Another month passed in Whistlehollow, and the village settled into a rhythm again. Though the raid had left scars, the people planted, harvested, rebuilt, and retold. Winter crept toward the hills, but the hearths stayed warm.
Aleron remained asleep.
But he wasn't still.
Though Aleron lived with Rina, he often stayed with the Hale family. Rina, burdened by her errands and quiet missions, found it safer for Aleron to spend his days in their care. Corvin's mother had taken to him like a second son, and the arrangement felt natural. He was always welcome there.
The first time Eira arrived in the village square, she was barefoot and carried a wooden sword. Her hair was a wild tangle, her cheeks sunburnt, and she challenged three boys twice her size to a wrestling match before Rina could blink.
She won two of them.
She and her grandmother had moved into an old stone house near the village's edge. No one asked where they came from. Everyone assumed they were escaping something. The world outside the valley was often cruel.
Eira ran through the village like a storm. She asked too many questions. She climbed roofs. She kicked mud at goats. And she found Corvin.
"Why do you hang around that dumdum?" she asked the first day she found him sitting beside Aleron's cradle.
Corvin turned, cheeks puffed. "He's not a dumdum!"
"He doesn't even talk," Eira said, tapping the side of her head. "He's broken."
Corvin stood in front of the cradle. "He's just sleeping."
"Like a baby."
"He's stronger than you."
Eira tilted her head. "Prove it."
Corvin tried to summon a spark with a flick of his fingers. Nothing happened.
Eira smirked. "Exactly."
Still, she didn't leave. By the end of the week, she was sitting beside Corvin, chewing dried apples and poking Aleron's blanket.
"I still think he's a dumdum," she muttered. "But I guess he's kinda cute."
"He likes foxes," Corvin said suddenly.
Eira raised a brow. "Him?"
"No," Corvin said softly. "Me. I like foxes."
"Why?"
Corvin shrugged. "They're quiet. Fast. And clever. Like fire you can't catch."
Eira blinked. "That's weird."
Corvin smiled. "So is he."
That night, by firelight, the village elder told a story.
He spoke of a land beyond the burning dunes, where creatures of myth still roamed. Of serpents who guarded the clouds. Of foxes with nine tails who whispered to the moon. Of dragons that slept under mountains and only woke when a true king was born.
Eira scoffed. "Stories."
But Corvin leaned forward, eyes wide. His fingers found Aleron's.
The elder's tale shifted, turning toward warnings. "There are gods who once walked this land," he said, "but they grew distant, hiding behind veils. They feared something. Or someone. And when the stars fall again, the veil may tear once more."
Some children looked at the sky nervously. Others laughed.
Rina said nothing. But her grip on her cup tightened.
Corvin and Eira became an unlikely pair. She was louder, bolder. He was watchful and soft-spoken. But they balanced. When Eira got into trouble, Corvin distracted the adults. When Corvin started tracing circles in the dirt again, Eira stood guard.
One afternoon, the two of them argued over who would win in a race between a fox and a dragon.
"Dragon!" Eira shouted, arms flailing. "It flies, dummy!"
Corvin shook his head. "The fox tricks the dragon and wins."
"You're so weird."
"You're loud."
They grinned at each other.
One day, Eira followed Rina to the market. The older woman was bartering for smoked meat and cloth when Eira nudged her.
"Hey," she whispered. "Is it true you used to be in the army?"
Rina raised a brow. "Where'd you hear that?"
"The tailor said you fight like a ghost."
Rina didn't answer. But her mouth twitched.
Later that night, Eira sat beside Aleron and poked his cheek. "I think your mom's scary," she said. "But kinda cool."
Corvin nodded solemnly. "She is."
Far away, beyond the waking world, Aleron stood beneath a sunless sky.
The system flickered.
[Stasis Progress: 2 Years, 8 Months Remaining...]
[Warning: Core Overgrowth Risk – Mana Threshold Rising]
He breathed, and the world responded.
The space he stood in—once empty—was now dotted with small spheres of light, like seeds floating through a void. When he reached out, one pulsed. Mana.
He understood it. He remembered.
And then—
"Feeling cramped yet?"
Nyx's voice slid in from nowhere, her tone gentler this time.
"I might've forgotten to mention," she said, "that this world has... a little more mana than you're used to."
Aleron didn't answer. He watched the floating lights swirl around him.
"You could try something, you know," Nyx continued. "Focus. Gather. Pull. You've done it before, haven't you?"
She drifted into view, upside-down and glowing faintly. "You're not just resting here. Time's funny in stasis. You've got... opportunities."
Aleron blinked.
She winked. "I'm not saying cheat. Just... study. Practice. Float a little harder."
Then she vanished in a twirl of silver dust.
And Aleron closed his eyes.
The lights pulsed.
He began to breathe in rhythm. Slowly. Deeply. Drawing the light toward his core. Not all at once. Just enough.
A quiet fire built in the center of his being. Gentle, patient, growing.
Back in Whistlehollow, Corvin dreamed of foxfire and stars.
And Aleron, asleep beneath a hand-stitched blanket, curled his fingers ever so slightly.
Eira didn't notice.
But she would.