Page 85 of Never Quite Gone

“I watched too,” Sofia said softly, her voice carrying despite the magical chaos. “Every life, every death, every time they found each other. But I understood what you never did – love isn't about holding on. It's about letting go when we must.”

“Never,” Will snarled, power gathering around him like storm clouds. “I'll never let them go. Never watch them die again. Never?—”

His hand raised for a final strike, magic crackling with deadly purpose. But he hesitated, eyes meeting mine across the destroyed operating theater. For just a moment, I saw my little brother beneath the immortal force he'd become – the boy who'd followed me everywhere, who'd just wanted to protect what he loved.

That moment of hesitation was all Sofia needed.

Her spell caught Will from behind, ancient words of unbinding wrapped in a priestess's authority. Marcus moved instantly to join her, their combined power forming chains of pure light that wrapped around my brother like divine judgment.

Eli struggled to his feet despite his injuries, his healer's instincts warring with the reality of what needed to be done. Blood stained his shirt where Will's earlier attack had landed, but his hands remained steady as he reached for magic older than medicine.

“No,” Will gasped as the immortality began stripping away. His stolen power fought against Sofia's binding, making reality shiver around us. “Please, I can't... I can't lose them again.”

I caught him as he fell, gathering my brother close as the power tore free. His body shook with sobs against my chest, feeling smaller somehow – more human, more vulnerable. Morelike the boy who used to crawl into my bed during thunderstorms.

“I'm sorry,” I whispered into his hair, feeling him tremble as centuries of memory began slipping away. “I'm so sorry I didn't see your pain sooner.”

Marcus and Sofia maintained their spell, ancient magic pulling stolen immortality from my brother's flesh like poison from a wound. Eli knelt beside us, his surgeon's hands finding Will's pulse even as his older knowledge guided Sofia's working.

The immortality left Will like smoke in wind, taking lifetimes of memory with it. Each lost life aged him slightly, returning him to natural mortality with brutal efficiency. Blood trickled from his nose as power continued draining away, marking the cost of his desperate choices.

In his final moments, Will looked up at me with clear eyes. His hand found mine with fading strength, fingers cold but grip still sure.

“I loved you,” he managed, voice barely above whisper. “In every life, I loved you all so much.” His other hand reached for Eli, trying to bridge the distance one last time. “Take care of him, healer. In every life... take care...”

Eli's hands glowed with gentle light as he tried to ease Will's passing, ancient medicines mixing with modern knowledge in one final act of mercy. But we all knew it was too late. Sofia's spell ensured no resurrection this time, no more cycles of pain and remembering.

“Maybe... maybe next time...” Will's voice faded as the last of his stolen power tore free. His eyes met mine one final time, carrying a lifetime of love unburdened by immortal memory. Then he was gone, dying in my arms while broken marble recorded our grief in century-old silence.

Marcus lowered his hands slowly, ancient power settling like dust around us. Sofia's spell ensured there would be no coming back – not for Will, not anymore. Her eyes held centuries ofwatching as she began the words that would seal his passing permanently.

Eli's hands never stopped moving, trying everything he knew from every life he'd lived. But even the greatest healer couldn't fix what immortal power had broken. Couldn't mend a soul torn apart by its own desperate love.

I held my brother's cooling body and wept for all the lives we might have had, all the pain that love can cause when it turns desperate and dark. Eli's arms wrapped around me from behind, offering silent support as tears soaked Will's shirt.

The destroyed operating theater stood witness as my brother's body grew cold. Every broken tile, every shattered cabinet, every crack in century-old marble recorded the cost of loving too much, of trying to hold on when the greatest gift is sometimes letting go.

“He just wanted to keep everyone safe,” I managed through tears. “To stop death from winning.”

“I know,” Eli whispered, his own voice rough with grief. His hands found mine where they clutched Will's shirt, steady despite his injuries. “He loved us enough to break the world. To become something terrible, just trying to protect what mattered.”

Sofia knelt beside us, her ancient power gentled now that the deed was done. “He'll rest now,” she said softly. “No more remembering, no more watching from the shadows. Just peace, at last.”

Marcus began the cleanup with practiced efficiency, centuries of experience handling supernatural aftermath guiding his movements.

CHAPTER 27

Breaking Cycles

Dawn broke over the private cemetery on the Rothschild estate, painting everything in shades of gold and forgiveness. The morning light caught on generations of family headstones – great-grandparents who had built our empire, cousins who had expanded it, all the normal lives that Will had watched over through his endless vigil.

We lowered two caskets into carefully prepared graves. My brother lay beside the family he had tried so desperately to protect, while Vale rested nearby – not an enemy after all, but a guardian who had lost his way trying to save us all. The official story called it a tragic accident, something about structural failure in the historic wing. Only we knew the truth of what had happened in that operating theater.

My hand found Eli's as Sofia began the ancient burial rites, her priestess's voice carrying power even then. The words she spoke were older than Vale's curse, older than our cycles of love and loss. They spoke of rest and peace, of souls finally freed from the weight of remembering.

Marcus stood beside her. He held traditional offerings in hands that had helped bury too many friends – blessed herbs for Vale, acknowledging his role as healer and teacher, and a childhoodphoto for Will. I had chosen it carefully: Will and me building sandcastles in the Hamptons, both of us laughing at some forgotten joke. Before memories and magic had complicated everything.

“He loved too much,” I said softly, watching Will's headstone catch morning light. The dates seemed wrong somehow – too few years to contain all he'd been, all he'd carried through lifetimes. “In the end, that was his tragedy.”

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