The world was too quiet.
Elara had forgotten what silence sounded like, not the stillness after battle, but the silence of absence.
The kind that came when someone's name no longer echoed through magic.
Lucien's name.
She stood at the edge of the Academy's ruins, the morning light soft against the broken stone. The sky was healing, but she wasn't. The Veil's collapse had left faint ribbons of light in the air, the last traces of its influence. They shimmered when she breathed, like ghosts remembering how to exist.
Lyra stirred behind her, sitting up with a groan. "Please tell me we didn't die."
Elara almost smiled. "Not this time."
Lyra squinted against the light. "He's gone, isn't he?"
Elara didn't answer. The thread in her hand glowed faintly, a heartbeat caught in silver. "Gone," she whispered, "but not gone enough."
Lyra got to her feet, brushing dust from her coat. "Then where do we start?"
