Cassidy had company for a moment—
then she was alone.
The hall of light did not announce it.
No ripple. No warning.
Just absence—sudden and clean, like someone had been erased from the space beside her with perfect precision.
Cassidy stopped walking.
She turned, squinting at the endless white behind her.
"Rose?" she called, voice half casual, half sharp. "Where'd you go?"
The light didn't answer.
Cassidy's smile tried to form out of habit, out of defense—
but it didn't make it all the way.
Her heart kicked harder once.
Then again.
It was clear now.
This wasn't their trial.
This was hers.
Cassidy took a slow breath through her nose, shoulders tightening like she was bracing for impact.
"Okay," she muttered. "Cool. Love that for me."
She kept moving—slow and measured—because she'd learned a long time ago that rushing only made you bleed faster.
The corridor stretched, seamless and bright, the light bright but never blinding. Not warm. Not cold. Not kind.
Neutral.
Cassidy's boots made soft, lonely echoes.
Then—
a smell.
Simple.
Unmistakable.
Fresh bread.
Cassidy inhaled sharply, and the scent hit her so hard it almost stole her balance. Warm crust, soft center—like morning, like safety and things that weren't allowed to exist anymore.
Before she could even react—
machine oil.
Not the sharp chemical bite of a new shop.
The deep, lived-in scent of years of work.
Of bolts and grease and heat and hands that never stopped working because stopping meant thinking.
Cassidy's throat tightened.
Home.
"No…" she whispered, eyes narrowing like she could out-stare the memory into behaving. "No way."
The light around her shifted.
Not violently.
It bent—like a curtain pulled aside by invisible fingers.
The white corridor melted into sky.
Neon-purple clouds stretched overhead, and the world unfolded in front of her like a photograph left too long in the sun—still beautiful, still real, still cruel.
Her hometown.
Intact.
Whole.
Alive.
Cassidy stood at the edge of the street, frozen.
Neighbors laughed like it was an ordinary day. People leaned in doorways talking about nothing. Vendors shouted prices with playful arrogance, convinced their deal was the best deal in the world.
Children ran past in a small storm of feet and joy, splashing through puddles from a passing sprinkle, shrieking and giggling like the world had never hurt them.
Cassidy's eyes burned instantly.
Her chest felt too tight to breathe.
Then she saw her.
A small child stood in the street like she'd been placed there on purpose.
Cassidy's knees almost broke as she dropped.
Her arms opened before her mind caught up.
Her voice came out raw and desperate.
"Mari-Isla…"
The child turned.
And the word that followed nearly shattered Cassidy's spine.
"Mama!"
The word hit like impact.
Cassidy made a sound—half laugh, half sob—and her body moved like it belonged to someone else. She snatched her daughter up and held her so tight she feared she'd disappear if Cassidy loosened her grip even for a second.
"Oh my baby…" Cassidy whispered, voice cracking. "Oh my sweet girl. Come here. Come here—"
For one moment, her smile was real.
Not the sharp grin she used like armor.
A real smile—soft and shaking and full of grief that had been trapped in her for too many years.
Tears spilled fast, uncontrollable.
Mari-Isla's little hands pressed against Cassidy's cheeks.
"Mama," the child asked gently, brows knit with concern like she could feel the weight Cassidy carried even if she didn't understand it. "Are you okay?"
Cassidy nodded hard, swallowing the sob in her throat.
"I am now," she managed.
She pressed the child's head to her chest, breathing slowly, feeling a heartbeat she thought she'd never feel again.
Cassidy stared over her daughter's hair at her home.
Still intact.
Still standing.
A joy rose up so strong it hurt—like a sunrise hitting eyes that had lived too long in dark rooms.
Then—
the sky changed.
The neon purple dimmed, and something darker slid through it, like ink spreading under glass.
Black shimmered in the clouds.
Not storm-black.
Wrong-black.
The darkness moved as if it had intention.
Cassidy's body went rigid.
Her arms tightened instinctively around Mari-Isla.
"What…" she whispered, dread crawling up her spine. "No. No, no—"
The sky ripped.
Not metaphorically.
It tore like fabric.
And Varos came plunging down like chaos given a body.
The moment he hit the airspace above the settlement, terror swept the streets as if a wave rolled through every living thing at once.
People screamed.
Vendors dropped their goods.
Laughter turned to panic in one breath.
Then the ground erupted.
