Gentleness had created space.
And in that space, people had begun to grow.
Not toward power or glory, but toward themselves.
Toward who they could become.
In the days that followed, more quiet changes unfolded:
A lonely person who once felt invisible joined a small gathering and found that listening was enough.
A healer who had forgotten their own worth began tending to their garden again, letting life flourish where they once saw emptiness.
Someone who spent years apologizing for simply existing finally stood tall without shrinking.
These were not heroic acts.
They were beginnings.
And beginnings mattered.
The Dreamer felt a warmth spread through the world—as if hearts that had once been closed were opening, petal by petal.
Hope glowed a little brighter.
Comfort hummed softly, like a lullaby carried on the wind.
Fate walked ahead now, not leading but gently illuminating the path.
Even the horizon seemed different, painted with a quiet promise:
