Thalia
The wind whispered different now.
Before, it had carried silence, mistrust, fear, uncertainty.
Now it carried her name.
Not with reverence, not yet. But with weight. With the kind of cautious awe that followed wolves who returned from exile not broken, but burning.
She stood outside the ruins again, staring at the place where the Flame had flickered beneath her palm. Her mother’s journal rested on a flat stone, pages ruffled by wind and ash. Veyr was silent nearby, sharpening a knife but she felt his attention.
Always watching. Always waiting.
“What now?” she asked, not looking at him.
“You asked to be seen,” he replied. “Now they’ll never look away.”
Thalia closed her eyes. “I didn’t expect them to listen.”
“You didn’t give them a choice.”
A pause. Then she turned. “That