Soultakers surged from beneath the streets like buried nightmares waking all at once—brutal, efficient, unthinking.
Bodies hit the ground in rapid succession.
Some were cut down where they stood.
Some were torn apart before they could even scream.
Some… didn't even leave bodies.
They simply went still, empty, wiped from themselves as if their souls had been peeled out clean.
Cassidy's stomach turned.
Her legs moved.
She ran.
Mari-Isla clung to her, small arms locking around Cassidy's neck like instinct knew what was coming.
Cassidy shoved through the crowd, heart hammering so hard it felt like it might break ribs.
"We need to leave!" she screamed, voice ripping through her own throat. "Move! MOVE!"
But even as she ran, Cassidy looked down.
And her entire world stopped.
Mari-Isla's eyes were open.
Blank.
The little face still rested against Cassidy's collarbone—
but the light behind it was gone.
Soulless.
Cassidy's legs failed.
She dropped to her knees in the street, arms tightening around the child as if pressure could force a soul back into place.
No.
No no no—
Varos was already close.
He didn't rush.
He didn't toy.
He arrived like an outcome already decided.
Never giving time.
Never allowing chance.
Cassidy barely had breath to scream.
And then—
the world reset.
⸻
Cassidy stood at the edge of the street again.
The laughter, the vendors, the children.
Whole.
Alive.
She didn't hesitate.
She ran.
Not toward comfort.
Toward prevention.
"Mari-Isla!" she shouted, shoving through people, scanning faces, hunting for her daughter with frantic eyes. "Mari-Isla!"
No answer.
The children storm ran past again.
"Mama!"
Cassidy whipped around, snatched her daughter up—
and this time, she didn't hug.
She sprinted.
She ran like the city was already burning, like the sky was already ripped, like Varos was already descending.
She tried alleyways. She tried rooftops. She tried hiding her child in the deepest place she could find.
It arrived anyway.
Varos.
The rip.
The Soultakers.
The same efficiency.
The same speed.
The same result.
Reset.
Again.
Still again.
Cassidy tried everything.
Offering herself, stepping into the path of death like it could be bargained with.
Pleading until her voice went hoarse.
Begging like desperation could rewrite the universe.
Nothing changed what had already happened.
Cassidy screamed into the nightmare until she tasted blood.
"ROSE WHERE ARE YOU?! Please— anyone!"
No one heard her.
No one answered.
The only voice she heard, over and over, was small and bright and innocent.
"Mama!"
Each time it came, it carved her open.
Each time it ended, it hollowed her out a little more.
Cassidy felt every impact.
Every taking.
Every reset.
Not slowing.
Not speeding.
Just the same loop of loss on a perfect, merciless track.
Eventually, her body gave up.
She fell in the street, breath ragged, hands shaking, eyes staring at a sky that kept ripping itself open.
Terror didn't even have room anymore.
Beyond terror was something worse:
A lifeless woman—
still breathing.
Cassidy's mind spoke in a voice that sounded like her own, but older. Thinner.
"I'm never going to leave here."
The sky shimmered.
Purple.
Black.
Ripped.
Again.
Cassidy watched it without moving.
Then the voice came again—quiet, stubborn, small.
"I need to find a way to leave this."
Cassidy's chest rose with a shallow breath.
She sat up.
Slowly.
She stood.
And instead of running—
she walked.
Straight through the chaos.
Straight through the screams.
Not because she didn't care.
Because she'd already tried caring hard enough to tear the world apart.
Her hands were empty.
Her face was hollow.
Her eyes were steady.
The world reset.
Cassidy didn't wait for the storm of children this time.
She went inside.
Her old home.
The door was exactly the way she remembered it: the slight stick in the hinge, the squeak in the frame that always annoyed her father.
The house smelled like bread and oil and a life that should've been hers.
The children storm ran outside.
Laughter faded down the street like it always had.
The only one left in the house—
was her child.
Mari-Isla stood near the doorway, small hands clutching at her shirt.
"Mama!"
Cassidy's throat collapsed.
She dropped to her knees.
Tears poured silently, unstoppable.
"I should've been home," Cassidy whispered, voice shredded. "I should've saved you."
Mari-Isla tilted her head.
Her voice stayed gentle.
"But you didn't."
Cassidy's eyes squeezed shut.
The truth landed like a hammer.
Then the child looked up at her with bright, steady eyes.
"Why do you want to die?"
Cassidy froze.
Her mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Because the answer was too honest to dress up.
