The sun had risen.
But it didn't feel like just another day.
It felt like a beginning.
The light poured gently over the City of First Light, bathing the rooftops and crystal towers in a golden glow. Shadows softened, corners gleamed, and every breeze that passed carried with it the hush of something sacred awakening.
At the heart of the city, Ariella—Isabelle—stood alone in the plaza, her eyes closed, her face tilted toward the warmth of the morning. The sunlight touched her gently, like it remembered her.
For the first time in years, she let it.
Her long hair, once bound tightly in braids forged from duty, silence, and survival, now flowed freely over her shoulders, catching in the breeze, strands glinting with gold at the edges. Her coat, which had once shimmered with frost-thread to ward off battles both seen and unseen, had transformed. It was embroidered now with constellations, stars stitched in memory, loss, and healing. Each one a story reclaimed.
