At first, I thought it was dawn. That soft gold spilling through the trees, the faint warmth brushing my skin—it almost fooled me. But light didn’t come from the sky. It came from the soil. From the cracks. Trying to learn how to live again from the breath of the world.
The forest had changed. Where the ash still smoked, new trees had sprouted. Their bark glistened dimly, caught between silver and shadow. Leaves whispered in a language I didn’t know, but I somehow understood. It was actually the sound of something forgiving itself, not really words.
Thorn took a few steps forward, Silent except for the slight crunch of fresh dirt under his boots. I felt his uneasiness like a wire pulled too tight, even though he remained silent. As though even his fire didn't trust this peace, it flared,
