Six months had passed since the Festival of Resonance, and Blackfang Gorge bloomed with life anew. Mosses carpeted the ancient stones; moon-fern groves glowed beneath dawn's first light. The once–forlorn canyon now hosted lantern-lit pavilions and laughter spun on the breeze like tuning notes.
Sylvie Lightwhisper stood on a moss-worn bridge arching over the starlit stream—the same ribbon of water that had dissolved the obsidian scale on their very first night. Beside her, Prince Thorne Blackveil drew a deep breath of pine-scented air. His wolf-skin cloak was replaced by polished leather armor inlaid with silver runes; his eyes, once haunted by curse, now shone with peace.
“Can you believe it's been half a year?" Sylvie asked, voice soft as water on stones. She fingered the obsidian scale
