

Ballister turned, looked into his eyes, and said:

"Just remember, I'm always here to remind you of that."

They smiled at each other, and in that moment, as it had many times before, their home was filled with silence—but it was the kind of silence in which they both found peace and the certainty that everything would be alright.

***

The next morning began with the soft whisper of waves gently crashing against the rocks, as if nature itself was heralding the importance of the day ahead. The sun's rays glided over the river's surface, painting it in golden-pink hues, while the wind carried the salty taste of the river. Ambrosius stood at the edge of the cliff, his cloak billowing in the wind, his gaze fixed on the old lighthouse in the distance, which, despite the years and storms, still stood tall on the horizon. This was his first real day of responsibility, facing the cadets, facing himself. He knew that today's moment would be significant not only for them but for him as well. The lighthouse wasn't just a building—it was a symbolic structure, a beacon of light in dark times, guiding those lost in the storm to safe shores. And in his heart, like the lighthouse itself, burned a light he intended to pass on.

He heard the cadets approaching from behind, their footsteps crunching on the stones, growing closer and closer. And there they were, gathered at the base of the trail, standing before him. Young faces, not yet burdened by the weight of the world, were filled with curiosity but also a hint of anxiety. They all looked at Ambrosius with admiration, awaiting his lesson. He turned to them, his gaze full of confidence and determination, like the old lighthouse he had chosen as the symbol for their journey.

"Today, we'll go to the lighthouse," he said, his voice deep and steady, like the echo of the river itself. "But this isn't just a field trip. This is a journey to understanding what it means to be truly strong. The lighthouse isn't just stone and glass. It's a symbol of resilience and courage. It's stood here for decades, enduring storms, winds, and time. And it continues to shine, no matter what tries to break it."

The cadets were silent, trying to absorb his words. Ambrosius noticed one of the boys, Elric, nervously fidgeting among them. The young boy, who always stayed in the shadows, as if hiding from the world. His face showed fear. Ambrosius knew Elric was afraid of heights, and today's challenge would be a true test for him.

"Let's go," Ambrosius continued, maintaining his calm. "And remember: every step isn't just movement forward. It's a step toward yourself, overcoming your own fears and doubts."

The group began to move along the trail, and Ballister, who hadn't initially planned to join, stood slightly apart, watching everything unfold. He saw Ambrosius confidently leading the cadets, his figure standing out against the sky, his cloak fluttering in the wind. Ballister felt pride for his husband, but also a strange, unbearable jealousy. He had always been the one by Ambrosius's side, the one who supported and guided him. Now, others looked at him with admiration, hanging on his every word, and that gaze was increasingly directed not at him, but at Ambrosius. Ballister was happy for his husband, but he couldn't shake the feeling of loss—the loss of his exclusivity in Ambrosius's life.

"Um, Mr. Ballister," one of the cadets suddenly spoke, snapping him out of his thoughts. "Are you coming with us"

Ballister hesitated for a moment, then nodded. He couldn't just stay behind. Ambrosius was the center of attention, and he didn't want to feel like an outsider in this moment. He caught up with the group and, trying to stay slightly behind, joined the flow without drawing attention to himself.

When they reached the lighthouse, Ambrosius stopped and turned to the cadets. The lighthouse stood majestically, as if on the edge of the world, ready to welcome every traveler with its light.

"Who here knows how a lighthouse works" he asked, his voice soft but filled with a confidence that seemed to fill the space around them.

The cadets were silent, glancing at each other. Finally, one of them tentatively raised his hand:

"It… shines"

Ambrosius smiled, his eyes sparkling as if he were proud of each of them for even attempting to answer.

"Yes, it shines. But it's not just light. It's a signal. A beacon of hope. It tells those caught in the storm, those lost in the fog: 'You're not alone. You can find your way home.' And today, I want you to feel what it means to be a lighthouse for others. To be someone who not only lights the way but shows that even in the darkest moments, there's always a chance for salvation."

The cadets pondered his words, some clearly not grasping the full depth, but for Ambrosius, that was the point—to plant a seed in their hearts that would one day help them be a light for others.

