Her body hadn't changed, that was the first thing Talia noticed.
There was no physical improvement. Her thinking was still as usual. Looking at her reflection in the water, her eyes weren't glowing, her hair didn't grow longer. The only thing that had changed was the constant pressure of gravity. It was gone.
Talia raised her hand, seeing a faint marking still there she saw the four petals of different colors and automatically thought of the elements.
Glancing at the lake she pushed with her hand and mind.
The surface rippled outward in a wide ring—and then, without warning, a playful wave sloshed up and soaked the hem of Dav's pants and three unsuspecting teenagers behind him.
There was a half-second of stunned silence.
Then laughter exploded across the shore.
"Talia!" Dav barked, hopping back. "That was deliberate."
"I was testing responsiveness," she said solemnly, then failed to hold it and grinned. "Very responsive."
Someone splashed back.
Then another.
Junia laughed despite herself, the sound shaky but real. Children shrieked and joined in, skirts and trousers quickly abandoned for cold feet and reckless joy.
Talia let the water move, careful not to pull too hard, shaping small waves, cooling laughter, letting the lake play with them.
Talia glanced behind her at Aunty Junia.
Junia drew a slow breath and frowned, more unsettled than comforted. She lifted her hand, the one that had burned moments ago, half-expecting to see green light flare again.
Nothing. Just a faint marking etched there, but beneath her skin, something moved—not pushing, not pulling. Flowing.
She closed her eyes. Gaia was awake.
And hurt.
Junia's chest tightened.
Gaia wasn't diminished, she realised but injured in the way a forest was injured after fire—alive, resilient, but needing time and care.
"She isn't calling us," Junia murmured before she realised she'd spoken aloud.
Talia turned toward her at once. "What?"
Junia opened her eyes and met Talia's gaze. The Lord's pupils were still faintly ringed with colour, the echo of her divine power instability.
"Gaia's trusting us," Junia said quietly.
Around them, the sentinels and family group lingered, unsure whether they were meant to disperse or remain. Dav stood with his arms folded, posture alert but softened. Cael had crouched to tie a child's bootlace and hadn't stood again. Someone laughed quietly, then clamped a hand over their mouth as if laughter might be inappropriate here.
Talia looked around and exhaled.
"Alright," she said. "No one's leaving yet."
That broke the tension more effectively than a speech.
People shifted closer again—not kneeling now, not reverent, but curious.
Junia hesitated only a moment before stepping toward a young man who had a shallow cut on his forearm.
"Tell me if this feels wrong," Junia said, palms warm already despite the cold air.
He nodded. "I trust you."
That trust scared her more than the power.
Junia placed her hands lightly over the wound and… listened.
Not to him, through him. Energy moved—not summoned, but guided, like easing a river back into its banks. The warmth built slowly, deep and steady, and Junia's breath came shorter as the effort mounted, sweat beaded at her temples.
It took longer than expected as she was still learning.
When she finally pulled back, the cut had closed—not perfectly. A thin pink line remained, tender but intact.
Junia staggered.
Dav caught her elbow without comment.
"That," Junia said, breathless, "is exhausting."
The man flexed his arm. "It felt nice, like a warm bath."
Junia swallowed, relief warred with fear.
She lifted her gaze—and the world fractured.
A cracked wall flashed behind her eyes. Snow stained red, then thawing into mud. A child's sob cut short—not ending, just… moved.
Junia gasped and clutched at Dav's sleeve.
"Auntie?" Talia was there instantly.
"I—I don't know what that was," Junia admitted, forcing her voice steady. "Not prophecy or vision, more like… glimpses that are unfinished."
Fear threaded through her now, cold and real.
"I'm not a conduit," she said, more to herself than anyone else. "I'm… a listener."
Talia nodded slowly, absorbing that with the same gravity she'd brought to every impossible responsibility so far.
"We're probably more open now. Divine power will give us more access to future visions."
Then she turned toward the lake.
Her awareness flared outward without effort this time, no panel, no HUD. The valley laid itself open to her senses like a map drawn in pressure and strain. She could feel where the stone was weak, where water wanted to run, where the mountain held tension like a clenched jaw.
She crouched and touched a loose rock near the shore.
"What about earth? Can I…?" she murmured.
The rock shifted and slid obediently into place, aligning with the stones beside it as if it had always belonged there.
Someone behind her whistled softly.
Talia's mouth twitched. "Huh."
She stood and lifted her hands toward the greenery beside her. The bush began wiggling and dancing, causing the children to laugh.
Talia watched Cael walk closer and surged power into her palm, making a branch to stretch out and slap him.
"Talia!" Cael yelped while jumping backwards.
Dripping in sweat Talia weakly chuckled while wobbling on her feet.
"Really, was it worth it?" Mum grumbled while holding her.
"Testing, learning the limits." Talia replied and began again after getting her wind back.
Junia had to sit after two more healings, her hands trembling. Talia found that when she tried to do too much at once—stone, water, wind—everything dulled and her head throbbed.
Emotion mattered. Control slipped when she laughed too hard, tightened when she worried.
At one point, Talia instinctively reached for her HUD—and found nothing useful there at all.
She didn't miss it.
"Instinct is faster," she said quietly to Junia.
Junia nodded. "The system isn't gone," she said. "It's just… not leading anymore."
They felt Gaia stir once. Just turning, like a sleeper rolling over.
Junia pressed her palm to the ground, heart in her throat.
"She'll need years," she said aloud. "Maybe longer."
No one despaired, rather they rejoiced in the realization that Gaia can recover.
Talia looked around at the wet, laughing, exhausted people who had followed her through fire and fear and stone.
"Until then Gaia returns," she said simply, "we're the hands."
A breeze passed through the valley, lifting mist from the lake and carrying warmth beneath their feet, an acknowledgment.
Junia watched the valley breathe and felt the quiet settle—not silence, but alignment.
"She isn't above us," Junia said.
Talia nodded, gaze steady.
"She's here," she finished. "And she's trusting us not to fail, not to fall."
The valley rested.
Not awakened by gods.
But carried by people who chose to listen.