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THE SILVER LINING CHAPTER 13
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2025-06-12 04:03:42
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THE SILVER LINING THE SILVER LINING CHAPTER 182
At night, the citizens congregated on the square where the Citadel used to be. Glowing fires burned in glass bowls, their silver-white flames flickering to the beat of drums constructed from bark and lightstone. A whiff of spiced roots and wine hung in the air.Krishna stood alongside the elders who had once questioned her. Sira's place was empty, indicated only by one candle its flame unwavering, as if even the wind held respect for her memory.Alren came over, bowing his head. "The wards are holding," he said quietly. "And the city continues to grow on its own now. Each child born today will bear the Pulse."Krishna smiled weakly. "Then let them be wiser than us.He nodded, his eyes shining. "They already are."Music burst out. Young and old clasped hands and made vast circles around the fire. Feet stamped hard, skirts whirled round, laughter rolled across the air like thunder smoothed to gentleness.Miyal grasped Krishna's hand once more
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The following days were still in ways Krishna and Miyal had never previously experienced.The wars were over, the screams had ceased, and what was left was the slow, patient beat of rebuilding.They strolled together amid the rubble of the ancient Citadel the skeletons of towers now shrouded in green, the air vibrating with fresh life. What was once a bulwark of strength had gentled into something breathing, living. Roots pushed through stone, flowers burst from shattered marble, and the beat of the land traced their path.Krishna stood before what was once the Hall of Echoes. "It's odd," she said quietly. "To look upon it like this. I used to believe strength was order. Control. Now it just seems. serene."Miyal smiled weakly, sweeping dust off a vine twining along the wall. "Perhaps peace was always stronger. We simply didn't know how to hear it.He faced her then, sunlight falling across his face the same man she had lost to flames and betrayal, but altered. There was still that re
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Krishna faced him, the dawn trapped in her hair like strands of molten gold. The Living City purred around them a low hum that curled underneath the earth, the beat of a new world learning how to be kind slowly. For one moment, nothing was but that stillness: the whisper of wind over silver grass, the soft whisper of life's return.Miyal's gaze met hers, steady but shaking with an agony too human for the strength that now coursed through him. His voice was rough, unguarded, bare of everything except truth."Can we begin anew?" he asked. "I know I cannot give you anything no assurance of peace, no home untainted by the past.". Only this only the love I have for you." He stepped closer, silver-lit fingers curling in a vulnerable way, as if even the air between them could break. "I know I've altered. I know I've become odd, touched by things I don't even comprehend.But if you'll take me still, if you'll look at me the way that I amHe swallowed, catching his breath. "Do you still love m
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They met where the river bent and the grass took on the color of new coin Mercy Bend, the settlers called it now, and the name fit: a place with room enough for apologies and the slow work of forgiveness. Dawn had turned the plain into a sheet of trembling gold; the Living City behind them breathed in quiet waves, vines uncoiling like the arms of something waking from a long sleep.Ignatius waited with the patient, terrible stillness of a man who had learned to measure his steps by the weight of what he carried. He had not changed his armor there was no need but he had left the sword behind. It felt like a relic you keep for memory’s sake, not for use. His face was weathered and weary; the grin he used on the march had hardened into something spare and honest. He had come to a single place in himself where the ache and the choice met.Miyal arrived from the east, the faint silver light beneath his skin soft as embers. He moved with the quiet economy of a man who had once been a spear
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The wind shifted first.It blew differently no longer the keen, metallic blast that smelled of storms and of ash, but more softly. The grass swept with it, not in obedience, but in time, as if the plains themselves had started breathing.Krishna sensed it before she perceived it. The heartbeat of the earth weak but unmistakable trembled in her bones. She knelt among the remnants of a broken fountain, her fingers buried in the earth, hunting for the pulse she believed they had extinguished once and for all. Now it pounded against her palms like the recollection of happiness.She gazed upwards, catching her breath. Behind the ridge, light unrolled not daylight, but something prior, something cleaner. It swept across the horizon like a second sunrise, caressing the far-off plains, the shattered rocks, and at last, the sweep of the Living City.The City itself replied.From the shattered towers, silver and gold vines rose to ascend, wrapping around the ruin as veins seek their body. The a
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The river shone like liquid glass, its current heavy and sluggish beneath the bruised dawn. The wind blew the smell of rain and smoke across the plains hues of a battle the world hadn't quite forgotten. The Living City throbbed dully in the distance, its heartbeat echoing beneath the earth, faint but insistent. It heard everything.Ignatius stood on the water's edge, alone, his reflection shattered by the ripples. He was a man sculpted out of wreckage shoulders tense, fists bunched, jaw locked in the sort of silence that demanded something to shatter.Footsteps. Deliberate, slow. Miyal's shadow crossed the slick stones before his voice trailed after, cool and cautious."I know what you've done for her," Miyal started. "The battles, the wounds, the years of bearing her name while she was away. But I love her, Ignatius. And I promise you—I will not hurt her again. I'll let her go. She needs to be happy. And she chose me."Ignatius didn't turn right away. The words fell like stones into
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