It didn't burn.
It didn't cut.
The tether around Jevan's wrist pulsed gently, like a breath, like a thought not yet voiced. It carried no weight, and yet Jevan felt its pull in everything—each heartbeat, each blink of his eyes, each thought that dared to reach toward a future not yet made.
The figure had not spoken. It had not stayed.
After the tether formed, it folded—not vanished, but withdrawn, pressed like punctuation into the page of reality. Gone from sight, but not from the story.
And now, Jevan stood alone at the Garden's heart.
Except he wasn't alone.
Not anymore.
Aiden approached him slowly. He didn't speak, not at first. The Sword of Becoming was sheathed across his back again, humming in a low, thoughtful rhythm. Aiden's eyes scanned the space where the figure had stood, then drifted to Jevan's wrist.
"You're linked," he said quietly.
Jevan nodded.
"I think… I've been chosen."
