The violet light had faded completely by the time the last woman left the hall. The braziers were down to glowing coals. The black rose Aiden had left on the marble lay untouched, petals slightly curled at the edges from the dry air. Husbands filed out last—chains clinking softly, footsteps heavy. The doors closed behind them with a low, final thud.
Isolde remained alone in the center.
She walked to the spot where Aiden had sat cross-legged. Lowered herself to the same position. Placed her palms flat on the marble. Closed her eyes.
The Spire hummed—deep, almost inaudible. The silver fracture on her chain pulsed once in answer.
She stayed like that for nearly an hour. Breathing. Listening. Thinking.
When she opened her eyes again, the coals had died to ash. The hall was dark except for the faint glow of the sigil on her hip.
She rose. Walked to the shadowed archway. Paused at the threshold.
Then she stepped through.
