The silence that followed was not empty. It was listening.
The figures—those half-formed reflections of possibility—stood motionless, their outlines gently trembling as though awaiting instruction. The land itself seemed to lean inward, attentive in a way that was almost reverent.
Then, slowly, one of the figures stepped forward.
It was smaller than the others, its form indistinct, but something about it carried a quiet weight. Where it moved, the ground did not bend or resist—it adapted. The air around it shimmered faintly, responding not to power, but to intent.
Sophia drew a slow breath. "That one… it's learning faster."
Puddle drifted closer, its glow brightening in recognition. "It mirrors choice," it said softly. "Not strength. Not will alone. Choice."
