The Postman of Forgotten Worlds

They called him Orin — the last postman in a world that had stopped writing. His mailbag was ancient leather, heavy with letters that had no destination.

He rode across deserts, forests, and ruins, delivering messages to the places that had fallen off the map. To him, it wasn’t about who received them — it was about keeping promises alive.

One day, he found a letter with no name, only a seal of blue wax shaped like a tear. Inside, the words shimmered faintly:

“Deliver this when the world begins again.”

He carried it for years, aging as the lands around him grew quieter, lonelier. Finally, one dawn, he reached the edge of the world — a cliff where the sky bent into the sea.

The climax: He opened the letter. It read,

“To the one who never stopped believing: you are the reason we still exist.”

The ocean parted to reveal a city of light rising beneath him, filled with doors, voices, and life returning. And somewhere in that shining city, a new postman began his first delivery.