[Khentii Mountains, Mongolia] Genghis Khan

Theresa listens, her expression unreadable at first. Slowly, her lips curl into a faint, wry smile. He's done enough to be graced with her, the real her, the one underneath so many years of loneliness and neglect. 

"Perhaps," she replies, her voice carrying a thoughtful lilt. "Though I’ve spent a lifetime believing self-denial was a virtue, it seems I’m in need of... re-education."

As Aladdin falls in step beside her, she tilts her head slightly, considering him with muted amusement. His playful remarks about timing and dinner companions elicit the smallest of smiles. "You flatter me," she murmurs, casting her gaze forward. "But flattery suits you, and I seldom receive it."
There’s a pause before she continues, her tone more subdued. "I don’t think I could handle a sudden departure. Not yet."

Her steps slow, her thoughts gathering like clouds before a storm. "I can feel your... hope, Aladdin. It is beautiful, like a flower blooming after a lifetime of winters," she says, her voice strengthening with resolve. "I don’t intend to waste this. After all, we’ve both learned the cost of letting moments slip away."

Theresa peers about the mountainside, letting it sprawl under her feet. "Where to, Aladdin? Are you driving, or am I?"

Theresa walks beside Aladdin, her pace measured, her gaze distant as she absorbs his words. The faint breeze tousles her hair, and for a moment, she looks like a figure etched in time, unyielding yet weathered by the passing years. A strange look for someone so young. "I suppose it depends on what you think you're preserving. I’ve seen men deny themselves the warmth of a family, the comfort of companionship, all for the sake of ideals that crumbled in their hands. But I’ve also seen those who gave up everything they had, and in doing so, found a kind of peace," she says, shaking her head and her thoughts away. She glances at him, her eyes sharper now, more present. "Peace, but not happiness."

His mention of the plague and the dark history of his past draws a shadow across her face, but she doesn’t flinch. "The Black Death," she echoes, her voice quiet. "The world is full of stories like that, isn’t it? Tragedies born of petty desires, suffering sown by the smallest of grievances," Theresa says, looking to the sky for a moment. She folds her arms, her brow furrowed. "And yet, even those stories don’t stop us from making the same mistakes. There’s something uniquely human in the capacity to forget," she murmurs, thinking on it. He had said before, he cannot forget, he is not human... "What was the wish?" Theresa asks, curious. 

When Aladdin speaks of his past, his fears of becoming the monster he once was, Theresa stops. She turns to face him fully, her expression unyielding but not unkind. "Because I have hope," she says, her tone firm. "Maybe you won’t always get it right. Maybe you’ll stumble. So many before you and after you will face similar choices... whether to be malicious or not. Redemption isn’t a single act; it’s a path," she says, knowing what will happen... will. Chasing after what ifs won't accomplish anything. After a beat of silence, she quirks an eyebrow, her lips twitching in a faint, wry smile. "And besides, you’ve yet to show me your worst. I’d like to think I can handle it."

At his suggestion to let fate guide them, Theresa chuckles under her breath. "Alright then," she asks, her voice laced with dry humor. "I should warn you: fate and I have a rather contentious relationship. But if you're feeling brave, I suppose I can oblige. Let’s see where the road takes us," she says, breathing deep. Theresa pauses mid-stride, her hand slipping into the pocket of her coat. She pulls out a small, well-worn tarot card: the Page of Swords. The image is crisp, depicting a youthful figure holding a sword, standing vigilant beneath a restless sky. She holds it up for Aladdin to see, her expression thoughtful.

“The seeker of truth,” she says softly. “Curious, bold... and sometimes, a little reckless.”

As she speaks, a sudden gust of wind catches the card. For a moment, it flutters in her hand, resisting the pull of the breeze. But then, something strange happens. The edges begin to crumble, disintegrating into a fine, golden sand. The transformation spreads quickly, and within seconds, the entire card has dissolved. Theresa watches without surprise as the sand swirls in the air, catching the light like a shimmering vortex. “Seems fate is agreeable,” she murmurs.

Before she can say more, the wind picks up again, stronger this time. The grains of sand sweep around them, and Theresa’s body begins to change. Starting from her fingertips, her form starts to dissolve into the same golden particles, the process smooth and almost serene. Aladdin follows suit, his frame breaking apart in tandem. Theresa meets his eyes, and for a fleeting moment, there's a flicker of amusement. “I hope you’re ready for a shortcut,” she says, her voice carried away in the breeze. Then, in an instant, both she and Aladdin are gone, their forms now part of the swirling sandstorm. The wind carries them across the landscape, a silent, glimmering current, flowing effortlessly toward their destination.