"Life is full of storms," he continued, his voice softer but no less serious. "Sometimes it feels like everything is falling apart, like there's no way out. But it's in those moments that it's important to remember: there's a light inside each of us. That light can not only illuminate our own path but also help those around us."

Ballister stood slightly apart, his gaze fixed on Ambrosius, but a wave of emotions was building inside him. He knew these words weren't just for the cadets—they were for him too. They spoke of how he and Ambrosius had been lighthouses for each other, how no matter the storms, they would always be there for one another.

Suddenly, a scream broke the silence. Everything froze. Everyone turned. Elric, who had been standing closer to the edge, slipped and began to fall. It was a moment that stretched into eternity. Ambrosius didn't hesitate for a second—he lunged forward, reaching out and grabbing Elric's wrist. The cadets stood in horror, watching the scene unfold.

"Hold on" Ambrosius shouted, his voice sharp but filled with a confidence that could calm even the most frightened person.

Ballister, who was closest, couldn't stay back. He rushed forward, grabbed Elric by the shoulder, and together with Ambrosius, they managed to pull the boy to safety. Elric, trembling, sat on the ground, his face pale as snow. He couldn't believe he had almost lost his life.

"It's okay," Ambrosius said, kneeling beside the boy, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You were strong. You held on."

But at that moment, the ground beneath Ambrosius's feet gave way, and the ancient stones holding the structure together couldn't withstand the weight. As Ambrosius tried to guide the cadets to safety, a loud crack echoed, and the collapse was inevitable.

"Ambrosius" Ballister screamed, his voice filled with terror as he watched his husband disappear into the void, carried away by the falling stones. He rushed to the edge, but it was too late. Below, among the cliffs and raging waves, there was no sign of anyone. Only the deafening roar of the river, as if nature itself was mourning the loss, filled the air.

The cadets stood in shock, horrified, while Elric, clenching his fists, repeated, "It's my fault…" Ballister stood at the edge, his hands clenched into fists, his heart breaking with pain. He couldn't believe that the person who had been his light, his beacon, was gone so suddenly.

"It's not your fault," Ballister finally said, turning to Elric, his voice trembling but firm. "Ambrosius… he always knew what he was doing. He saved you because it was the right thing to do. You're not to blame."

Ballister took a deep breath and looked at the lighthouse, which still stood tall, a symbol of resilience. In that moment, despite the weight of his loss, he realized: his task now was to become a lighthouse for these kids. To become the light that would guide them through the fog. To be a beacon not just for the cadets, but for himself.

"Let's go," he said, turning to the group. "We need to head back."

His words weren't just an order—they were a promise. A promise that life would go on, and the light would continue to shine, no matter what.

***

Ambrosius's funeral began at dawn, as the first rays of sunlight barely touched the horizon, as if afraid to disturb the silence enveloping this sorrowful day. The entire kingdom gathered at a small temple to bid farewell to the man many considered the embodiment of valor, honor, and nobility—the heir of the great Gloreth.

The wind gusted, playing with the black garments of the mourners, as if the air itself was filled with their grief. Somewhere in the distance, the river roared, an inseparable witness to the tragedy, its sounds seemingly paving the way for memories that couldn't be erased.

Elric sat in the arms of his older brother Todd, his face buried in Todd's shoulder. His thin arms wrapped around Todd's neck, and his small body shook with suppressed sobs. Todd, holding the boy tightly, remained silent. His gaze was cold and distant, but even through his stoicism, a spark of loss shone through. He gently stroked Elric's head, trying to comfort his brother, but every gesture felt almost mechanical—as if Todd himself didn't know how to process his own emotions.

At the front, closest to the coffin, stood Ambrosius's mother. She was a regal woman, her posture commanding respect from anyone nearby. But in this moment, her grandeur seemed fragile. She didn't cry, but her lips, pressed tightly together, and her trembling hands betrayed the storm raging within her. Every second was a struggle, but she held on, knowing she couldn't afford to show weakness now.

Ballister, however, stood far back. He lingered in the shadows, trying not to draw attention to himself. His gaze was fixed on the ground, as if he were trying to hide from the world. Every word spoken that day echoed painfully in his heart, and he felt that if even one more memory of Ambrosius was shared, he wouldn't be able to bear it.

