The quiet Damon had so painstakingly built was a cocoon. Inside its golden-hazed stillness, Luna felt the frantic hum of her own power for the first time without the screaming interference of the void. It was like finally being able to hear a single instrument in a deafening orchestra. The silvery wisp of light above her palm wasn't just docile; it was responsive. She could shape it, stretch it into a thin, shimmering ribbon, or condense it into a tiny, pulsing star.
"It's listening," she whispered, her voice filled with awe. A small, genuine smile touched her lips—the first in what felt like an eternity.
Damon, kneeling beside her, smiled back, though the effort to maintain the bubble was etching lines of strain around his eyes. Every second felt like a slow bleed. "Of course it is. It's part of you."
