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It had been eighteen days since the night of vows and the morning after. The mountain had settled into a new rhythm. The forge breathed heat. The egg chamber throbbed like a heart. The halls smelled of cooked meat and clean stone. And Miryam had learned to fly better.
She did not have wings. She did not need them. She could lift herself on the air like a leaf that had decided to be brave. She could rise a little, skim a little, and drift along the slopes with a light laugh in her throat. Most days she chased small desert beasts near the base of the mountain. She never went far. She knew the line where Kai said home began, and she liked to dance along it like a tightrope.
