Night had fallen over the ruined temple, and the silence was so deep that not even the wind dared to move.
Amid that void, Seirion waited in stillness, immersed in the shadows as though he were just another of them. He had waited long enough to be sure that Erian's breathing had become slow, deep, and steady.
Only then, convinced that Erian had sunk into true sleep, did he cautiously cross the invisible threshold that separated his own domain from the small room where Erian rested.
Seirion moved barefoot, measuring each step so as not to stir a sound from the dust blanketing the floor. The dim light revealed Erian's figure sprawled on his makeshift bed, silver hair scattered in disorder across the worn cloth.
His lips, slightly parted, released a steady breath, fragile in its innocence. Beside his head, like a silent guardian, lay the basket. And inside that simple object, hidden, was the star.
