Delyra
She felt him before she saw him.
Magnus’s rhythm had always arrived like a storm held in restraint—tight, deliberate, braided with power. But tonight, it was frayed. Not broken. Just bare.
He stood at the edge of the Vale perimeter, where the western tree still pulsed with the glyph she carved decades ago. The soil beneath it had shifted. Mira’s bloom had awakened something Delyra thought she’d buried for good.
She stepped forward.
Didn’t speak.
Didn’t flinch.
Just stood.
---
“You lied to me,” Magnus said.
His voice wasn’t sharp.
It was quiet.
That was worse.
---
“I did,” she answered.
“You buried our tether.”
“I buried my rhythm.”
“You buried me.”
---
The tree pulsed.
The glyph shimmered.
The Archive listened.
---
“I found the scroll,” Magnus said. “The one y
