The southern annealing vault smelled of old ash and wet sand. Its walls were fused in places from the long-ago furnace failure, creating smooth, glass-like surfaces that reflected the lantern light in warped sheets. Sera barred the outer door with a length of scavenged iron while Lira set the lens on a low stone block and finally allowed herself to sit.
The first thing she did was open the mental space where her personal drawer had always been. It was empty. Every shard she had kept—the blue disc, the smoky oval, the clear teardrop, and all the quieter ones—had been offered and transformed during the binding. The memories themselves remained. She could still recall her mother’s final breath with perfect clarity. She simply no longer carried a separate, sealed object that held it apart fro
