It had been a week since the Symphony of the Forgotten.
And yet, the city still echoed.
Not just with music.
With meaning.
The City of First Light had become something more than dream or sanctuary. It was alive in a way no one had words for, responsive, evolving, sacred. Streets now remembered the feet that walked them. Gardens bloomed in rhythm with their caretakers' breath. Buildings bowed gently in greeting when residents passed.
People no longer whispered about what had been lost. Now, they spoke only of what might be found.
And above it all, Eleanor watched with eyes wide open, her heart no longer weighed down by fear or doubt, but lifted by purpose.
The Watchtower Rebirth
The old tower at the city's northern edge had been quiet since its dreaming. But today, it shifted.
Mira arrived first, following a feeling she couldn't explain. She felt it before she saw it, a tremor in the sky, a ripple in the dream-threads that tied the city to the veil.
