The sky held its breath.
Not a cloud moved.
Not a leaf stirred.
Even the wind, usually bold around the sanctuary's tall root-spires, lingered just beyond the thresholds, as if unsure whether to enter.
Today was not about battle.
Not about blades or gods.
Today, the world would choose.
The Reckoning Assembly reconvened at first light.
Delegates from every corner of the realm stood around the amphitheater's central ring. Not seated. Standing.
Because no one wanted comfort today.
Comfort suggested safety.
And this vote… had none.
In the days leading to this moment, debates had fractured entire courts, reshaped alliances, broken and mended friendships. But now, no more arguments would be spoken.
Each representative stood in silence.
And waited.
For the question to be asked.
Liora stood alone at the center of the amphitheater.
She wore no crown.
No sigil.
Only a plain robe of woven root and dusk-thread — half gold, half black.
Balanced.
Open.
She looked around once, gaze touching every delegate.
Then she spoke.
"You have seen what waits beneath the stone.
You have heard its voice.
You know now — it was not born.
It was made.
Made by centuries of worship, of war, of fear and hope.
Made by our yearning for something greater than ourselves… or to be something greater ourselves."
She let that sink in.
Then:
"It asks a simple question:
'Should I be born?'"
Silence.
Then she said:
"This is not a vote for me.
This is not a vote for a king or queen.
This is a vote for what the world is ready to live beside."
And then she stepped back.
And let the votes begin.
The method was old.
Simple.
Each delegate stepped forward and placed a stone in one of two bowls — one carved from luminous root, the other from deepshadow crystal.
Gold for yes.
Black for no.
No speeches.
No applause.
Just the sound of stone on stone.
One by one.
Over a hundred voices, made physical.
A decision sculpted by hands.
The light-born watched from the upper alcove, fingers intertwined, lips pressed tight.
The dark twin stood beside her, arms folded, expression unreadable.
Below them, Vaerion paced.
Silra sat motionless.
Nyra wept silently when the Oracles cast gold.
Kelvir didn't even blink.
Liora watched them all.
Not like a ruler.
Like a mother watching her children speak their first full truth.
By midday, the final stone fell.
And the bowls were weighed.
A hush fell so deep, even the birds seemed to stop breathing.
The Dreamer stepped forward.
Looked once at Liora.
Then announced the result:
"Fifty-three gold."
"Forty-seven black."
A heartbeat passed.
Then another.
Liora exhaled.
Slowly.
Softly.
The crowd did not cheer.
Did not cry.
They simply stood in the weight of what they had said:
Let it be born.
The Shard-tree reacted first.
Its blossoms turned inward, then flared outward in a perfect burst of violet fire and silver light.
The ground beneath the sanctuary hummed.
And in the distance—far below, in the Aether Sanctum's depths—a heart began to beat.
Slow.
Steady.
And new.
Later that night, the sanctuary held no feast.
No songs.
Just stillness.
Contemplation.
Because the world had just made a decision no war could undo.
A being would be born.
Not a god.
Not a monster.
Something new.
And the consequences would belong to everyone.
Liora sat alone in the Spiral Garden when her daughters found her.
She looked up.
"Did I do the right thing?" she asked.
They didn't answer right away.
Instead, the dark twin knelt beside her.
"You gave the world a voice."
The light-born said, "And you listened."
"That's not always enough," Liora whispered.
"No," said the dark twin. "But it's more than anyone else ever did."
They sat together until dawn.
As the first light broke, a new vine sprouted at the Shard-tree's base.
Coiled.
Balanced.
And pulsing with a third light — neither gold nor black.
But white.
The color of birth.
Far away, deep beneath the shattered Aether stones, the forming being stirred.
It had no name.
No history.
Only will.
And a memory of every voice cast in its favor.
Not for power.
Not for worship.
But for a place in the world.
And when it opened its eyes…
It wept.
Not in sorrow.
But in awe.
Because it had been given not a command…
But a choice.