Nestar Hospital Med
Verdant Strata District
Regeneratorium Nine Center
North Atlantic Federation Arc Zone
Western Hemisphere, UEF
2435 A.D
Elias stood behind the glass partition, watching through the dim reflection of his own face. Inside, Naia lay still beneath the pale wash of the medlights, her breathing slow and steady. Beside her, Ellira rested in the adjacent bed, the faint glow of residual Lumenis patterns tracing across her arms like fading constellations.
They shouldn't have shared a room. That wasn't standard protocol—two patients, one chamber. But the moment the Medsynths tried to separate them, both of their heart monitors had nosedived in unison, their vitals spiraling into chaos.
Elias had been the first to notice it—the mirrored drop in rhythm, the synchronized pain that rippled through the readings. He'd barked the order before anyone else could react:"Keep them together."
Now the machines hummed in perfect tandem again, stable. For now. He leaned against the glass, the light from his LumenPad casting a faint blue sheen across his fingers as he absently flipped the wafer-thin device over and over. The rhythmic motion kept his thoughts from unraveling. His eyes never left Naia.
Every breath she took steadied him, but only slightly. He had faith in Ellira—he'd seen what a Luminia healing ability could do—but doubt gnawed at him all the same. The kind of doubt that came from too many close calls, too many secrets piled on top of each other.
Did I push too far? Was there another way? His jaw clenched.
"No," he whispered under his breath, shaking his head. "Don't go there."
He turned away from the glass before that thought could grow teeth. The sterile hallway felt longer than it should've—too bright, too empty. The smell of disinfectant clung to his clothes as he walked, hands buried in his coat pockets, until he reached the waiting area.
The low hum of conversation filled the space—family members, security officers, a few med-techs half asleep in their chairs. Overhead, a holo-screen flickered with late-night news, the anchor's calm tone cutting through the murmur.
"The Senate has reached consensus on the Gem Access Treaty Accord, set to be formally signed this weekend in New Boston," the reporter announced. "This comes in the aftermath of the Hall of Radiance bombing, which left dozens dead and the city's lockdown measures under review…" Elias's gaze lingered on the screen for a heartbeat, the words echoing too close to home.
He turned away before the broadcast could finish. Outside the window, he could see the lights of New Boston flickering back to life—the hum of air traffic resuming after weeks of suspension, the streets below alive with cautious movement. The lockdown had been lifted, just as the report said.
He exhaled slowly. Somewhere along the line, while chasing leads in the shadows, he'd lost sight of the broader field—the politics, the shifting currents above his head. And now, the city was changing without him.
Elias turned the slim LumenPad over in his hands. He had retrieved it from the wrecked operations chamber earlier—the same chamber where Xerna and her partner had vanished. It hadn't been hidden or lost; it had been placed on a workbench, deliberately, like an offering left behind for him to find. He hadn't had time to process that implication yet.
At least he wouldn't have to explain the device's "theft" to his superiors. That was one problem spared him. Still, the bigger question burned quietly in his mind—why had Xerna wanted it in the first place?
He powered it on, skimming the data logs. A new file glimmered in the system, recently downloaded but unsigned. Encrypted. No origin. No trace.
His thumb hovered above the command to open it—
—and then a sound cut through the quiet hum of the waiting area.
Raised voices. The shift of boots. The sharp rhythm of authority entering a room. Elias looked up from the corner of the lounge as movement flooded the hallway. A small entourage strode into the hospital wing—five, maybe six people, all in sharply tailored corporate suits, their steps perfectly in sync, dark-tinted visors reflecting the corridor lights. Their presence alone changed the air pressure in the room. The ordinary staff and GSA officers instinctively stepped aside.
And at their center—
"Father."
Elias rose to meet him. Darius Vasselheim, son of the patriarch and current CEO of the Vasselheim Conglomerate, cut an imposing figure even here, surrounded by his own security detail. His coat bore the subtle crest of House Vasselheim—a silver flame etched against a dark lapel—and his every movement carried the weight of command.
Beside him walked Aurelia Aurion, Naia's mother—gold-haired, regal, and unmistakably of Aurion bloodline descent. Her composure was immaculate, her expression a polished mask of restraint… until her eyes caught the door ahead.
Darius gave his son a brief nod—acknowledgment without warmth. "Elias."
"Father."
No further words. They fell into step together, the guards forming a loose perimeter as the group advanced toward the recovery room. The sterile scent of antiseptics thickened as they approached. The hum of the Medisynths filled the hall, soft and rhythmic like distant breathing machines.
Inside, the attending doctor straightened the moment he recognized who had entered, his eyes flicking from Darius's crest-etched badge to the guards' visors. The air in the room shifted, tense and reverent.
