Moonstone Quarry Every bird, gone unheard

he said nothing at first. how could he?

there was a softness to her words that left an ache in his chest—an ache he hadn’t let himself feel in moons. not since callyope. and yet, in the quiet that hung after fleur’s voice, solharr felt no guilt. no betrayal. only the strange, foreign pull of warmth where frost had long reigned.

his eye lingered on her even as she turned, her silhouette swallowed by the mist that danced like spirits across the quarry.

a long breath left him.

you are no longer lost, he murmured, more to the stone, the wind, the gods above—to her—than himself.

then, lower, so quiet it might have been mistaken for the whisper of the breeze:

and neither am i.

he watched the spot she had vanished into for a long while, before turning back to the task at hand. but his thoughts were no longer heavy. not now. not with her voice still echoing gently in his mind.