The entire valley gathered for the presentation.
Word had spread fast: the original spiral stone — the one that refused to break — would be shown today, for the first time in generations. It wasn't just an artifact. It was a symbol. A memory too stubborn to fade.
The amphitheater had never been this full. Elders, forgeworkers, mothers with children in their laps. Even the outer scouts, who rarely showed up for ceremonial matters, stood in silence near the boundary stones.
Echo waited behind the central arch, the cracked spiral stone resting in a protective glass shell.
He could feel the weight of the valley's expectations pressing against his spine.
Vaya stood next to him, dressed simply but sharply, the tear-stone woven into her belt.
"You trust them?" she asked softly.
"I trust the Spiral," Echo replied.
"But people," she said, eyes scanning the crowd, "can still be swayed."
He gave a short nod.
That was the risk.