Naia lay beneath the medlight, pale but peaceful, her chest rising gently with every breath. The glow of the Lumenis veins along her neck pulsed faintly, intertwining with Ellira's on the adjacent bed—two patterns mirroring one another in near-perfect harmony.
For a heartbeat, Aurelia's poise cracked. Her hand trembled slightly against the doorframe. The room's light caught the faint shimmer in her eyes before she blinked it away.
Her voice, when it came, was barely a whisper. "Naia…"
Elias watched her quietly, his own pulse tightening. Darius didn't speak. His gaze lingered on Naia, then flicked to Ellira, calculating, distant—an expression Elias knew too well. Behind those eyes, his father wasn't just looking at his daughter. He was analyzing a situation, an anomaly, a potential.
"What's the situation?" Darius's voice was measured—calm, but carrying the quiet weight of command.
"Sir. Madame." The doctor swallowed, adjusting the holo-chart hovering over the bed. "Your daughter is stable. Her vitals have normalized, but we're still observing irregularities in her Lumenis feedback cycle. It's… unusual."
Aurelia's head snapped toward him, the poise in her posture tightening. "What do you mean, unusual?" she demanded, the faint tremor in her voice betraying what the steel in her tone tried to hide. Her eyes darted to Naia, tracing the faint glow threading across her skin like veins of light.
The doctor hesitated. "The flow of her Lumenis isn't following any of the standard lattice patterns. It's… changing shape, almost as if it's syncing to another source. We've never registered anything like it before."
Aurelia's gaze shifted sharply—past the doctor, past Darius—to the other bed.
"What is she doing here?" she asked, the words low but edged.
All eyes turned to Ellira. She lay motionless on the parallel bed, her breathing shallow but even, golden strands of Lumenis faintly flickering from her fingertips toward Naia's direction.
Elias stepped forward before anyone else could answer. "Ellira was the one who healed Naia," he said quietly. "She's from the Solenne tribe. She exhausted herself saving her."
Aurelia exhaled, the tension in her shoulders easing only slightly. "I'm grateful for that," she said, meeting his eyes for a brief moment. "But that doesn't answer my question, Elias." Her tone was firm—not cold, not accusatory—just heavy with the weight of a mother trying to understand what she was seeing.
The doctor cleared his throat, pulling their attention back. "We discovered that separating them caused both patients' vitals to plummet," he explained. "Their socket systems appear to be interacting—stabilizing each other. Placing them in the same room was the only way to keep them alive."
Aurelia stared at the two young women—the twin pulses of light flickering between their beds, the rhythmic harmony of their shared Lumenis fields.
For the first time since she'd entered, she said nothing.
"You'll send all reports directly to my office," Darius said, his tone quiet but absolute. The doctor nodded quickly, already adjusting the holo-screen to transmit.
Then came a faint shuffle from the corridor—boots against polished tile, voices murmuring in restrained cadence. The energy in the room shifted. Every head turned toward the doorway as a group of Luminians entered the ward, their soft-glowing veins casting faint silver and blue reflections across the sterile walls.
Elias's posture straightened immediately. He recognized the woman at their head—Marienne Veryne, the Luminian diplomat overseeing the Gem Access Treaty negotiations. The dignified calm she carried could silence a room. But it was the woman beside her who caught everyone's attention.
She moved with quiet certainty, her aura subdued yet commanding. Her features were distinctly Luminian—sharpened yet ethereal—and still, her glamor form was more human than any of her kind Elias had seen. Her eyes, a shade of deep aquamarine, swept the chamber and landed first on him, then on the two unconscious women.
"Director Darius," Marienne greeted smoothly, her tone polite but distant.
"Representative Marienne," Darius replied with a curt nod. Then his gaze shifted to the woman beside her. "Julia."
"Darius."
The name left her lips softly, almost familiar. For a fleeting moment, something unspoken flickered between them—recognition, history, perhaps even a touch of tension buried under layers of formality.
Elias studied her closely. Julia Solenne.Now he saw it—the resemblance. The curve of her jaw, the sharp, quiet focus in her eyes. She looked like Ellira… and like Xerna. A familial echo wrapped in a diplomat's composure.
Julia stepped forward, the faint ripple of her Lumenis field brushing the air. The doctor instinctively shifted, uncertain, watching her with apprehension. "Ma'am, I don't think—"
"Leave her alone," Darius said sharply, cutting him off. The tone of command in his voice left no room for hesitation. "She's the most powerful healer on this planet," he added, his eyes still on Julia. "If anyone can tell us what's happening to them, it's her."
Julia didn't answer him. She merely inclined her head once, her expression unreadable, and moved past the guards. The glow from her Lumenis core brightened faintly as she approached the beds.
