Chapter 28
The road did not end.
It thinned.
Stone dissolved into black dust, and the ground beneath Dino and Luna's feet became smooth, fluid—like dried ink that remembered being liquid. Every step rippled faintly, leaving traces that faded a breath later, as if the world itself refused to be marked.
They had crossed the threshold.
The Ink Plane did not announce itself with storms or light. It welcomed them with silence.
Luna felt it first.
Her breath slowed. Her heart steadied. The invisible pressure she had carried since birth—like a crown she could never remove—shifted. Not gone, but acknowledged.
"This place…" she murmured. "It feels like it knows me."
Dino's gaze swept across the horizon. Endless black plains stretched outward, broken only by towering ink-mountains that curved like brushstrokes frozen mid-motion. Above them, the sky was pale silver, layered with moons—not one, not two, but many, each at a different phase, each watching.
"It does," Dino replied. "You were born of it."
They walked.
No guards greeted them. No sentinels appeared. Yet Luna knew—knew—that every step was being observed. Not by enemies. Not by assassins.
By belief.
The Ink Plane was not merely a world. It was a faith made land.
They reached a rise overlooking a vast basin where black rivers flowed upward instead of down, spiraling into the sky and dissolving into mist. The sight stole Luna's breath.
"Dino," she said softly, "do you think gods exist?"
He stopped.
The question hung between them, heavier than any blade.
Dino did not answer immediately. He looked at the moons instead—at how they reflected in Luna's eyes.
"Let me tell you something," he said at last.
Luna turned fully toward him.
"In all the worlds I've walked," Dino continued, voice calm, unhurried, "I've seen humans pray to gods who never answered. I've seen gods beg mortals for faith. I've seen immortals rot from eternity, and mortals burn brighter in a single breath than stars that lived forever."
He stepped closer, his presence steady, grounding.
"Existence is not proven by worship. Nor is divinity proven by power."
Luna swallowed. "Then what separates humans… immortals… gods?"
Dino's answer came without hesitation.
"Regret."
She frowned slightly.
"Humans regret because their time is short," he said. "Immortals regret because their time is endless. Gods regret because they believed themselves above regret."
He looked back to the rivers of ink.
"Wisdom is not knowing everything. Wisdom is choosing what not to forget."
The moons pulsed faintly, as if listening.
They continued walking, and Luna felt the words sink deep—into her heart, into her bones.
After a long silence, she spoke again. "Is immortality… a curse?"
Dino smiled. It was faint. Almost imperceptible.
"Immortality is neither blessing nor curse," he said. "It is a mirror. It reflects what you carry inside."
They reached a field where ink-flowers bloomed—petals black as night, centers glowing softly like moonlight. Luna knelt instinctively, brushing one with her fingers.
"They're beautiful," she whispered.
"Yes," Dino agreed. "And they will never wither."
Luna hesitated. "Then why do they feel… sad?"
Dino's eyes softened.
"Because beauty that cannot fade is lonely," he said. "Sadness and happiness are not opposites. They coexist. Just like faith and doubt."
She stood slowly.
"Religion," Luna said, testing the word. "Is it real?"
"It is real," Dino answered. "But not because gods demand it. It exists because humans need meaning when facing the unknown."
He paused.
"And immortals," he added quietly, "need it when facing eternity."
They walked again, and the Ink Plane opened further—cities in the distance, shaped like calligraphy carved into reality itself. Towers curved instead of rising straight. Bridges floated without support.
This was Luna's homeland.
Yet she felt no chains.
At the edge of the field, Dino stopped once more.
"There is a story," he said.
Luna looked at him.
"They all cheered for the turtle," Dino began, voice even. "Because he won. Because he crawled slowly… but surely… toward the finish line."
Luna listened, unmoving.
"And the rabbit?" Dino continued. "They mocked him. They said he was arrogant. That he slept. That he deserved to lose."
His gaze sharpened.
"They mocked him but no one asked why he was late."
The wind stirred the ink-flowers.
"Maybe," Dino said, "he was hiding from a predator. Maybe he was caught in a trap. Maybe he faced a hundred unseen trials… while the turtle simply walked."
He looked directly at Luna.
"But none of that matters. Because in this world…"
His voice dropped.
"Only results matter."
Silence followed.
Luna felt something twist in her chest not anger, not sorrow, but understanding.
"That's cruel," she said.
"Yes," Dino replied. "And honest."
She exhaled slowly. "Then what about heartless people? Those who don't regret anything?"
"They are not heartless," Dino said. "They are afraid. Regret proves you cared."
The moons brightened.
Luna straightened, her posture unconsciously regal not forced, not imposed.
"I don't want to rule," she said quietly. "I don't want to be worshipped. I just want… no regrets."
Dino looked at her for a long moment.
"Then you are already wiser than most gods."
They resumed walking, deeper into the Ink Plane, toward a future watched by moons, gods, immortals, and unseen enemies alike.
Assassins still moved in the dark.
Truths remained hidden.
But Luna walked without fear.
And Dino walked beside her.
Unaging. Unbroken.
True immortals moving forward, without regret.
End of Chapter 28