The town settled into a fragile calm. Days passed without incident yet nothing returned to how it had been before. Ilyra felt the difference in every step she took. Awareness followed her like a shadow. Not suspicion. Recognition. She walked through the streets at a slower pace now. The borrowed body moved with quiet confidence shaped by experience rather than instinct. Power no longer stirred restlessly beneath her skin. It waited. That waiting carried weight.
People greeted her with small gestures. A nod. A pause. An unspoken acknowledgment. They did not know why they trusted her. Only that something in her presence felt steady. That trust mattered more than fear ever could. Caelen trained her at dawn and again before nightfall. Not with urgency. With intention. He tested endurance rather than strength. Balance rather than force. Each movement asked a question. Each correction shaped an answer.
Liora watched from a distance as she often did. Her silence was not absence. It was assurance. Ilyra understood that now. Guidance did not always come with words. Beyond the hills the presence remained quiet. Not gone. Waiting. Patience had become its language. That patience unsettled Ilyra more than open threat. It meant the next moment would be chosen rather than forced.
Responsibility settled deeper within her as the days passed. Not as burden. As clarity. This town had become more than shelter. It had become something she stood for. She realized then that borrowing a body did not mean borrowing a life. It meant protecting it. And every life around it.
As night fell she stood beneath the open sky and felt the land breathe. Whatever came next would not arrive by accident. It would arrive in response. And when it did she would be ready.