She inclines her head once. “Then stop hiding from your own life, Khaivor.”
She leaves quietly after that.
I remain staring toward the doorway long after she disappears into the street beyond.
Eventually Roseth returns carrying fresh bandages.
“You look troubled,” she says.
I study her standing there in the warm forge light, soot still faintly shadowing one cheek, curls half-undone from exhaustion.
Then I realize something terrifyingly simple. For once, I can picture a future clearly and every version of it includes her.
15
ROSETH
Bellmere rebuilds itself loudly.
Every morning begins with hammering now. Carpenters replace shattered dock beams beside the lake while masons argue over cracked stone near the temple steps. The streets smell constantly of fresh timber, smoke, wet paint, and lake water dragged inland during the resonance storm.
No one complains about the noise.
After what Bellmere survived, noise means people are still here to make it.
I stand inside the workshop doorway watching Brohm wrestle a crooked sign above the brewery entrance while Vi criticizes him from below with the confidence of someone contributing absolutely nothing physical to the task.
“It leans left,” she calls upward.
“It does not.” he shoots back at her.
“It absolutely does.”
Brohm narrows one eye at the sign. “Maybe slightly.”
Vi folds her arms triumphantly. “I was right.”
The sign slips suddenly sideways as Brohm swears loudly. I laugh before I can stop myself.
Khaivor glances up from the workbench behind me, the corner of his mouth lifting faintly at the sound. The workshop looks nothing like it did before the festival.
The old forge still sits near the rear wall, but half the space now overflows with unfinished instruments, resonance rods, tuning forks, carved chimes, and sketches scattered across nearly every surface.
Bronze bells hang beside silver-string frames waiting for assembly. Khaivor spent most of yesterday helping me suspend resonance crystals above one corner table after discovering certain tones sharpen their response.
Apparently my workshop now explodes occasionally.
Tali sits cross-legged on the floor beneath the window carefully polishing a set of tiny bronze chimes while humming badly off-key.
“Miss Rose,” she utters without glancing up, “this one sounds grumpy.”
Khaivor glances toward the chime in her hand. “That is because you are holding it upside down.”
Tali gasps dramatically. “You never told me bells had directions.”
“They usually prefer dignity.”
She immediately flips the chime upright with grave seriousness. I shake my head, smiling despite myself.
