Mother Rozia rose early the next morning, the first light of dawn creeping through the small cracks of their dome. The air was heavy with silence, a silence that had settled between them like a wall after the argument the night before. Mother Cora was still in bed, facing away from her, just as she had been all night. They hadn’t spoken a word since their last exchange, and the tension hung thick in the air.
Rozia moved quietly, slipping into her ceremonial gown, fastening her nature-infused jewelry with deliberate care. Her mind raced, still reeling from the events of the previous day—the chaos that Tiya’s actions had unleashed on Overa. She couldn’t shake the feeling that the land was teetering on the edge of something far darker than any of them had anticipated.