The First Imitation

Rhys, the youngest of the exiles, watched Sena with an intensity that belied his years.

Her dance, a fusion of the Storm-chasers’ raw power and the Still-listeners’ quiet grace, was something entirely new.

He saw not a betrayal of their past, as Caelan did, but a bridge to a future he hadn’t dared to imagine.

He took a hesitant step, then another, trying to replicate the controlled energy he saw in her movements.

It was clumsy, a shadow of the real thing, but it was a start.

Sena paused, her eyes widening in surprise. She had not expected this.

A slow smile spread across her face, a silent acknowledgment of the connection that was forming between them.

This was not just imitation; it was a conversation, a sharing of ideas without words.

The first echo of a new language had been spoken.