The world was different.
Not louder. Not brighter.
Just… quieter.
As Kael and Elira stepped out of the temple ruins, the sun rose over the shattered horizon, kissing the earth like an apology. It wasn't their sun as they had known it—its hue had a violet tint, as if reality had been bruised—but it was warm, and that meant something.
The war was not yet won.
But the war within had shifted.
"Do you hear that?" Elira breathed, voice low, wonder-filled.
Kael nodded carefully. "The threads. They're listening now."
Every step hummed with unseen vibration, as though walking on canvas that held every step. Trees creaked in their path as though feeling the heartbeat of the Loom pumping through their own veins. Wind spoke in a language older than memory, but one that Kael somehow understood.
Balance.
Not the sort created by force.
The sort reshaped by choice.
