Diane

Answers to questions of the past as the end nears.

In the lighthouse high above Storm Harbor, the fire crackled low, casting warm amber light against stone walls damp with memory.

Darius and Lyle sat together, their voices low but steady as they spoke of things long buried childhood dreams, hidden scars, and the shadow of a father who had stolen too much from them. Maren added her voice gently, weaving threads of hope into the conversation, helping stitch something like peace between the brothers.

Elara listened, silent but present, leaning against the far wall with Rockford curled at her side. For once, the great beast wasn’t alert or growling only dozing, head on his paws, tail flicking with contentment.

Then she heard it.

A soft thump. A creak of wood. Below.

“I heard a noise downstairs,” she said to Rockford, who immediately lifted his head.

She reached the base of the steps and paused.

There, in the center of the room, stood the young woman who had burst through the window at the glassblower’s shop. The same piercing gaze. The same calm presence. But this time, she didn’t seem startled or urgent.
She simply stood, watching.

Rockford padded forward and, to Elara’s surprise, nuzzled the woman’s side before pressing his head beneath her hand.

Elara blinked. “Who are you? Rockford doesn’t allow just anyone to do that.”

“You can call me Diane,” the woman replied.

Elara opened her mouth to speak again but then, like a veil being drawn back, Diane changed.

Her features aged before Elara’s eyes not unnaturally, but gently. Time catching up. Her once brown hair faded into a dignified silver-gray, pulled back in a simple ponytail. And her face still strong, still proud now bore unmistakable echoes of Darius and Lyle.