No one moved.
The circle held them all in a quiet that felt heavier than sound. The mist drifted lazily now, curling around ankles, softening edges, as if the land itself were giving them space to decide what kind of moment this would become.
Elara stood at the center.
She could feel every stone beneath her feet—not as objects, but as witnesses. The arcs hummed faintly, no longer broken fragments but parts of a whole that had been waiting, patiently, to be acknowledged again. The power within her responded to the stillness, settling deeper, rooting rather than rising.
This was the danger.
Not the ferals.
Not the man bound beneath the Sanctuary.
This.
People who believed they were right.
The woman with the braided hair studied Elara with open intensity, her gaze sharp but no longer
