They met at a midpoint that no one had determined.
Not by order, not by protocol,
but because the directions they were taking—although different—ended up crossing.
Lyse came first.
Her steps were light, her gaze still held anxiety,
but her body was already taking on a new shape.
Not in words. In the way she stood. In silence.
Ravel came next.
Walking slowly, like someone who knew
that every step left something behind that could not be taken back.
She no longer wore the official insignia.
Her clothes were neutral.
But her mind was still divided.
Merin came last.
Silent. Stiff.
But no longer bearing a report.
And no longer looking at them as deviations.
No one spoke first.
Because no one knew where words should begin
when the old language was not enough…
and the new language had not yet formed.
"We will be called home," Lyse said finally.
Her voice was quiet.
"And the old world wants to know what we have found."
Ravel sighed.