Speeches were given one after another. Each person remembered Ambrosius—his deeds, his kindness, his loyalty to the kingdom and his friends. The words were filled with admiration, but to Ballister, they sounded like echoes of loss, tearing him apart from within. People approached the coffin, leaving symbolic items—weapons, letters, lockets, things that reflected their connection to the deceased.

When one of the speeches ended, Ballister could no longer take it. He slowly turned and walked away, unable to watch as the memory of his friend was reduced to words that couldn't capture even a fraction of what Ambrosius had meant to him.

After the ceremony, Ambrosius's mother approached Ballister. Her steps were almost silent, but her presence was so palpable that he flinched when she touched his shoulder.

"He always spoke of you with warmth," she said. Her voice was quiet but firm, as if each word pierced the air. "I know how much he loved you."

Ballister looked up at her. Her face was calm, but her eyes reflected a deep pain, like a river hidden beneath a thin layer of ice.

"I'm sorry I couldn't save him," he whispered, his voice trembling.

She shook her head and hugged him, pulling him close as only a mother could.

"You did everything you could," she said, her voice filled with maternal warmth. "He was proud of you."

She pulled back slightly, studying his face.

"The coffin is still here," she added, turning toward where it stood. "Perhaps you'd like to leave something in his memory"

"Everything that was important to us both, he took with him into the water," Ballister replied after a long pause, trying to keep his voice steady.

He lied. He still had the compass—a gift he'd given Ambrosius on his twentieth birthday. The compass now felt like the heaviest burden, a reminder of what could never be regained.

"Are you sure" she asked softly, her voice tinged with doubt.

Ballister wanted to answer, but he was interrupted by Todd's voice.

"Hey, Ballister," Todd called out. "Can I talk to you for a minute"

Ballister tensed. He knew Todd as an arrogant, blunt man who had never gotten along with Ambrosius. The last thing he wanted right now was a conversation with him.

"Can you at least leave me alone on a day like this" Ballister said, turning toward him.

"Please," Todd pleaded. "I know we didn't get along. I know I was always jealous of Ambrosius, and I belittled you, but this is different. Please, just hear me out."

Ballister studied him for a long moment, as if trying to discern whether he was being sincere. But something in Todd's voice made him nod, and they stepped aside.

"I wanted to say thank you," Todd began, looking down. His tone was uncharacteristically sincere. "For saving my brother. Elric told me everything." Ballister remained silent, unsure how to respond. "And… I'm sorry about what happened to Ambrosius," Todd continued. "We didn't get along, that's true. But I never wished him harm. He was a good man."

"How do I know you didn't set this up" Ballister said, crossing his arms.

"Great Gloreth, Ballister," Todd ran a hand over his face. "Do you really think I'd sacrifice my own brother It was just an accident" He threw up his hands.

"How would I know You almost drowned me once."

"My bad," Todd looked away. "But I'd never sacrifice my brother. My father would've killed me. You just don't know my family."

Ballister thought about Todd's words for a long time. The silence felt agonizing.

"Thank you," Ballister finally said, his voice restrained. "But please, leave me alone."

"Thanks for hearing me out," Todd added quietly, turning away.

His voice cracked, and he quickly walked off, trying to hide his emotions. Ballister watched him go, surprised by the unexpected conversation.

When Todd was gone, Ballister was left standing alone. The sound of the river seemed louder than before. In that moment, he realized: from this day forward, his life would never be the same.

***

The loss of Ambrosius wasn't just a tragedy for Ballister—it was a catastrophe that shattered everything he had ever known about himself and the world. The feeling that something vital and irreplaceable was gone forever dug into his soul, leaving a gaping void. Each day became a trial, and the nights turned into an endless tyranny of silence. He lay in bed, trying to find meaning in what had once seemed so obvious, but all he heard in the darkness was the whisper of his own disappointment. Pain, like a heavy blanket, weighed him down, and the bitterness of loss left no room for other emotions. Sometimes, it felt as if life itself no longer had meaning, as if it would have been better for everything to end with Ambrosius's departure.

