The rattle rested heavier in Isla's palm than it should have—small, tarnished silver, yet it carried the weight of years not lived. The archive's floating orbs dimmed further, as if the room itself were listening. Rune remained on his knees beside her, shoulders still trembling from the grief he'd finally let surface. The silver light from the rattle pulsed once—slow, steady—then settled into a gentle, constant glow.
Isla looked at him. "He waited. All this time. For what?"
Rune lifted his head. His eyes were red-rimmed, but the rawness had softened into something quieter—recognition. "For someone to refuse what we couldn't. Elowen gave him breath when the curse tried to steal it. He gave her time. And now… he's giving us a chance."
The rattle chimed—soft, almost inaudible. Not a cry. N
