Aria’s POV
It was Tui who saw it first.
He was leaning against the staff, the way kids lean against things that won’t fall. His mint leaf fell out from behind his ear. He picked it up, then froze.
“Look,” he whispered.
Halfway up the bare staff, where wood met air, a small bud pushed through the grain. Green. Tight. No one carved it. No one tied it. No one painted it there.
The wood was growing.
No one breathed for a moment. Ten years of steel. Ten years of cloth. Ten years of questions. And now the staff did what bare wood is meant to do on living ground.
Darian’s hand went to it, but he didn’t touch. Just hovered.
“I stood here every season,” he said, voice rough.
“Counting fights. Carving nothing, because we had nothing left to carve. I didn’t know it was counting