He could no longer stay in the house filled with memories of Ambrosius. Every corner, every detail reminded him of what he had lost. This was their room, where they had spent countless evenings discussing plans and dreams, sharing thoughts and laughing as only two people who shared not just a space but their entire lives could. The sounds outside—the rustling of leaves, the roar of the waves crashing against the rocks by the river—now felt like symbols of loss, tearing at his heart. Every sound brought pain, like needles piercing his soul.

And so, he made a decision. To leave. To escape, at least for a while, and seek shelter from his pain. He traveled deep into the kingdom, to a forgotten, foggy place where there was no river, no horizon to carry him back to the past. He sought a place where the salt in the air wouldn't remind him of his loss, where the world wouldn't hold sounds that could awaken memories of what was gone.

The new house was small, unremarkable, as if hidden from the world. An old stone house nestled in the woods, where no one could see him. Here, he often sat in the shadows, as if in a tomb, consuming his loneliness and pain. He didn't need space—this house held nothing that could distract him from thoughts of his lost husband. No view of the river they had loved, no porch where they had spent evening after evening discussing what lay ahead. But even this silence offered no salvation. Time didn't heal him. Instead, it deepened the void that grew with each passing day. The days dragged on endlessly, gray and cold, like the world itself, which seemed to have fallen into mourning. He tried to fight it, but no matter how hard he tried, each new day brought no relief.

Over time, he became even more withdrawn. His phone remained silent. The only messages he received were from Ambrosius's mother. She worriedly asked how he was, but he couldn't bring himself to reply. How could he tell her that his soul was torn apart, that he, too, didn't know how to live without Ambrosius Her concern was so genuine that it only deepened his suffering. So, he turned off his phone, deleted all his social media accounts, as if that could somehow lessen his pain. He cut himself off from everything that could remind him of the outside world, as if severing ties with reality could bring even the slightest relief.

He let no one in. The only creature that could approach him was Nimona. She could find him anywhere, anytime, effortlessly, as if she were part of his consciousness, without boundaries or time. Sometimes, Ballister felt her gaze even when she wasn't nearby, and it made him terribly nervous. He didn't want anyone to see him like this—broken, consumed by his own pain. But Nimona didn't leave. She was like a shadow, invisible but inevitable, and when her presence became almost tangible, Ballister still felt he couldn't shake her off.

She continued to appear, subtly, as if her presence were something natural. Sometimes, he didn't even know when she was nearby, but he suddenly felt her energy in the air, in every turn of his world. Ballister knew she was watching over him, that her care knew no bounds, but he couldn't allow himself to respond to that care. It hurt too much.

But one day, when rain drummed on the roof, someone from the Institute where Ambrosius had once worked knocked on the door. They brought a box of his belongings—old papers, books, photographs… and a phone. When Ballister picked it up, it felt as if he were holding not just an object, but something sacred. This phone was the last link to the man he had loved so deeply. But he couldn't bring himself to turn it on. Fear of what might appear on the screen—even a single message—paralyzed him. He was afraid that those words, that correspondence, would shatter him completely, that the connection to Ambrosius—even if it was just traces on a screen—would force him to relive the moment he had lost him.

But even this fear couldn't overshadow the pain that haunted him. In the end, unable to resist, he turned on the phone. The screen flickered and remained blank. No messages. Just old photos. He began flipping through them, as if afraid each new image might be a trap. In one photo, Ambrosius was laughing—that laugh that had once been his favorite sound in the world. Now, looking at his face, Ballister felt as if the memory refused to be real, fading into a fog, unreachable and immeasurable.

Then Ballister broke. He sat in Ambrosius's chair—the chair they had sat in together so many times, discussing everything under the sun. It felt the same as it had then, soft, with almost imperceptible wear on the armrests. He picked up the photo, and, holding back tears, began to speak:

"Ambrosius…" his voice trembled, almost inaudible. "You'd laugh at me if you saw how I look now. Stupid, right But I just don't know what to do without you."

He placed the photo on the armrest and ran his hand over the chair's upholstery, as if trying to feel even a fraction of what had once been there, beside him. That comfort, those conversations, those moments when everything had seemed possible.

