Kaelin had once thought peace was a stillness, a quietness earned after storms. But in the weeks following Anareth’s naming, she realized peace was not still—it pulsed, shifted, grew.
Ashmark transformed. The walls remained, but they no longer kept danger out—they held stories in. The people didn’t just rebuild; they repurposed. The old armory became a sanctuary of music. The tower that once held prisoners now rang with the laughter of children learning to write.
And every morning, Kaelin walked the same path: from the Sanctuary’s heart to the outer spiral, where the Veil shimmered like mist made of memory.
Sahlra stood there each morning, waiting.
Some days she spoke. Other days, she only listened.
But today, when Kaelin approached, Sahlra turned with urgency in her eyes.
“Someone c
