AFTER THE COVENANT
The valley did not celebrate.
That was the first sign something had changed.
In the past, survival had always been followed by noise — bonfires, raised voices, relief released through laughter. After Ravik fell, they had roared into the night.
After the seam stabilized, there was only quiet.
The ridge no longer glowed like a blade through bone. The fracture remained visible, pale and silver-veined against the stone, but it pulsed softly now — in rhythm rather than rupture.
Steady.
Like a heartbeat.
Elara stood at the northern overlook as dawn unfurled slowly across the valley. The sky shifted from deep indigo to bruised lavender, then softened into pale gold.
She felt it before she saw it.
The rhythm beneath the earth.
It wasn’t a tremor.
It wasn’t a threat.