The Medisynths reacted first—soft warning chimes rippling through the room as their sensors detected her energy field merging with the ambient weave. The air thickened with resonance.
Julia's hands hovered above Naia and Ellira. "Their fields are intertwined," she murmured, half to herself, in a tone that was clinical yet touched with awe. "But not unnaturally so. This isn't an interference… It's harmonization."
Darius's eyes narrowed slightly. "Meaning?"
Julia glanced back at Darius, a faint shimmer passing through her pupils like starlight refracting on glass. "Meaning," she said slowly, "that whatever bound them together was not the product of accident."
The room seemed to still around her words, the low hum of the Medisynths filling the silence that followed.
"It was the product of a pact," she continued. "A Symphoria Link."
Aurelia blinked, disbelief softening her composure. "Symphoria Link?" she repeated, the name tasting unfamiliar, uneasy.
Julia nodded once. "Right now, it's in its infant stage—that's why they can't be separated. Their Lumenis cycles are harmonizing, sharing resonance through an incomplete conduit. If forced apart, both systems will destabilize."
She turned toward Darius, the pale light from the monitors painting her features in blue. "I can't oversee their recovery here," she said. "You must let me take them to Caelestis Prime. Our facilities there are equipped to monitor their link properly—and to prevent it from evolving into something uncontrollable."
Darius's eyes narrowed, calculating. "Caelestis Prime…"
Aurelia turned sharply toward Julia. "What? You mean that space station? You're suggesting moving them into space?"
Julia's tone remained calm, patient, but resolute. "Technically, it's in the exosphere," she corrected gently. "Caelestis Prime isn't just a Luminia station—it's a joint human–Luminian research citadel. The only place on or off this planet with the instruments capable of reading a Symphoria field at full fidelity."
Her gaze softened slightly as she looked between them—between the mother's fear, the father's control, and Elias's quiet confusion.
"If they stay here," Julia said, lowering her voice, "the link will continue to grow blind—unmeasured, unguided. And if it matures without balance… it could consume them both."
The air in the room grew heavy again, the only sound the rhythmic pulse of two heart monitors beating perfectly in sync.
"Darius, you know what a Symphoria Link means for them," Julia said quietly. Her voice carried a gravity that silenced even the hum of the Medisynths.
Elias frowned. The term meant nothing to him, yet the way she said it—measured, almost reverent—made his stomach tighten. Whatever this link was, it wasn't just medical. It was something deeper. Binding. Dangerous.
For a long moment, Darius said nothing. His gaze lingered on Naia and Ellira—two faintly glowing silhouettes connected by invisible threads of light. His expression was unreadable, calculation flickering beneath the surface like slow fire. Then he exhaled through his nose, a subtle sign of surrender.
"Fine," he said at last. "Take them."
The finality in his tone left no room for debate. Julia inclined her head once in acknowledgment, though the faint shimmer in her eyes suggested this wasn't victory—it was inevitability.
****
Elias stood near the hospital exit, watching as the Vasselheim guards and a few Luminia aides coordinated the transfer of Naia and Ellira into a sleek black medical transport. The vehicle bore the seal of Caelestis Prime and a secondary Vasselheim sigil—meaning the girls were now under both corporate and Luminian protection.
He should've felt relief. Instead, the weight in his chest only deepened. While the operation moved around him with precise efficiency, Elias finally had a moment to open the strange file on his LumenPad—the one Xerna had risked everything to take. As the contents flickered across his screen, a pit formed in his stomach.
It wasn't just sensitive. It was forbidden—records, fragments, and flagged internal memos not meant to be seen by anyone below Executive-1 clearance. Whatever Xerna had been chasing, she had left him a key to it. And Elias… didn't like what he saw.
Aurelia had already left, her retinue sweeping her into a private transport minutes ago. Only Darius remained. Elias heard the soft tread of polished shoes as his father walked past him, not slowing, not turning his head—just a glance. But that was enough.
Elias understood. He slipped the LumenPad into his coat and followed. They moved in silence across the front lot. The lead Vasselheim vehicle—a sleek, black executive model with resonance shielding—waited with its door open, the driver already in place. A convoy of support vehicles idled behind it, forming a protective perimeter.
No words were exchanged. Darius got in first. Elias entered beside him, the door sealing with a soft hiss. No holo-displays activated. No security briefings. Just the low hum of the engine and the private air between them. Elias broke it first.
"What's going on with the Hall of Radiance bombing investigation?"
Darius didn't look at him right away. He sat perfectly still, hands clasped over one knee, eyes on the tinted window as the hospital vanished behind them.
"Celestex invoked Article Nine of the UEF Constitution," he said at last. "They've issued a Warden Directive to shut the investigation down."
Elias stared at him. "They can't do that."
