"Even the moon chooses the stone she rises to meet."
The morning after was not defined by a rush of alarms or the clang of armor, but by the slow, quiet dawn filtering through the Celestial Observatory's crystalline dome. The air was no longer frantic with excess magic, but heavy with the contented, mingled scents of night-blooming jasmine and my own skin musk. It was the scent of perfect, stable containment.
I lay on the furs, watching Seraphine sleep. She was curled into my side, her silver hair spilling across my chest, her shifter core usually a wild, humming current now idling at a deep, rhythmic purr. She was the most potent source of magic in the Kingdom, yet in sleep, she was simply fragile and utterly trusting.
My Beta core was still singing from the psychic exchange. I was physically and emotionally exhausted but balanced. I was the rock that absorbed the storm, and now, the storm was simply resting against me.
