In the hush before morning song, Jude kissed Grace's lips. "We remember."
She nodded, eyes closed. "We are memories."
They fell asleep under watchers' canopy, twelve hearts, two small futures, one man, woven by watchers into the island's living story.
Mist lay like living breath across the orchard when Jude opened his eyes, the morning air heavy with promise. Watcher‑light flickered among sapling leaves, a chorus of pale lanterns, holding silent vigil. He rose barefoot, stepping softly over dew‑slick grass to the central ring where seedlings stood tall from last night's ceremony. Grace rose behind him, pulling Raven close against her chest and guiding Laurel with gentle care. His hand grazed the braided ribbons tied to the central trunk, a token binding mountain memory to orchard roots. He bowed his head in gratitude and promise.
