The spiral beneath the bed pulsed once, then stilled.
Outside the room, Vidalia shifted—not with sound, not with light, but with rhythm. The moss along the corridor walls thickened. The memoryglass windows fogged, then cleared. A single petal bloomed from the floor near the threshold, then folded inward and vanished.
Elara lay curled against Calvinus, her breath slow, her skin still warm from touch and tide. She wasn’t dreaming. She wasn’t fragment-bound. But the realm hadn’t let go.
She opened her eyes.
The ceiling above her shimmered faintly, as if remembering her. The spiral etched into the stone glowed with a softer hue—less directive, more receptive. It wasn’t asking. It was listening.
Calvinus stirred beside her, his hand still resting against her hip, his breath steady. He hadn
