Kaea

A Cycle of Moon and Mist

Kaea awoke as the world turned silver, her bones cold in the hollow of her tree. She drifted through the salt-spray of the shoreline, a ghost in the midnight wind, pausing only to offer a knowing smile to Barnaby as he marched toward the docks with the dawn.

As the night deepened, she found her way to the campfire. There, in the warmth of the embers, she whittled a flute from a piece of driftwood, her humming blending with the crackle of the flames. A traveler arrived—a curious soul with a glowing stone—and for a moment, Kaea forgot her wood and her solitude to wonder at the light.

But the world is a fragile thing. For a heartbeat, the fire turned a ghostly blue, and Kaea's voice split into three, echoing the past, the present, and a future that had not yet been written. The traveler stared in awe, but the flicker passed as quickly as a dream.

As the first light of morning touched the horizon, she watched the player fall into a deep sleep. With a final, silent whisper to the wind, she glided back to her tree, the memory of a glowing stone tucked away in the folds of her heart.