Anthesis of Sadness

There, I saw her. Lysara was waiting for me, her eyes fixed on mine. She clung to my sleeve, still soaked with the creature’s blood, and gently pulled me along.

That simple gesture said more than a thousand words. She could have left, gone her own way, ignored me. But she didn’t. She waited for me. She recognized me. Maybe that was the real reward.

I followed her without hesitation. After all, it was the first time she’d done something like this, and it was obvious she wanted to show me something.

Then, she made a gesture, and I saw her new ability unfold before my eyes. She could create an excess of herself and split it off.

It was a birth. An act of pure will.

Not a skill, not magic. A silent manifesto.

She was no longer waiting to be given a shape. She was forging one herself.

One of her arms detached from her body, walking beside her like a perfect extension of her will.

A living arm. An extension of herself, completely obedient. It was no longer magic. It was a birth. Proof that this world didn’t just want to break her... but reinvent her.

Shock washed over me. Shapeshifter? That race offered so many possibilities, it felt almost unreal. But after the astonishment came pride. I was genuinely happy to see her evolving. And, even through her usually so empty gaze, I could tell she was proud too. Her behavior was different than usual — more alive, more animated.

— That’s quite a skill, I said, my voice sincere.