Sylvia woke up without dreams.
She opened her eyes slowly not because of sound, not because of light, but because her own body decided that rest was enough. In the depths of the ocean, the concept of morning and night never truly existed. There was no rising sun. No lengthening shadows. Only a consistent pitch-black darkness, illuminated by the soft, alien glow emanating from the coral walls, sea crystals, and the slow currents of energy flowing gently within Nerys's temple.
Yet still, there was a different feeling.
Not morning in the sense of time.
Morning in the sense of the first breath after surviving.
Sylvia sat on the edge of her bed, rubbing her face with one hand. Her body felt… normal. No lingering pain. No heavy fatigue. The Death Flame within her was stable, calm like a black lake without ripples. The War Sun Flame no longer rebelled either, pulsing gently, as if respecting the previous night's decision to stay quiet.
