The Pack
We didn’t expect the silence to fracture so quickly.
Lucien had spoken with rhythm. Mira had braided her breath into the bloom. Delyra and Magnus had exposed their tether. And for a moment, we listened.
But legacy doesn’t unravel quietly.
It erupts.
---
The first voice came from the eastern quadrant.
A Council elder.
“You withheld a glyph from the Archive?”
Then another.
A botanist.
“You buried a tether beneath the western tree?”
Then another.
An unaligned wolf.
“You let her root without a vote?”
---
The room pulsed.
Not with rhythm.
With uproar.
---
We stood.
We shouted.
We fractured.
Not because we hated Mira.
Because we didn’t know how to hold her.
---
Lucien’s breath shifted.
We felt it before we saw it.
The bloom dimmed.
The soil trembled.
And hi