"You always said I was strong, that I'd get through this. But I'm not, Ambrosius. Every day, when I open my eyes, all I see is emptiness. All I have left are memories. Memories of you."

His voice grew louder, sharper, unable to contain the anger and despair building inside him.

"Why did you leave Why did you leave me alone It's not fair I'm angry at you, Ambrosius Angry that you're not here to help me, like you always did."

Tears streamed down his cheeks. He gripped the armrests so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"I'm scared," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I'm scared I'll forget what your voice sounded like, how you looked at me. And what if no one ever tells me everything will be okay again"

His voice faded, as if he had said everything that was in his heart. He closed his eyes, trying to imagine Ambrosius beside him, sitting in the chair, smiling at him and listening. But at that moment, Nimona appeared in the doorway.

She froze, hearing his words. Her heart ached for her friend, but she didn't intervene immediately. Nimona knew he couldn't forget Ambrosius, but she also knew she had to do something to help him through this moment, this terrible rupture. She stepped closer, not making a single unnecessary move, so as not to startle him.

"Ballister," her voice rang out. It was soft but insistent.

Ballister turned, and his heart stopped. Standing before him was Ambrosius—the very same, with the smile that had lit up the darkness. He couldn't believe his eyes.

"This can't be real," he whispered, standing up from the chair. His legs trembled, and he couldn't hold back the tears.

"It's me," Ambrosius said, and his voice carried the same warm confidence as before.

In that moment, Ballister rushed to him, as if afraid he would disappear the moment he let go. He hugged Ambrosius so tightly, burying his face in his chest, and the tears poured out of him.

"I've missed you," he sobbed, his voice breaking. "I can't do this without you, I can't…"

Ambrosius hugged him back, holding him tightly, as if he, too, was afraid Ballister would slip away. He said nothing. Just held him, giving him time to understand that everything wasn't as he thought.

When Ballister calmed down, Ambrosius gently pulled back and looked into his eyes. With great care, he said:

"You have to move on, Ballister. For yourself. For me."

Ballister didn't respond. He just kept holding onto him, as if afraid that if he let go, he would lose him again. Too much pain for one person. But gradually, his breathing evened out, and his body grew heavier. He fell asleep, still holding Ambrosius.

Nimona, who had been in the guise of Ambrosius all this time, carefully picked him up and carried him to bed. She laid him down, covered him with a blanket, and lingered for a moment, looking at his face, which even in sleep looked exhausted.

"Sorry, boss," she whispered, returning to her true form. "But I can't watch you suffer."

"Thank you," Ballister's quiet voice came through his sleep.

She smiled and left the room, letting him sleep. For the first time in a long time, his sleep was peaceful.

***

After that night, when Nimona had taken on Ambrosius's form, Ballister's world became distorted, unsettling. He began to notice strange things that hadn't seemed important before. Water, for example, which had once been just a liquid, now felt alive, full of hidden meanings. It seemed to become a conduit through which Ambrosius himself was trying to speak to him. Ballister began to see his reflection more and more—first in a glass on the kitchen table, then in a puddle after the rain, even in the droplets on the window when the morning sun touched them. These visions were fleeting, almost imperceptible, but they made his heart race and his mind question reality. He couldn't tell if it was a ghost, a memory, or his own despair projecting his pain onto the world around him.

One evening, as Ballister sat at the kitchen table, his gaze fell on a glass of water nearby. He froze, sensing a change in the air. The water began to ripple slightly, though there was no draft in the room. His fingers hovered in the air as he noticed the surface of the water becoming hazy and indistinct. And then—there, in that shimmering reflection, he saw him. Ambrosius. His face was blurred, as if carved from mist, but Ballister recognized him immediately—those eyes, that slightly crooked smile, that gaze full of longing and deep love. Ballister reached out, but as soon as his fingers touched the surface of the glass, the reflection vanished. It didn't fade or dissolve—it simply disappeared, as if it had never been there.

"Ambrosius…" Ballister whispered, as if hoping that saying his name would bring him back. His hand remained outstretched, and something in his chest tightened.

