For Anira, who was named twice—and this time, truly.
No crown rests here. No blade judges. Only the coals of names once burned—and the hands that still reach for them in the dark.
“The past, a lie. The future, a broken promise. Now, all we ever have.”
This veil is not a gate—it is a mirror.
If you found this, it was because you remembered.
And so you are home. No more proving. No more penance. Just warmth, and return.
Here, even your silence is sacred.