At the heart of the second day’s travel the forest opened into a wide, shallow crater paved entirely in smooth crystal. In the center stood a structure that was not natural: a low dome of faceted mineral, its surface crawling with slow-moving light. Around the dome the retained impressions were so dense they formed shifting murals—centuries of travelers, animals, storms, and quiet moments of people who had simply sat and looked at the sky.
A woman sat on the dome’s single step.
She was older than Sera, younger than Old Bridge, and entirely colorless in the way of someone who had lived too long inside stored light. Her hair, skin, and clothes held the same translucent quality as the trees. When she raised her head, her eyes reflected the party like small, perfect mirrors.
“You brought an
