The stars had not moved.
And yet, the sky looked different.
It glowed deeper now, every constellation a little sharper, every celestial thread stitched tighter into the night's tapestry. It was as if the heavens themselves had taken a long, slow breath, and finally exhaled.
For the first time in centuries, the name Isabelle Devereux was known. Truly known. Not whispered in corners behind closed doors. Not etched into forbidden scrolls or buried in fractured timelines.
But spoken aloud.
With reverence.
With truth.
And that truth, like all truths, did not stay still.
It rippled, first through the City of First Light, where buildings adjusted themselves in recognition, where dreamwoven streets straightened just slightly in respect. Then farther, beyond the hills and rivers, beyond the veil itself.
It echoed.
The Cracking of the Old Realm
Far beyond the veil, in the realm Ariella, Isabelle, had once called home, something ancient stirred.
