Nalvas

The Nalvas—wearing Kael like a favorite shirt—tilted its head. “And now?”

The Nalvas smiled—Kael’s smile, but older, wiser, as if he had lived the seven years she had denied him. “That’s the answer,” it said. “That’s the toll.” nalvas

She did not return to carving headstones. The Nalvas—wearing Kael like a favorite shirt—tilted its

Elara thought of the empty chair at supper. The unlit candle on his name-day. The way she had stopped humming because they used to hum together. “That’s the toll

She climbed the Nalvas pass on the solstice, when the mist was thick as wool. She carried no weapon, no charm—only a single smooth stone that Kael had given her as a child, painted with a crooked sun.

Three days she walked. On the third night, the mist parted.

“You never said goodbye,” he said. His voice was exactly as she remembered—not accusatory, just curious.