He sank into the chair, feeling anger and despair clench his chest. The inability to hold onto Ambrosius, to understand what was happening, tormented him. The pain gripped his throat, making it hard to breathe.

"Why won't you speak to me Why can't you say something I know it's you. I feel you, I sense you in every fiber of my being. But why can't you say even one word to me"

His voice trembled with tension, but there was no answer. He closed his eyes, trying to conjure Ambrosius's voice, his soft but confident way of speaking, his gentle, glowing gaze. But instead, the last moments of their life together flooded his memory: the scream, the sound of cracking stones, that instant of fear and the abyss that swallowed everything afterward. Ballister clenched his fists, as if hoping the pain would become even slightly more bearable.

"You promised we'd always be together…" he whispered, losing strength. "You promised you'd never leave me. But you're gone… And now I'm alone. How can I live without you How can I move forward when all I have are memories of what's gone"

The words came out as a moan, a cry from his soul, but the silence around him was even more terrifying. He stood up and began pacing the room, his thoughts tearing him apart. His heart couldn't find peace, and the world felt cold and unwelcoming. The pain squeezed his chest, offering no escape.

"I can't…" he whispered, sinking to his knees, feeling the heavy weight of pain pressing him down. "I can't do this without you…"

At that moment, in the midst of the deafening silence, he heard a whisper. It wasn't the wind, not a strange coincidence. The whisper was too clear, too familiar to ignore. He turned sharply, and his heart stopped.

"Ballister…"

He turned around, but no one was there. It was Ambrosius's voice. He was sure of it. As if Ambrosius were nearby, like a ghost, a call.

"Ambrosius" his voice cracked, growing weaker. "Are you here"

He stood, peering into the darkness, but the only response was the loud beating of his own heart and the distant, ominous sounds of the river. Ballister felt a strange mix of hope and fear. He knew this couldn't be real. It was just his mind playing tricks on him. But he couldn't forget—he had heard his voice. And that voice sounded like a part of him, a part of their shared history.

When he returned to the table, Nimona was waiting for him. She sat at the table, and upon seeing his state, her face immediately filled with concern.

"Ballister…" her voice was cautious, soft, but full of care. "You need to eat. You can't keep going like this. You know it's only making things worse."

"I'm not hungry…" he replied, looking away. Her words didn't seem to reach him, as if they were unnecessary, useless. He felt that her care simply couldn't touch the depth of his pain.

"You can't just disappear, like he did…" her voice trembled, and there was not just worry in her tone, but a desperate plea. "You have to live. For yourself. For us."

The anger that had been building inside him burst out like an uncontrollable flood.

"Live" his voice was almost aggressive. "How can I live when he's gone When everything I had is gone"

Nimona fell silent, her eyes filled with compassion but also understanding. She knew her words couldn't fill the void that now resided in his heart.

That night, as fog settled over the ground and the moon illuminated the river, Ballister heard the voice again. He stepped outside, feeling the cold air sting his skin. The moon cast a dim light on the water's surface, and suddenly, in the darkness, he saw him again. Ambrosius. His reflection in the water was blurred, almost elusive, but Ballister recognized him. It was unmistakably his face—the same eyes, the same gaze.

"Ambrosius…" his heart raced as he stepped forward, reaching out, trying to grab him, to hold on.

But the reflection faded, and instead, a voice echoed in the air—not a call, but a quiet, firm one:

"You have to let me go… You can't stay in the past."

Ballister felt tears welling up in his eyes. He shook his head, unable to believe it.

"I can't…" he said, overcome with despair. "I can't live without you."

"You're stronger than you think," the voice replied, as if trying to comfort him. "You've always been strong. And you need to become a lighthouse for others. For those who've lost their light."

In that moment, Ballister felt an unbearable pain in his chest. But when he opened his eyes, the reflection was gone. The water was calm again, and only the endless sound of the river broke the night's silence.

He returned to the house, where Nimona was waiting for him. She looked at him with such understanding that words were unnecessary.

"You saw him, didn't you" she asked softly, almost whispering.

Ballister nodded, unable to speak. He knew it wasn't just a vision. It was a message. A reminder that Ambrosius would always be with him, no matter where he was. Even if he was no longer physically present.

