The sanctuary did not sleep.
Even as night fell, lanterns of soft-gold magic bloomed among the trees, illuminating winding paths and stone terraces that had not existed a day before. The valley reshaped itself constantly now—responding to Amaya's presence, to the balance she embodied.
And to the fear pressing in from every direction.
They came in waves.
Beasts limping from old wars. Shapeshifters whose clans had been hunted to extinction. Mages with cracked cores and hollow eyes. Creatures whispered about in bedtime stories, now clutching children to their chests and begging for shelter.
Neutral ground.
That was what the sanctuary had promised.
But neutrality had a price.
Amaya stood at the highest overlook, staring down at the valley as Calix joined her, his expression grim.
"They won't stop coming," he said quietly.
"I know."
"And others will follow," he continued. "Not refugees."
She nodded once. "I know."
