The change was subtle—but unmistakable.
Where before the figures had echoed motion, now they hesitated, considered, then acted with intent. One knelt, pressing its palm to the ground as if listening. Another turned its face toward the shifting sky, eyes reflecting questions rather than emptiness. A third lifted its head and looked directly at Rhys—not mirroring him, but meeting him.
The air grew denser, not with pressure, but with meaning.
A low resonance rolled through the valley, not a sound so much as a recognition. The land itself seemed to settle into a deeper rhythm, its breath slowing, aligning with the heartbeats of those standing upon it.
Caria felt it first—her stance subtly adjusting without conscious thought. "It's not copying anymore," she said quietly. "It's choosing."
Sophia nodded, eyes wide with dawning understanding. "It's learning how to learn."
Puddle drifted higher, light pulsing in gentle waves. "It listens. It remembers."
