Mira
The summit grounds were quiet now.
Not empty.
Just settled.
The glyph light had dimmed, the Council had dispersed, and Lucien’s hand was still in mine. But the soil beneath my feet hadn’t stopped pulsing. It remembered me. It remembered us.
I wasn’t used to being remembered.
Not like this.
Not mythically.
---
Delyra hadn’t spoken since the seal flared.
She’d handed me the vial of soil—rich, dark, blooming—and walked away without ceremony. But her rhythm lingered. It braided with mine in the Archive’s perimeter, subtle and sharp.
She didn’t approve.
She witnessed.
That was enough.
---
Lucien had asked if I was ready for dinner.
I’d said yes.
But now, standing in the conservatory again, surrounded by plants that whispered in languages older than prophecy, I wasn’t sure
