The night after the gathering was quieter than usual.
Not the tense quiet of waiting for something to break, and not the exhausted quiet of survival after crisis.
This was a different kind of stillness.
Earned.
Lila felt it as she walked the inner paths before sunrise, the air cool, dew clinging to grass like tiny stars that hadn’t quite faded yet. She carried a light blanket over her arm, Lyra still half asleep against her shoulder, curls warm against Lila’s neck.
Five years old, and already certain the world was good.
Lila hoped they could keep it that way a little longer.
She paused at the overlook where the territory spread wide below — the old borders, the new southern dwellings, smoke rising from hearths just beginning their morning fires.
Footsteps approached behind her.
Ca
