The woods had grown quiet again, but not empty.
The air still crackled faintly from where Ceyla's lance had ended the Echo Beast. A few scorched leaves drifted gently to the ground. Birds dared not return just yet. The silence that followed felt different. Not like fear.
But like something sacred had just passed.
Khael knelt beside the girl, brushing her hair gently behind her ear. The child trembled slightly—not from cold, but something deeper.
He lowered his voice.
"What's your name?"
The girl looked at him—eyes wide, uncertain. Then, slowly, she dropped her gaze to the dirt beneath them.
Her tiny finger moved.
Carefully. As if each stroke mattered more than breath itself.
She traced three letters:
L – I – N.
Ceyla, standing nearby, softened.
"Lin…" she whispered.
Khael nodded.
"Lin."
A name. A piece of her, reclaimed.
But Lin didn't stop moving. Her eyes darted around—searching the clearing like she'd lost something precious.
