The air in the Kayne chambers was thick with ancient magic, the scent of old stone and smouldering candle wax curling around my senses like a coiled beast. Freyr stood beside me, his silver eyes still glowing faintly with the remnants of the ritual's light. I could feel it too, the power of the Mira, now humming through my veins, not overwhelming but… synchronized. Balanced. Shared.
I exhaled slowly, trying to speak, but before I could form the words, a voice rose behind us, soft, weathered, and yet piercing through the silence like a blade through silk.
"So," she said, "you've done it. Together." I turned, and Freyr turned with me and there she stood, Freyr's Grandmother, cloaked in layers of midnight blue, her white hair coiled like a crown, and that ever-knowing smile stretching across her ancient face. Her eyes, clouded by time, still burned with something deeper than sight.
