Seraphine stepped into the hut and closed the door behind her.
The moment the wood met wood, the nostalgia she had been holding at bay struck with terrifying force.
It was no longer only a feeling.
It was pressure.
Longing. Relief. Happiness. Grief. The strange ache of having reached something she had been missing for so long that she had stopped knowing how to name the absence.
Her hand remained on the door for a second longer than necessary.
Then her system reacted.
A golden notification shimmered across her vision.
Before she could read more than its first line, a brilliance rose out of her.
The Will of the World.
It poured from her in soft gold and filled the interior of the hut. The plain walls glowed. The floor changed. The silence thickened.
Then the whole hut transformed.
The air became memory.
