Cruzer spoke gently, the firelight catching the edge of his silhouette:"Not ours to control. Only ours to steward."
The flame responded, lifting again—not higher, but deeper, threading itself into the soil, the stones, the roots beneath their feet. It wasn't a bonfire anymore. It was a living bond, anchoring intention into existence.
The newcomers from the Obscura Axiom moved gracefully around the circle, kneeling without command, placing each artifact with care, as if planting seeds rather than offering tribute. Some of the twins' glyph-nets adapted immediately, incorporating the new frequencies without error—almost as if they had been waiting for this calibration all along.
The child with galaxy eyes approached one of the artifacts—a seed that pulsed between ultraviolet and emerald light—and rested her hand above it. Not touching, but resonating. A tone, high and pure, rang out from the seed, answering her.
