They walked in silence along a moss-covered path, where the branches parted at their passing without ever touching them. Ilyara didn't say where they were going, she simply gestured for him to remain quiet. As if the very air demanded respect.
They reached a clearing where time seemed suspended.
In the center stood a solitary tree with a dark blue trunk, growing between floating stones. It had no leaves, only feathers. And it didn't cast shadow—it cast light.
Ilyara stopped several steps from the edge.
"This is it."
"This is what?" Elías asked.
"Your trial."
Elías swallowed hard.
"What do I have to do?"
"Listen," said Ilyara. "That's all."
"That's a trial?"
"In Lunareth, hearing the truth is harder than fighting."
She gave him a gentle push forward. Elías walked awkwardly until he stood in front of the tree. There was no sound, only his own breathing. The wind was so subtle it hurt.
And then he heard it.
A voice that wasn't a voice. A murmur without shape, like water flowing inside his chest. He couldn't translate it, but he felt it.
"Do not fear."
"Do not run."
"Remember."
And then… images. Not in his mind, but in his heart:
A field of wheat.
His grandmother laughing in the rain.
The glowing newspaper dissolving in his hand.
A feather wrapped in fire.
The symbol from the leaflet.
And a pair of eyes (were they Ilyara's?) watching him from far away, as if they had been waiting for him all along.
Elías fell to his knees, not out of fear, but something like gratitude.
The tree released a single feather.
It floated slowly toward him and landed on his shoulder.
Elías didn't dare touch it. But the warmth in his chest told him he didn't have to. The trial was over.
Ilyara approached silently and nodded.
"Not everyone receives a feather. Some people hear the wind. Others… are remembered by it."
"What does that mean?"
"It means the world knows you, even if you don't know why."
They walked back without speaking. But when the first round stone houses appeared between the trees, Ilyara stopped.
"The House of Living Messages is across the bridge. We won't work today, we're just going in."
"For what?"
"So you can begin to understand why you're here."
"You know?" he asked.
"Not everything. But… I know a similar story. About someone who also came from another world. And left behind a feather like yours."
Elías frowned.
"Who?"
"That," she said, "you'll have to read for yourself."
And as the wooden bridge sang under their steps, Elías felt something deep within him begin to open,
like a flower at dawn.