Cassidy stared at her daughter and whispered, almost ashamed of it—
"Because there's nothing left."
Mari-Isla stepped closer.
She raised one small finger and poked Cassidy's chest, right over her heart.
"Then why is there something here?"
Cassidy swallowed hard, confused, breath hitching.
Mari-Isla leaned in close, her forehead pressing lightly to Cassidy's.
"You have to let me go, Mama," the child said softly. "You need to live."
Cassidy's hands trembled as she cupped Mari-Isla's face.
"I know," she whispered. "But I can't forget about you."
Mari-Isla giggled—small and warm, like she was trying to give Cassidy permission to breathe.
She held Cassidy's face in both hands.
"You will hold me there," she said, voice firm in its kindness. "But you need to let my death go."
Cassidy's arms wrapped around her daughter again.
A fierce, desperate hold.
Then—
slowly—
she loosened.
Her grip softened.
Not because she wanted to.
Because she chose to.
Cassidy inhaled deeply.
And for the first time in years, she let the breath out without choking on it.
Mari-Isla's small body began to fade.
Cassidy clutched at her instinctively, panic rising—
but she forced her hands to remain open.
She let it happen.
Mari-Isla smiled up at her, unafraid.
Then she was gone.
Cassidy stayed kneeling on the floor, arms empty, shaking like the world had finally stopped hitting her and her body didn't know what to do with the quiet.
The house dissolved.
Walls turning to mist.
Furniture unraveling into light.
And Cassidy was surrounded by blue.
Not cold.
Not warm.
Just clear.
In the far distance, she heard it.
An anvil.
Hammer striking metal.
A sound that wasn't memory—
but direction.
Cassidy stared into the blue haze and saw two shapes.
Both made of the same sky-blue energy.
One stood at an anvil, lifting a massive hammer and bringing it down with steady rhythm, each strike echoing like a heartbeat.
The figure paused.
Looked up.
Stared straight toward Cassidy.
The second shape was smaller.
Childlike.
It raised a hand and gave a gentle wave.
A small head tilt.
Cassidy's breath caught.
She lifted her hand slowly and waved back, tears streaming without sound.
The figures vanished.
The anvil sound faded.
And the world folded.
Cassidy blinked—
breath catching—
and she was back in the long hall of light.
The corridor was exactly as it had been.
Neutral. Endless. Silent.
Cassidy's chest rose and fell hard as she looked around, disoriented.
Then she saw it.
A cocoon.
Sky-blue.
Pulsing in the white corridor like a heartbeat trapped in silk.
Cassidy jumped back so fast she nearly tripped.
"What the hell is that?" she whispered.
She stared at it like it might explode.
Then, cautiously, she stepped closer.
The cocoon hummed faintly, vibrating with energy that felt… familiar.
Not like Solara.
Not like Nexon.
Something cleaner.
Cassidy lifted one hand and poked it gently.
The pulsing stopped.
Dead still.
Cassidy held her breath.
"Hello?" she said carefully.
For a moment, there was nothing.
Then a voice, faint and strained, barely pushing through the energy like someone speaking underwater.
"Cassidy…? Cassidy, is that you?"
Cassidy's eyes widened.
She pressed her ear closer.
Cold bled from the cocoon's surface, sharp and clean.
"Yes," Cassidy whispered. "This is she… but who are you?"
The voice broke through again, desperate.
"It's Rose! Can you help me?!"
Cassidy gasped and grabbed the cocoon with both hands.
"Rose? How did you get in this thing?"
She pulled.
Nothing.
She tried to peel the surface back like fabric.
It didn't move.
She braced her boots against the floor and hauled.
Still nothing.
"Okay," Cassidy hissed, panic rising. "Okay, okay— we're not doing this. Rose, I'm trying—"
Then a slow blade of frost slid out from inside.
Cassidy stumbled backward so hard she nearly fell.
"HEY!" she snapped, hand flying to her chest. "A little warning next time? I'd rather not get stabbed!"
The frost blade cut carefully, controlled, carving a clean opening.
A hand emerged first—covered thickly in sky-blue energy, like Rose had been dipped in living light.
Then Rose pushed herself out—rising into the hall in one slow, unsteady motion.
She was wrapped in the energy head to toe.
Cassidy stared at her, fear and relief colliding in her chest.
"Uh…" Cassidy said, voice smaller now. "Rose? Can you even see through that stuff?"