"I'll try…" he finally said, his voice quieter but steady. "I'll try to live."

Nimona smiled. Her smile held genuine hope, not a promise, but a light. And Ballister knew that this path would be long and difficult, but he had no choice. He had to become a lighthouse. For himself. For others. For everyone who had lost their light.

***

Ballister returned to the lighthouse. This place, which had once been a symbol of hope, resilience, and light, now felt dark and frightening, like a shattered dream. The wind whipped against his face, and the cold fog obscured the horizon, as if the world itself had decided to swallow the last remnants of warmth. Everything was the same as it had been—the stone walls of the lighthouse, the cliff overlooking the raging river. But now, Ballister felt like he no longer belonged to this world. He was an outsider, unsure where his body ended and the space around him began, as if he had dissolved into this bleak landscape.

He knew he had to be here. This was the last place he had seen Ambrosius alive, and now, standing on the edge of the cliff, on the boundary between past and future, he felt that this was where he could say goodbye. This place, where everything had begun, would also be the place of closure. Here, on this very edge, he could finally let him go.

The wind tugged at his hair, reminding him of the days when they had stood together at the edge of the cliff, discussing dreams, laughing at their silly plans, building a future that now seemed to have crumbled to pieces. Tears, like raindrops, rolled down his cheeks, leaving cold trails. With each step, his heart grew heavier, but despite this, a strange feeling began to grow within him—not just despair, but a kind of silence that filled the space around him. It was a mix of relief and sorrow. He knew that here, in this place, he had to close this chapter of his life.

He stood at the very edge of the cliff, staring into the endless dark abyss where the raging waves carried their force, crushing everything in their path. This river was both home and emptiness to him. Ambrosius's river, as he called it. He was certain that if there was ever a force capable of taking him away from all this, it was here—in this river, among these waves that always reminded him of voices, of encounters, of love.

"Ambrosius…" he whispered, and his voice, trembling with emotion, was swallowed by the roar of the river. He could have kept these words to himself, but something inside compelled him to speak, as if this were the only possible farewell. "I don't know if you can hear me, but I need to say this. I need to say goodbye."

He closed his eyes, trying to imagine Ambrosius beside him, feeling his presence in every breath, in every inch of this space, as if he were standing there, watching him. Ballister felt the pain constricting his chest, but at the same time, he tried to release it, hoping that this farewell would bring an end to the endless torment.

"You were everything to me," he continued, the words catching in his throat. "You were my light, my anchor, my home. I don't know how to live without you… But I know you'd want me to keep living. To become a lighthouse for others, like you were for me."

He opened his eyes, gazing at the endless river, at the waves that carried their force to the rocks, as they always had, breaking against them with relentless persistence. The roar of the river began to sound more and more like Ambrosius's voice, his calm, confident tone. It was the same sound that had once brought him comfort when he was on the brink of despair. Everything felt so familiar, but now even in that roar, he felt a farewell. The lighthouse, no matter how hard he tried, could no longer be the place that held him.

"I'm letting you go," he whispered, and his heart clenched. Tears welled up in his eyes again, but this time they weren't tears of fear or pain. They were tears of release. "I'm letting you go, but I'll never forget you. You'll always be with me. In my memories. In my heart. You're a part of me, and you always will be."

He felt something shift inside him, as if with each word, with each gesture, he was letting go of something heavy and leaving it here, among these waves, among this light and shadow, among their shared history.

From his pocket, he pulled out an old compass. It was a gift he had given Ambrosius many years ago, when they were just beginning their journey together. The compass, which had become a symbol of their path. Ballister clenched it in his hand, feeling the weight of the past, a past that would forever remain in his memory.

"This is for you," he whispered, gripping the compass tightly. And then, without hesitation, he threw it into the raging river. "This is my goodbye."

He watched as the compass disappeared into the dark waters, and in that moment, he felt the pain in his heart begin to fade, as if the waves were swallowing his memories and returning them to the river. He knew this wasn't the end. It was the beginning of a new path. A path where he would have to learn to live without Ambrosius, but with his light inside. A path where each step would point to a new meaning.

