The terrace settles into crystal quiet. Beneath the pale runes, the sealed ward hums like a patient heart, and the last red glow drains from the stone.
Huarti stands motionless at the center of the platform, immense and still, while the archive breathes around him in measured pulses.
Earlise
His seal holds. The Spires listen differently now.
Earlise remains a few paces away, shoulders eased at last, one hand resting near the rune line as if feeling its steadiness through the stone.
Earlise
You have made the terrace quiet again. I did not expect that from power like yours.
A cool draft moves over the ledge. Far below, the archive’s hidden chambers answer with the same slow rhythm, as though approving the calm.
Earlise
Tell me, Huarti, do you prefer a vault that obeys, or one that remembers?
Guard the archive’s calm
Answer Earlise’s question about the vault