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Chapter 136. Children of Light
The town of Solstice hummed quietly beneath its early morning sun, a fragile peace stretched thin over decades of rebuilding. The streets smelled of warm brick and wet asphalt, faintly mixed with the tang of solder and machinery from ongoing repairs. Children ran ahead of their parents, laughing, kicking pebbles and spinning in circles.Among them, small hands raised to the air, tracing invisible patterns. Clara, five years old with tangled hair and scraped knees, froze mid-spin. Her head tilted, eyes narrowing as if listening to a voice only she could hear. Her little fingers twitched, reaching toward a shimmer that didn’t exist to anyone else.“Clara?” her mother called, a note of caution threading through her voice. “Come here, sweetie.”Clara blinked, stepping backward as if resisting. The shimmer seemed to ripple, a soft echo that resonated through her chest. Other children nearby stopped too. Some rubbed their eyes; others tilted their heads, smiling faintly at empty air.Fr
Chapter 135. Lyn of the Threshold
The wind tore across the ridge before dawn, scattering loose dust and the remnants of scorched stone. A single figure stood at the edge, silhouetted against the first pale light of morning. The air hummed faintly, as if carrying a memory too old to be spoken.She moved without sound, stepping over cracked earth and jagged concrete. Each footfall was deliberate. She carried nothing, yet the weight of unseen burdens seemed to cling to her shoulders, bending the cold air slightly around her. The ridge overlooked a small town still waking, its streets empty, save for a few early risers shuffling toward markets or wells.From below, a child’s cry echoed, fragile and unsteady. Lyn froze. Her gaze tracked the sound. A small boy stumbled into the street, chasing a rolling hoop that had slipped from his hands. He barely noticed the figure on the ridge. The wind carried her presence closer, but not threatening. She did not speak. She simply watched.The boy tripped over a loose stone. The
Chapter 134. The Last Vigil
The flame refused to light on the first strike. Old Commander Rhyse struck the ignition rod again. Sparks jumped, sharp and brief, then died. The square stayed dark. Wind moved through the empty avenue, carrying dust and the faint smell of ash from the old ruins beyond the barricades. “Again,” someone said behind him.Rhyse did not answer. He adjusted his grip and struck the rod a third time. This time the flame caught. A thin line of fire climbed the wick and steadied. The Halo symbol carved into the stone plinth glowed faintly as the fire fed its channels. The vigil had begun.The square was smaller than it used to be. Reconstruction crews had taken half of it months ago, turning rubble into foundations. Metal frames rose where command tents once stood. The old banners were gone. Only the plinth remained, scarred and chipped, set at the center like an artifact no one wanted to move.Rhyse stood alone in front of it. He wore his Stormguard coat, faded and patched at the elbows. T
Chapter 133. Names Without Faces
The hammer rang against stone at dawn. Each strike echoed across the square. Dust lifted in short bursts and settled on boots and coats. The monument stood half-finished, its surface pale and rough. Workers moved along scaffolds, measuring, carving, stepping back, carving again. Names filled the slab in tight lines.A man wiped his hands on his trousers and leaned back to read. He mouthed a few names and frowned. He pulled a folded paper from his pocket and checked it. He nodded and went back to work.A woman crossed the square with a basket on her arm. She slowed when she saw the monument. She looked at the names for a moment, then turned away and kept walking. A child ran after her, dragging a stick along the ground. The stick scraped and caught. The child tugged it free and glanced at the stone. “Who are they?” the child asked.The woman did not stop. “Soldiers,” she said.The child frowned. “From when?”“From before,” the woman said.They disappeared into the street. By midmor
Chapter 132. Ashes into Soil
The first hammer strike echoed too loud for a quiet morning. Metal hit stone. Sparks jumped. Dust rolled across the broken avenue. People froze for half a second, then went back to work. The city had learned how to keep moving.Cranes stood where towers once leaned. Steel frames rose from foundations cut through layers of ash and glass. The ground still carried faint lines that glowed when the sun was low, thin traces of the ghost network sealed beneath concrete and rebar.A worker lifted his visor and wiped his face. Sweat cut clean lines through gray dust. “Mark the edge again,” he said. “The scanner’s off.”Another worker knelt and pressed a handheld sensor to the ground. The device hummed, then steadied. “No spike,” she said. “It’s quiet.”They both paused at that word. Quiet still felt strange. Above them, the skyline held its shape. No drifting figures. No screaming light. Just buildings under repair and scaffolds wrapped in orange mesh. Wind pushed through open frames and c
Chapter 131. The Dual Requiem
The first sound was not birds or wind. It was the soft click of settling metal.A tower’s fractured edge pulled itself straight. Panels slid back into place with dull thuds. Glass stitched together in slow lines. The city did not celebrate. It steadied itself.Morning light crept over the skyline. It was pale and low, filtered through a thin haze that caught on the air like dust. The haze moved on its own. It drifted, then paused, then bent as if listening.On the hill above the city, Lyn stood with her boots planted in wet grass. The soil was dark from melted frost. She kept her hands loose at her sides. She did not speak. She watched.Below her, streets filled carefully. Doors opened halfway, then wider. People stepped out and stopped. They looked up. They looked through each other. They looked again.Luminous forms moved between buildings. They were not fog. They were not shadows. They held shape. Some walked with clear steps. Some floated with slow turns. Light threaded through t
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