Ballister turned and walked away from the lighthouse, knowing that he could now leave this world and its emptiness behind. The wind carried the tears from his face, and they were swept away into the darkness. He knew the road ahead would be long and difficult, but he also knew he had no choice. He had to become a lighthouse—like Ambrosius. For himself, for others, for everyone who had ever lost their light.

***

Ballister stood at the edge of the cliff, where solid ground gave way to the endless river. Everything around him was imbued with the grandeur of nature—the vivid, eclipsed sky with its crimson hues, like the remnants of a fading day, and the massive waves that rose and crashed against the rocks, as if the Earth itself was trying to tell its story. The wind played with his hair, whispering something in his ear. The salty spray touched his skin, almost like the embrace of his long-gone husband, returning once more to be by his side.

He took a deep breath, feeling the freshness and vastness around him, as if this moment held some special meaning, an invisible connection to something important. The river, with its tireless motion and eternal strength, had always been more than just water to him. It was a home that always opened its arms, asking for nothing in return, and in that feeling, Ballister felt his lungs fill not just with air, but with the breath of freedom, a relief that had eluded him for years.

His hand instinctively reached for his chest, where a wedding ring hung on a thin chain. It was cold to the touch, but despite that, he felt it pulling him into the past. Vivid images flashed in his memory—moments that had become part of his very essence. His eyes darkened briefly with sadness, but there was something comforting about the ring. It wasn't just a symbol of his love for Ambrosius; it was an anchor, holding him in this world, reminding him that love didn't disappear, even when the person was gone.

He closed his eyes, and the images of the past grew brighter. He saw himself and Ambrosius standing in the rain, shivering from the cold but laughing, oblivious to everything but each other. He felt his hand, which had so often touched him, his warm gaze that filled Ballister with confidence that everything would be alright. And even though the last words they had spoken to each other had dissolved into the air, the love remained.

"You're always with me," he whispered into the void, his voice soft but filled with conviction. He looked out at the horizon, where the sky seamlessly blended with the river, and, as if in that moment, everything around him fell silent. The wind died down, and time slowed.

The river was unusually calm, its waves gently rolling toward the rocks, almost lulling the world around him. Ballister felt a strange peace begin to settle in his soul. He no longer sought anything, no longer searched for truth, no longer ran from his thoughts or fought invisible demons. All he needed was to simply be. To be here, now, to feel life itself, which continued despite everything.

He sat on the edge of the cliff, staring out at the endless expanse before him. His hands slid over his knees, and he allowed himself to lose himself in this moment. In his mind, Ambrosius's voice echoed again—quiet but clear, as it had been in the days when they were together.

"You're stronger than you think," the voice said, not as an order, but as a gentle reminder. "You can start over. And you will."

And Ballister believed him. Believing was hard, but with each passing moment, he felt the strength in his chest grow. It wasn't a struggle, but a soft understanding that he needed to move forward. Even if everything was different, even if darkness sometimes enveloped him, he knew—he wasn't alone. And perhaps the most important step had already been taken.

He took the ring off the chain and held it in his hand, feeling the weight of old memories, the weight of his loss. But even that weight had become a part of him. It wasn't just a symbol of love; it was a reminder that life went on. Something ended so that something new could begin. He hung the ring around his neck again, closer to his heart, as a final act of attachment and farewell. And perhaps, with that gesture, he freed himself from the pain that had bound him for all these months.

The wind picked up, and despite the weight in his heart, he felt a slight smile form on his lips. It wasn't a happy smile, not one filled with joy, but it held a glimmer of hope. Hope for the future, for a light that might be hidden but was still present in his life. He felt something new stirring within him. It wasn't inspiration, not a bright idea, but rather an understanding that there was something important he could give to the world, even if it was just a tiny spark.

He stood, and his gaze met the horizon again, the river that with each passing moment felt more familiar and warm. He turned and walked toward the trail leading away from the cliff, leaving the river behind but not forgetting it. Ahead was a new path, uncertain and full of challenges. But Ballister was ready to walk it. He was ready to step into this new world with what was most precious to him—the light that Ambrosius had left behind.

And he knew that was enough.