The ritual of the departed Lactimol Bezos' transition to the Shining World began.

  Everyone formed a circle around the old Fliirus bush beneath which his body now rested.

  At first, there was silence.

  Then someone began to sing.

  The voice was low and deep, as if not a person were singing, but the earth itself. A second voice joined. Then a third. And soon the entire circle resonated — layered, gentle, without strain.

  It was not a mourning song.

  It was a song of passage.

  Everyone began moving slowly in a circle. Step — inhale. Step — exhale. The rhythm aligned with the pulse of the earth, the breathing of the plants, the invisible current of energy flowing around us.

  Suddenly bubbles began to appear in the air — transparent like soap bubbles, yet inside each was a soft glow. They rose upward slowly, as if carrying something weightless.

  More and more of them appeared.

  They floated high into the blue and disappeared.

  The song grew louder.

  The floating seruses above produced sounds — thin, almost whistling, yet astonishingly harmonious.

  At the end of the song, the Fliiruses suddenly expelled a cloud of pollen.

  Golden. Warm. Luminous.

  The pollen settled gently on the ground, on the bushes, on all of us.

  And the ringing ceased.

  A brief, dense silence followed.

  And then — an explosion of joy.

  Laughter. Applause. Someone whistled. The pteroseruses spread their wings and hurried about. The seruses embraced one another.

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  It was not an ending.

  It was completion — and at the same time, a beginning.

  Tables were quickly set around us.

  Large, long, exquisitely decorated. Dishes appeared — hot, fragrant, sweet, savory. Fruits, drinks, desserts. Blue-turquoise cocktails, clear infusions, herb bread, roasted roots, sweet rolls dusted with pollen.

  Music began.

  Strange instruments were brought out. Pteroseruses kept rhythm with their wings. Seruses began to dance — fluidly, freely, in circles, in pairs, in groups.

  Even Jo-Jo couldn't resist — carefully spinning Lia in place, laughing. Bridget ran around them, tail wagging.

  And only when the music softened and the movement grew freer did I finally see the mother of the ancient Lactimol — Salma.

  At first I didn't recognize her.

  She stood among the seruses — calm, almost unnoticed. And... her lower body was no longer what I remembered. The heavy mass was gone.

  I recognized her face immediately.

  The same deep eyes. The same weariness, but now without pain. There was something new in them. A lostness. As if for years she had lived holding onto one single task — to care. And suddenly that task was gone.

  She stood slightly apart, watching the celebration. Smiling. But uncertainly.

  I wanted to approach her. To say something. But there were no words.

  At that moment, I heard familiar little footsteps.

  Pi-Pu.

  He ran in with his group of Shi-mu — five or six of them. All wearing hats of different colors. They looked like a tiny, excited team of explorers.

  "Pi-Pu!" I called softly.

  He turned, squeaked happily, and immediately changed direction — straight toward the tables.

  The Shi-mu examined the desserts carefully, with remarkable concentration. One sniffed an airy pie. Another inspected shiny glaze. Pi-Pu immediately chose something creamy and glowing. A nearby pteroserus kindly placed desserts onto little plates for them.

  Gradually the celebration softened. The tables thinned. Seruses and pteroseruses dispersed into small groups.

  I approached Alexander.

  "I need to go home now," I said quietly. "Thank you for everything."

  He looked at me attentively, as if checking whether I was tired.

  But before he could respond, Jo-Jo sighed and said apologetically,

  "We unfortunately need to go home too. Builders are coming tomorrow morning. We're starting renovations. We'd almost forgotten..."

  Lia nodded. Bridget yawned in her arms.

  Alexander nodded.

  We walked back — through Phil's old kitchen.

  It looked ordinary again. Tiles. Table. Kettle.

  At the threshold we said goodbye.

  I hugged Lia and Jo-Jo.

  Stroked Bridget.

  Alexander grew serious.

  "I warned you," he said gently but firmly. "I will have to place Serenitas on you."

  "We don't want to forget," Lia said quietly and sadly.

  "I know," he replied. "But it's necessary."

  He touched their foreheads one by one.

  A light touch — and a soft haze appeared in Jo-Jo's and Lia's eyes. Not sleep, not emptiness — just a quiet distancing.

  Then he made sweeping motions around each of them. He said he was removing their scent.

  "Everything will be fine," Alexander said.

  They calmly got into the car. Waved to us. And drove away.

  Alexander and I stood outside.

  Snow.

  Frost.

  The same air.

  I took a deep breath.

  As if returning.

  Charlie passed by with his father.

  "Merry Christmas!" they said.

  "Merry Christmas," we replied.

  They continued on, as if nothing extraordinary existed in the world.

  And suddenly Alexander embraced me.

  Strongly.

  Without words.

  I didn't think of resisting.

  Heat spread inside me. Not at all winter-like.

  We walked toward my house.

  He showed me the new door lock.

  "Reinforced," he said calmly.

  And at that moment we heard a soft rustle.

  We turned.

  In the front yard stood two herons.

  White. Tall. Incredibly calm.

  I recognized them immediately. The ones that had once visited Phil's garden.

  Now they were here.

  With me.

  Alexander stopped.

  "Well now... that's very interesting..." he said mysteriously.

  He looked at them for a long time. Then at me.

  "In your painting... the heron and the flower... they're almost alive."

  There was something special in his voice. Not just praise.

  He looked at me warmly. Almost with admiration.

  Silently, we went inside.