The letter arrived on a golden morning, tucked inside a worn envelope, the handwriting unmistakable.
Cassie’s.
It had been six months since she passed, peacefully, gently, in the garden she had planted with her own hands. Damon had followed quietly two weeks later, as if his heart had simply followed hers.
Now, Nova sat on the porch of the Turner Estate, the letter trembling in her fingers.
She wasn’t alone.
Beside her sat Grace, Zuri, Ella, and dozens of others, the next generation of dreamers, builders, fire-bearers.
Hope had called it The Gathering.
One final celebration of Cassie and Damon’s life, but more than that, a passing of a sacred rhythm.
A rhythm called legacy.
Nova opened the letter slowly.
She read aloud.
To my firewalkers,
If you're reading this, it means I’ve l
