The sanctuary didn't wake up the same.
After the anchor ritual, something fundamental had shifted. The light filtering through the windows felt different, softer, richer, as if it carried echoes of other timelines gently folded into the present.
The sky seemed to hang lower, not oppressive, but intimate, like it was listening.
Magic no longer crackled with wild unpredictability. It resonated, humming in the walls and stone paths, responding not to command, but to presence. To intent.
And wherever Eleanor walked, time adjusted, not bending to her will, but acknowledging her essence.
Moments lengthened or quickened with her thoughts, conversations bloomed into revelations, and silence wrapped itself around her like a protective cloak.
She hadn't demanded any of it.
She simply was.
The sanctuary knew her now, not just as a girl or a guide.
But as the anchor it had been waiting for.
And reality had begun to respond in kind.
Sanctuary Reborn
