The day after the Silence passed, the Garden did not resume in haste.
It breathed.
Not because it had stopped—but because now it understood what breathing meant.
And as the sun carved its gentle arc across the sky, those who had listened found themselves changed—not in body, but in bearing.
They moved with intention.
They spoke less often, but more clearly.
And when they wrote, their words carried the weight of what had not been said.
The child, who still bore no name, became something more than symbol. Not leader, not oracle, not judge.
A beginning that did not demand the end.
And in their shadow, others began to rise.
Not as replacements for Aiden.
Not as echoes of the past.
But as the many voices who would shape What Comes Next.
—
The first was Nyriel, once an echo-reader, now a rootscribe.
