The forest remained.
Mist clung to the roots. Trees stood unmoving. The illusion had not shattered, nor had the nightmare vanished in spectacle or collapse.
But something had changed.
The pressure was gone.
Kiaria's gaze moved across the group, the Eye of Insight open and steady. The golden strands of will no longer writhed or tangled. They trembled faintly–thin, worn, frayed at the edges–but they held.
Not strong.
Not whole.
Yet no longer breaking.
Kiaria turned his head slightly and leaned toward the Chief, speaking softly–so softly that even those standing closest could not hear.
The Chief listened.
Then he stepped forward.
No thunder followed him. No power answered his stride. His breath uneven, hands still carried the tremor of fear not yet fully spent.
But he stood.
"Listen," the Chief said.
His voice did not echo. It did not command. It simply reached.
"I won't lie to you."
A pause.
"We were weak."
No one protested.