Rose lifted her hands, staring at herself like she didn't understand what she was seeing.
Her breath shook.
Cassidy stepped close, instinctively moving to her side like a brace.
"Okay," Cassidy muttered, forcing her voice into something steadier. "I got you. Just— just walk."
Rose took a step, guided.
Then Cassidy flinched sharply.
A burning sensation hit Cassidy's wrist.
She jerked her arm back sharply, breath catching.
"—what the hell?"
Rose turned immediately
"Cassidy?"
Cassidy stared down at her own wrist.
A blue mark had appeared there.
It looked almost like a V—
but the left point curved inward, circling softly before fading like it didn't want to end.
It hummed faintly.
Not loud.
Not demanding.
Like a head finding a pillow for the first time.
Rose stared at it, breath unsteady.
Cassidy swallowed.
"Okay," Cassidy whispered, more to herself than anyone. "So that's… a thing."
She tightened her grip gently around Rose's forearm and began guiding her forward again, toward the corridor's end—toward whatever counted as out.
Behind them, the hall of light remained silent.
It did not congratulate.
It did not explain.
It simply watched them leave.
And then—
the light let them go.
The tree did not stir.
Its massive trunk rose from the earth in quiet permanence, bark layered and ancient, its surface breathing faintly with sky-blue veins that pulsed slow enough to feel imagined. The air around it was still. No wind. No birds. No sound except the low hum of ley energy running beneath the soil.
Weaver stood closest.
Jax paced several steps back, arms folded tight across his chest. Thane leaned against a stone outcrop near the hovercraft, watching the tree with narrowed eyes, jaw set.
Nothing happened.
Jax wiped a bead of sweat from his brow and exhaled through his nose.
"How long does this usually take?" he asked.
Weaver didn't look away from the trunk.
"I do not know," he said quietly. "The records only say they pass through… and then out."
He hesitated.
"I'm afraid," Weaver admitted, voice barely above the hum. "Virel may have dissolved them."
Thane straightened immediately.
"No," he said sharply. "I don't believe that one bit."
Weaver turned slightly, surprised.
"If we only know a little," Thane continued, fist clenching at his side, "it's bold—and unhelpful—to assume the worst. Especially here."
Jax stopped pacing.
"The Keeper seemed sure this was the only way for Rose," he said. "I'm just worried about Cassidy. I saw her eyes before she went in."
Weaver nodded once.
"I am as well," he said. "But I sense nothing through the ley. No distress. No presence."
Jax frowned.
"We give them as much time as they need," he said firmly. "That's my order. That hovercraft doesn't fly until they're back."
Weaver glanced toward the craft.
Toward Allium.
Then—
the bark shifted.
A low, resonant sound rippled through the ground as the trunk parted, seams opening like a slow breath being released.
All three of them moved at once.
A figure emerged first.
Female-shaped, composed entirely of sky-blue light.
The aura was radiant but calm, its glow steady rather than blinding. Frost gathered lightly around her feet as she stepped forward, touching the earth like it remembered her.
Rose.
Behind her—
Cassidy.
Whole. Standing. Breathing.
The three waiting figures released a breath they hadn't realized they were holding.
Cassidy stared at Rose, then at the tree, then back at Rose again.
"Uh," she said carefully, voice dry. "We're out of the tree… and you're still—"
Rose stiffened.
Instantly.
The sky-blue aura around her body hardened, crystallizing in a sharp, fluid motion. Ice-like structures locked around her limbs, her torso, her wingspace — capturing her completely.
She stopped moving.
Cassidy lunged forward instinctively and grabbed at the crystal—
and yelped, jerking her hands back as the cold burned her palms.
"Shit—!" she hissed, shaking her hands. "Uh, guys? Problem?"
Jax and Thane rushed forward.
Weaver raised a hand.
"Wait."
They froze.
The hardened shell began to crack.
Light poured through the fractures, thin at first, then brighter, spreading like dawn through ice.
Cassidy took an involuntary step back.
"Oh shit," she muttered.
The shell shed itself slowly, flaking away in controlled fractures until Rose stood revealed beneath it.
She looked… different.
Her original black and violet tattoos were still there — but softened. The purple had been completely overtaken, swallowed by sky-blue light that traced the same paths with calmer intent.
Her presence was quieter now.
Still cold.
But no longer strained.
Rose inhaled deeply.
Frost spilled from her breath in a smooth exhale.
She looked down at her arms. Her hands.
