Dara looked at her hands. They were trembling. For the first time in a decade, she did not fight the tremor. She let it be.
And then the Chorus began. Not a song, but a cascade of truths. Dara saw herself as a child, laughing in the shallows. She saw her first love, her first failure, her first betrayal of herself. Every hidden shame, every buried joy, every secret hope—the crystals around her vibrated, turning her internal world into external light. It was agonizing. It was beautiful. dara deep
The pressure in the cabin vanished. The violet light flared, then softened. The being smiled, a slow, spreading crack across its abalone face. Dara looked at her hands
“Dara Deep,” the being’s voice was not sound, but pressure—a direct compression of water against her soul. “You have come to listen.” She let it be