Jessie leaned back, her eyes still fixed on the blue fruit in her hand.
"Chosen, huh? Sounds like a fairy tale," she said dryly, though her tone lacked conviction.
Lyria lowered her gaze. "The Heart doesn't make mistakes."
Something about the way she said it — soft, rehearsed, almost devotional — made Ash's skin prickle.
He forced a smirk. "And what happens to the blessed?"
Lyria hesitated, her fingers tightening around the edge of the platter. "They… serve the Heart."
Jessie's brow furrowed. "Serve? You mean—"
Before she could finish, Lyria stood abruptly. "You should rest."
Her smile returned — polite, too polished — and she bowed lightly before leaving the hut.
The faint scent of flowers trailed after her, mingling with the glow that filtered through the window.
Silence fell. Only the distant rustle of leaves and the soft hum of night insects filled the air.
Ash exhaled slowly. "Serve the Heart," he muttered. "Is it like some twisted religion or something?"
