For the first time in seasons, the mountain wasn't breathing threats or groaning with buried fury. The wind had softened. The sky above the den was clear.
And still… no one could rest.
Kael sat just outside the healing chambers, arms draped across his knees, eyes locked on the wall across from him. He hadn't spoken since they carried Liora in.
Not even when Sienna placed a hand gently on his shoulder.
"She's still breathing," she whispered. "That's more than I hoped for."
Kael didn't move. "She gave it back."
Sienna nodded. "Yes. Because she didn't want to carry what they buried. She wanted to give the mountain peace."
He let out a long, hollow breath.
"She's eleven years old."
"She's more than that," Sienna said gently. "And she's ours."
Inside, Liora lay beneath three layers of woven furs, her mark dimmed, her skin pale. Darius sat beside her with a sketchpad in his lap, drawing a crude version of the construct before it faded.
