THE SILVER LINING
Come home, if your heart allows.
With love, always,
Krishna and Miyal
Ignatius folded the letter and looked toward the horizon where the Living City glowed faintly beneath the rising moon.
He hesitated and then smiled. “Maybe,” he murmured. “Maybe it’s time.”
The day of the solstice came golden and bright.
The plains between Brunschière and the Citadel shimmered with light — not magic, but the simple reflection of joy. People gathered from every corner of the land: healers, builders, farmers, children. They came not to worship, but to celebrate life itself.
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