The morning after Kaia carved her door, the orchard woke a little differently. Birds that had never sung before greeted the day with curious notes.
The branches of the listening tree rustled as if gossiping about her melody. Dew clung to petals longer than usual, reluctant to part from what had been witnessed the night before.
Kaia stood by her new door—unfinished, soft at the edges like a question still unfolding. It shimmered when viewed at an angle, a door only half-open, half-formed. Some saw light beyond it. Others, wind. A few heard the sound of oceans that had never touched land.
She did not step through.
Instead, she tied a small bell to its frame—Lan's gift, one she had earned by listening without asking. The bell would ring only for those who doubted themselves most, and when it did, the door would show them something forgotten.
...
