The elders never spoke of heaven as a destination.
They spoke of it as a direction.
Every Luminark eventually heard the Call. It was not a voice carried by the wind or written across the stars. It arrived quietly, beneath ordinary thoughts, as a longing that could not be explained. Some ignored it for a lifetime. Others mistook it for ambition, adventure, or restlessness.
But those who listened understood.
The Call was not asking them to leave the world.
It was asking them to remember who they were before the world told them who to become.
I stood at the edge of the city as night surrendered to an impossible light. Behind me rose towers built from achievement, identity, fear, and certainty. They had given me shelter, purpose, and a name, but they could never quiet the feeling that something eternal waited beyond their walls.
The path ahead stretched farther than I could see.
No map marked its end.
No promise guaranteed an easy journey.
Only the light remained, patient and unwavering, illuminating just enough of the road for the next step.
That was all the Infinite had ever required.
Not certainty.
Only willingness.
As I walked, I realized I was not traveling toward another place. Every step stripped away another layer of the person I believed myself to be. The farther I walked, the lighter I became.
The Luminarks say the longest journey in existence is not measured in miles or lifetimes.
It is the distance between forgetting and remembering.
And every soul who answers the Call discovers the same beautiful truth.
The road home has always been made of light.
