From beyond the lanterns came a pulse of blue mist, subtle, shimmering. It moved around the circle's rim. No face, just flow. It lingered for a breath, then retreated behind the stones, flickering but not entering. They heard it move, wind but wrong. They closed their eyes, leaned on each other.
Jude spoke into their hearts: "We remain."
The mist waned. It drifted upward until only ribbons fluttered on trees and nodes.
They stood solemn. Gaze locked.
No one spoke further. The watcher had spoken.
They extinguished lanterns, extinguished doubts. They slept under one great quilt of blankets, eleven hearts in one hearth.
Tomorrow they would step toward orchard planting. Build radiance. Draw life from rock. And if the watcher came again, they would stand named, named together, beyond mist, beyond shape.
Dawn would come. They would be, still.
