The rooftop no longer felt distant from the war below, for something unseen now stretched between height and ground, binding breath to breath, instinct to instinct, as though the night itself had drawn a single line through them all.
Elara stood at its edge, her posture no longer still from uncertainty but from control, her shoulders relaxed in a way that spoke not of ease, but of something settled deep within her.
The wind no longer resisted her presence, it moved with it, brushing past her as though carrying something unspoken outward, downward, across the battlefield.
Her fingers rested loosely at her sides, no longer trembling, no longer searching, for whatever had awakened within her had found its place.
"…enough," she whispered, though the word did not remain near her lips, it moved, it spread, it reached.
And below—
They felt it.
