The morning after the Assembly of Possibilities began like any other.
The sun rose in gentle tones, casting golden ribbons of light across the city. Walkways glimmered with dew that caught the dawn like scattered jewels. From the Flame Garden came the familiar sound of laughter, children chasing one another between glowing petals and flickering lanterns. In the east courtyard, elders sat beneath the memory-trees, pouring tea into translucent cups, their hands steady, their voices low and thoughtful.
But beneath the surface of this ordinary rhythm, something had shifted.
Not in the stones or soil.
In the people.
There was a new steadiness in the way children stood, a quiet purpose in the way they moved. They weren't just playing.
They were becoming.
And the elders, so often storytellers, were now listeners. They leaned in, not just to correct or explain, but to hear. To understand.