"I can't believe it," she said quietly. "I feel… cold."
A pause.
"But it's mine now."
She lifted her eyes to Weaver.
"But the hunger is gone."
Weaver stared at her.
Then at Cassidy.
Then back again.
"You did it," he said softly. "Both of you."
No one celebrated.
They didn't know how.
For a moment, his expression broke — a real smile, warm and unguarded.
"You've passed Virel."
His gaze dropped to Cassidy's wrist.
"What is this?" he asked gently.
Threads of energy extended from him instinctively, brushing the air near the mark without touching it.
He studied it in silence.
"Not a wound," he murmured. "Not a binding."
Cassidy squinted at it.
"Shit, if you don't know," she said, "I definitely don't."
Weaver glanced at her.
"What did you see in there?"
Cassidy's shoulders dipped.
She looked away.
"We still gotta help Allium," she said quietly. "Maybe later. Okay?"
Weaver nodded immediately.
"No," he said. "Forget that I asked."
He met her eyes.
"Congratulations, Cassidy. You are… not something I can categorize."
Cassidy gave a small, crooked nod and walked back toward the hovercraft, still studying her wrist as if it might explain itself if she stared long enough.
Rose approached slowly.
The frost followed her movements now — restrained, obedient.
She wore a faint smile, something new in its ease.
"What am I now?" she asked Weaver.
He didn't answer right away.
"I don't know," he said finally. "I have never heard of a Seraphim passing this trial."
He shook his head slightly.
"As far as I know… you are something new."
Rose nodded, accepting the uncertainty.
She moved carefully, like someone learning how to inhabit a changed body.
Jax and Thane stepped closer.
"How are you feeling?" Jax asked.
"Cold," Rose answered honestly. "But no hunger."
Jax nodded once.
"Do you feel… purified?" he asked. "As the Keeper said?"
Rose shrugged lightly.
"I don't know," she said. "But I passed. That must mean I can continue."
They turned back toward the hovercraft.
Cassidy didn't look back at the tree.
Allium still rested on the bed inside, breathing slow and shallow, light faint beneath his skin.
Thane took the pilot's seat beside Jax, powering up the systems.
Weaver sat near Allium, eyes watchful.
Rose settled beside Cassidy.
"Looks like we did the impossible," Rose said quietly.
Cassidy snorted.
"I guess so," she replied. Then paused. "And Cass?"
Rose blinked. "Oh— sorry. Cassidy."
Cassidy shook her head.
"No," she said, smiling faintly. "I like it. Cass."
Weaver cleared his throat.
"At the temple," he said, drawing everyone's attention, "you both should know—when I attempt to draw from the suns… if it is possible… it may draw notice."
His voice lowered.
"I will not say rush. But we must be efficient. And you must listen, Rose."
Rose met his gaze steadily.
"I will," she said. "You have my word."
Weaver inclined his head.
The hovercraft lifted smoothly from the ground.
Virel receded behind them — vast, silent, unchanged.
And they turned back toward Solara—carrying something the world had never seen before.
The hovercraft cut through Solara's upper air in a smooth, steady line, its engines holding a disciplined hum that spoke of precision rather than speed.
Below them, red sand stretched outward in quiet dominance, broken only by stubborn veins of grass that refused to yield entirely to the desert. Stone rose in layered shelves and cliffs, weathered smooth by centuries of wind and heat, their surfaces catching Solara's light in dull copper and gold.
Ahead, the mountains parted.
Weaver leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing.
"There," he said, lifting a hand. "The center."
Jax adjusted his course.
Through the visor of his helmet, the world sharpened. Filters slid into place, isolating energy signatures from heat distortion and glare. Three currents revealed themselves at once — Solara's radiant pull, Virel's steady blue presence, and Nexon's darker thread.
The purple was faint.
Present, but strained.
Jax frowned.
"I've got it," he said. "Thane — lock the coordinates and ping them back to HQ."
Thane's hands moved across the console without hesitation.
"Coordinates locked," he replied. "Ping sent."
Weaver settled back into his seat beside Allium, his threads tightening gently around the medical bed to absorb any vibration. Allium remained still, breath shallow but even, his glow dim beneath bandages.
Weaver looked up.
"Rose," he said calmly, "how are we feeling?"
Rose sat opposite him, her posture relaxed in a way that still felt unfamiliar. She studied the space around her — not the craft, not the horizon, but the quiet pool of energy she carried now.
