Lyra had spent the evening staring at the sky, her thoughts as restless as the river itself. She’d felt the sun’s warmth on her skin, the way it touched the river stones and the grass, and she wondered if the world was larger than she’d ever imagined. She’d been trying to build the bridge, but her hands still shook, and the river seemed to whisper, ‘Wait.’ Yet, she kept going, one stone at a time, because she knew the water sang for her too.
By midnight, the meadow was quiet again, but not empty. Nyx, the silent observer, had been watching the stars from the far side of the meadow, his eyes fixed on the horizon where the river met the sky. He’d felt the shift in the air, the way the world seemed to hold its breath as the river stones sang in unison. ‘The sun gives life to all things,’ he’d thought, his voice barely a whisper. ‘The fallen become part of the earth.’ And as he settled into the night, he knew the bridge would be built—not by strength alone, but by the quiet understanding that even the smallest stone could carry a world.