The sun had barely dipped below the jagged edges of Aleen's sunken horizon, but the basin was already alive with light. Bonfires lined the gathering grounds like sacred beacons — glowing red, orange, and green — casting shifting shadows across the pale stone and moss-covered ground. Overhead, luminescent drifters floated lazily through the air, their soft-blue biolight pulsing in rhythm to the music.
Sommer stood in the center of the circle, framed by two braided torch poles and a trio of wooden chimes that hung gently from a vine-wrapped trellis. She wore the cerulean wrap she had debated packing, now matched with a sheer, pearl-toned underskirt that danced with every breeze. Her arms were bare, painted in winding silver lines by Aleena children earlier that evening — "for the Sky-Singer," they'd said.
Her heart beat slowly now — not with fear, but with recognition. The way it always did before a true performance. She closed her eyes. Breathed in the smell of roasted woodfruit, spice oil, and wet leaves. Let her soul stretch.
And then… she sang.
Her voice was a smooth thread of sound — soft, but undeniably clear. The kind that didn't need to shout to fill space. A call that echoed against the basin walls and seemed to reverberate through stone and root alike. She wove the ancient melody taught to her by one of the Aleena elders earlier that day, layering it with her own haunting harmonic flourishes. The language was half-Aleenan, half-improvised sound, but the meaning carried.
It was about cycles. About things lost and born again.
They appeared like ripples in the smoke — dozens of tiny, flickering beings with translucent wings, each no bigger than a child's hand. Their bodies glowed faintly with hues of amber, jade, and violet. Some carried minuscule bells or twisted petals, others trailed glimmering threads of pollen as they darted through the crowd.
And then… they began to dance.
They circled Sommer in widening rings, spinning and rising and diving like playful flames. Some hovered just long enough to rest on her shoulders or wrists before flitting away, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake. They pulsed in time to her rhythm, their wings beating out the heartbeat of the land.
The crowd erupted in whoops and hollers, stomping their feet in unison, while others began to join the dance. Alyssa clapped along, then laughed — a clear, genuine sound — and spun into the rhythm with the Aleena youth. Her eyes sparkled as she moved, catching Sommer's gaze briefly with a wink and a playful shimmy.
Sommer smiled mid-verse, the music lifting from her throat like light itself.
And that was when she saw her.
Standing completely still among the moving tide of bodies was a tall figure cloaked in layered green and gray leathers. Draped moss, dyed furs, and embroidered bone pieces accented the garment, giving it the air of a forgotten woodland deity. A carved antelope mask with curling ivory horns covered the woman's face, and beads dangled from the mask's lower edge, swaying in the firelight.
The crowd didn't react to her as an intruder. In fact, they shifted subtly around her presence — widening the circle, instinctively giving space.
Sommer's voice caught — only for a breath — then she pushed through. She didn't know why, but she couldn't stop. Something in her spirit surged forward, as if the melody had taken on a life of its own.
The figure made no move. No dance. No sound.
But her eyes — though hidden — were locked on Sommer.