"It's familiar," she said slowly. "But I'm not sure how to use it correctly."
Weaver tilted his head.
"It is yours," he said. "Is it not?"
She shrugged faintly.
"It is me," Rose answered. "But holding back was my instinct before. In every fight. Every moment. This feels… different."
Weaver extended his threads slightly, not touching her, only observing the resonance.
"This is the calmest your mind and soul have ever been," he said. "Trust yourself. Breathe."
Cassidy leaned back in her seat, arms folded loosely.
"Yeah," she added, glancing at Rose. "Usually I just see you grunt or tense up. You seem… chill."
Rose nodded once.
"I am really cold."
Cassidy snorted softly.
"No — I mean relaxed."
Rose looked at her, puzzled for a beat.
"Oh," she said. "Yeah. I'm not fighting anything. It's… odd."
Jax's voice cut in over the internal comms.
"Five minutes to arrival," Jax said.
"No second passes if this fails."
The hovercraft descended, the Temple of Stillness coming into view as they approached.
From above, the convergence was unmistakable.
Three energies flowed inward, drawn toward a single point like rivers meeting stone. Solara burned brightest, Virel steady beneath it, and Nexon's purple thread barely visible — thin, restrained, but undeniably present.
Weaver's threads tightened slightly.
The craft touched down below the convergence, settling near a natural staircase carved into the stone itself. Time had softened its edges, dust settling deep into cracks that looked older than memory.
The ramp lowered.
Warm air rolled in, carrying the scent of sand and stone.
Rose stepped out first.
The colors grounded her instantly — familiar, steady, real.
Cassidy followed, stretching slightly.
"I am so happy to see sand," she said, looking around. "And red. Not that Virel wasn't… pretty, but that pressure was intense."
Rose nodded.
Weaver emerged carefully, threads wrapped securely around Allium's bed. Every step was precise, controlled, reverent.
"The stairs will take us to the entrance," he said. "Let's not waste time."
Jax stepped down beside him, Thane at his shoulder.
In Jax's hands were flat boards — sleek, dense, humming softly with a stabilizer tone that vibrated just beneath hearing.
Grav boards.
He handed one to each of them.
"No stairs," Jax said simply. "No wasted time. We rise."
Weaver stared down at the device in his hands.
"I have never used this," he said.
Cassidy grinned, stepping closer.
"Don't worry, grandpa. I'll teach you."
Weaver sighed.
"I suppose," he said dryly, "I'll indulge you."
Cassidy placed her board on the stone and stepped onto it.
It lifted smoothly, responding instantly to her weight.
"Okay," she said. "Just place it down. It'll rise on its own. Built-in stabilizers keep you from eating dirt."
Weaver followed her instructions.
The board lifted.
He stiffened instinctively, eyes fixed on the ground below.
"…Now what?" he asked.
Cassidy raised her left foot slightly — not lifting it fully, just easing the pressure.
The board resisted for a fraction—then yielded.
It ascended a little more.
She set her foot back down, stopping the motion.
"All you gotta do," she said, "is shift pressure. Not off — just lighter."
Rose watched carefully.
When she stepped onto her board, it responded immediately, lifting her in a smooth, controlled ascent. No hesitation. No wobble.
Weaver nodded.
"Simple enough."
He adjusted his stance, rising slowly, Allium's bed moving with him, perfectly level.
Cassidy smiled.
"There you go. Not hard."
Jax and Thane followed, their movements practiced and efficient.
Rose reached the top first.
The Temple of Stillness stood open to the sky — ancient stone softened by moss and age, cracks filled with dust so old it looked settled rather than broken.
The structure was old.
But it did not feel abandoned.
At its center lay a slab of stone worn smooth by time.
The three energies converged there.
Weaver arrived moments later, guiding Allium gently forward. The energies responded immediately — not surging, not pulling — simply acknowledging him with careful, restrained touch.
"This is where he was first formed," Weaver said quietly. "The one place where all three energies learned to move together."
He lowered Allium onto the slab.
The glow around him steadied.
Rose stepped closer without realizing she had moved.
"…What do we do?" she asked.
Weaver looked up.
Solara burned high.
Virel held steady.
Nexon's sun barely crested the distant canopy.
"For now," Weaver said, settling back on his heels, "we wait. When Nexon rises fully, I'll be able to trace its ley."
They sat.
No one spoke.
The Temple of Stillness lived up to its name.
And they waited—
for a sun that might decide everything.