The Gift and Mission: Sona
The moment hung in the air like dusk refusing to fall.
Sona had just turned to leave, her gown whispering against the grass as her steps carried her away from the heart of the garden. The rustle of her white gown brushing past rose bushes sounded like silk on water. Her silver-white hair flowed behind her, catching the golden light of the lowering sun.
Leon watched her take a few steps forward—then suddenly, something clicked. He called out, voice low but firm, "Sona."
His voice was quiet, but it lanced through the evening air like a soft bell. She halted mid-step, the toe of her slipper barely touching the next stone. Her heart gave a sudden flutter, not from fear—but from the unspoken weight behind her name in his voice. It wasn't just a sound. It was a hand reaching through years.
She turned slowly.
