The luminescence of the monoliths intensified as dusk deepened, casting long, ethereal shadows across the emerging plain. The air, cool and still, carried the scent of newly formed stone and the faint, sweet perfume of the white blossoms by the river.
Camelia stood within the circle of silent sentinels, the profound hum of the world resonating deep within her. It was a tangible presence, a gentle pulse that echoed her own heartbeat.
Atherion stood a few paces behind her, his posture relaxed, yet his gaze remained fixed on the monoliths, then on Camelia. His silence was not a void but a comfortable acceptance, a testament to his unwavering trust.
He was an anchor in this strange, new reality, his steadfast presence a counterpoint to the fluid nature of their surroundings.
Sylvara, too, seemed less agitated. Her sharp gaze still scanned the horizon, but the frantic edge had dulled, replaced by a deep, thoughtful observation.
