Back in the city, the Hearth stood nearly complete. Its roof curved like a question. Its windows opened like listening ears. Each wall had been carved not with names of founders, but with symbols of each ward—waves, wheat stalks, lanterns, vines.
Esmira walked slowly through the great central hall, cane tapping beside her. She stopped before the altar stone and laid a hand upon it.
"They're still out there," she said softly. "Carrying pieces of us. And bringing us new pieces in return."
Halda approached from the west wing, where new benches were being installed.
"We received word from Ember," she said. "They’ve gathered over four hundred entries. Thirty-seven new artifacts. Sixteen story songs. And a scroll that hums when read."
Esmira smiled. "Then it's almost time."
"For what?"
Sh
