Aria’s POV
The knife sank before the Warden sat.
Midday. No warning. No sound. Just the earth under the tree taking what we’d stopped holding.
The roots tightened first. White tendrils pulling the cloth down. Then the stone circle shifted, like it was making room.
Then the blade, sheath and all, slid half an inch deeper. Not buried. Accepted.
No one reached for it. Not Ridah. Not me. Not even Keth.
Mara put her palm on the dirt beside it. Mint grew right up to the edge. Didn’t cross. Just watched.
“It grows without asking,” she said. “And now it grows _with_ it.”
Ridah knelt. Didn’t touch the cloth. Touched the dirt instead. Let it run through her fingers.
“We don’t forget what made us,” she said.
“But we don’t have to carry it in our hands anymore.” The earth took more of
