The Child That Released The Light

The moonlight stayed constant.

Not flickering. Not fading. Just watching, high and full, casting silver upon the frost-blanketed plain where the two figures knelt.

The child sat quietly, her fingers curled against her chest, her breath shallow.

And then it began.

Not with light. Not with thunder. But with a single word.

A name.

Whispered, not by her but someone inside her.

"Maera…"

The child shivered. Her head tilted upward, eyes wide as a tiny orb of blue slipped through her collarbone, spinning lazily in the air. It shimmered like a teardrop caught in the wind.

Riel leaned forward, not speaking. Just listening.

Another name came.

Then another.

Each name drew forth a point of light, no brighter than a candle flame, drifting upward, slow, reverent, as if afraid to leave.

"Sorrel…"

"Thiven…"

"Orli…"

The names began to overlap.

A chorus without music, a river without banks.