Luna was fifty-eight when Dante asked her to help him die. Not through Void dissolution, but through natural ending with dignity and control. He was ninety-six, his body failing despite Void life extension, his mind still sharp, but his physical existence becoming unbearable.
"I'm ready," Dante told Luna during a quiet afternoon. They sat by the lake where she'd scattered Aria's ashes decades ago. "I've lived a good life, longer than I expected. But this body is done. I want to finish on my terms."
"What are you asking me to do?" Luna's voice was steady despite the grief already rising.
"The healers say I have maybe six months of increasingly painful decline. Or I can choose to end now, while I'm still myself, still capable ofa meaningful goodbye. I'm choosing now. I want you there when
