Subtle Shifts

The evening deepened, and the crowd began to disperse, their voices carrying fragments of Victor’s speech into the night. Mina moved among them, her steps deliberate but unassuming. She stopped to help an older woman gather her scattered belongings, earning a faint smile and a murmured thanks.

“You think he’s right?” the woman asked, her voice quivering as she adjusted her shawl. “Victor, I mean. About us needing to stand on our own?”

Mina paused, her fingers brushing against the orb’s faint pulse within her. The connection seemed to shift, aligning with her thoughts, as if urging her to weigh her words carefully.

“I think strength doesn’t mean turning your back on help,” Mina said softly. “Sometimes, it’s knowing when to listen and who to trust.”

The woman nodded slowly, her gaze drifting toward the retreating crowd. “Maybe. But it’s hard to trust these days.”

Mina didn’t reply, letting the silence speak for her as she helped the woman to her feet. The subtle ripple of the orb’s presence lingered, a reminder of her growing role.

As the square emptied, Mina found herself drawn to the edge of the Weavers’ gathering place. Their flickering forms pulsed in unison, faint patterns moving like whispers over their surface. She approached cautiously, stopping just beyond the circle of their reach.

One of the Weavers turned, its glow intensifying as it regarded her. Mina held her ground, letting the connection between her and the orb guide her actions.

“I know you’re watching,” she said quietly, her voice steady. “And I know you’re waiting.”

The Weaver’s light flared for a brief moment before subsiding, as though acknowledging her words. Mina stepped back, her resolve hardening. The Creche understood her presence, even if Victor didn’t.