(Nova POV)
The solar was wrapped in the soft hush of evening, the kind that made the world feel gentle and full of promise.
Outside the tall windows, the first stars were beginning to prick the deep blue sky above the ridge. Inside, the brazier burned low and steady, casting a warm golden glow across the stone floor and the thick furs we had spread near the hearth. Lyra, now five and a half, had finally fallen asleep in her own room down the hall after an evening filled with stories and the light-shadow game she loved so much. Elias, our eight-month-old son, slept peacefully in his ice-warded cradle beside our bed, his tiny chest rising and falling in steady rhythm, faint silver light pulsing gently beneath his skin.
