NORA POV
The feast stretched late into the evening. Under a tapestry of woven lights—moonstone lanterns drifting like miniature moons—delegates and guardians exchanged stories. Echoes, starborns, driftborns, desert nomads, and human allies—all stood side by side, weaving textiles with starlight and earth-thread.
I stood near the hearth, Liana nestled in my arms, reading the crowd.
Valya laughed with stone-mages as they molded glowing runes into clay cups.
Daemon sat cross-legged beside a driftborn, learning songs of the canopy.
Kalen wove through conversations, offering shields of diplomacy with quiet confidence.
Ronan stood near the portal dome, small group gathered round, debriefing with earnest expressions.
I took a breath—this, I realized, was the first rip in fear’s armor. We