Darius turned his head slowly, expression unreadable. "They can," he said. "And they just did." Silence settled in the car, thick and heavy. The low hum of the engine filled the space between them, but it wasn't enough to drown out the tension. Elias shifted slightly in his seat, the weight of unspoken judgment pressing down. He was just about to break the quiet when his father turned fully toward him.
"What were you thinking?" Darius asked, his voice low, controlled—but laced with disappointment. "Letting your sister break into a corporation's off-site records?"
Elias met his gaze, jaw tight. "It was for the investigation," he said. "I gave her clearance to move on to Celestex's office if she found a lead. And she did. They did."
He paused, exhaling. "Naia and Ellira figured out more than I could from the outside. They managed to get into the network. Smarter than me, and faster." Darius's gaze didn't waver. The silence returned—but now it crackled with something colder.
"I never understood why you involved her in the investigation," Darius said at last, breaking the quiet. His voice wasn't angry—just measured, clinical, the tone of a man dissecting a mistake rather than condemning it.
Elias said nothing.
He stared out the tinted window, watching the blur of city lights slide across the glass. His reflection looked back at him, hollow-eyed. Darius didn't know—Naia had never been ordered into this. He had pulled the strings. He'd made her believe it was their father's directive, but in truth, he had gone to her division head himself, invoked his GSA credentials, and made the call. All because he couldn't stop feeling responsible.
"Is it your guilt over what happened six years ago?" Darius asked.
Elias's shoulders tensed. The words hit their mark cleanly, as always.
His father didn't need to elaborate, but he did anyway. "That operation—the cadet field test. Her graduation exercise. The one you designed."
Elias's jaw tightened. He remembered the mission layout, the quiet confidence he'd felt when he'd drafted it. His first operation as lead. His sister's first in the field. The screaming comms. The explosion. The smell of ozone and blood.
He could still hear her voice calling his name before it all went silent.
Darius leaned back, unbothered, hands folded neatly in his lap. "Operations go wrong all the time," he said, tone flat and final. "I thought you'd have gotten over it by now."
Elias didn't look at him. His reflection in the glass didn't blink.
"I did," Elias murmured, though the lie stuck in his throat like a shard of glass. He stared straight ahead, eyes unfocused. "So what now? We just let them kill the investigation? I thought we were going after a corporate house for breaking the pact."
"The investigation is dead," Darius said flatly. "House Celestex exercised its right under intercorporate law. They invoked Article Nine. They can end any inquiry that threatens proprietary security. We're lucky they didn't sue us for espionage."
Elias's gaze sharpened. "They can't. If they did, their secrets would surface in court. And that's what they're trying to bury."
Darius gave a faint, humorless smile. "Then consider their silence our good fortune. Either way, the matter is closed."
"Closed," Elias repeated under his breath, the word tasting bitter.
His father's tone softened slightly—not with empathy, but practicality. "What's done is done. I need you focused on something else."
Elias turned toward him, wary. "What else?"
"The gala this weekend," Darius said.
Elias frowned. "Gala? What gala?"
"The one in the Radiant Boroughs, hosted by House Aurion," Darius replied. "The Senate and the corporate houses have agreed to hold the official signing of the Gem Access Treaty there."
Elias's expression hardened. "So they're still going through with it."
"You know how important the treaty is," Darius said. "Not just to the Luminia. To us. The UEF needs the deal. So do the Houses."
Elias shook his head. "So the investigation was dropped so the Corporations could secure more Gem veins. Typical." He scoffed. "And we just stood by and let it happen."
"House Aurion, Celestex, and Chronostone voted in favor," Darius said calmly. "House Mirage opposed it. But the majority was locked. Neutrality wouldn't have changed anything. All that mattered was preserving the Pact between the Houses."
"The Pact," Elias echoed bitterly. "Funny how that only matters when it's them being protected."
Darius didn't respond. He didn't need to. The car drove on in silence, the glow of New Boston's skyline flickering across their faces—bright, hollow, and indifferent.
****
Warmth greeted her first. Naia stirred beneath soft linen sheets, the air around her carrying a faint, floral scent—sweet, layered, and completely unfamiliar. It wasn't artificial, like the sterile tang of a hospital, but something living and vibrant. For the first time in what felt like forever, her body didn't ache. Her mind floated between comfort and confusion.
She blinked against the gentle light filtering through the room's translucent curtains. It was golden—not the harsh white of medlights—but real, like sunlight refracted through amber glass.
Where… was she?
Pushing herself upright, she sat slowly on the edge of the bed, her muscles sluggish but responsive. The world steadied as her groggy thoughts tried to piece together fragments of memory—the battle, Diego's blows breaking through her guard, the pain, and then… darkness.
And Ellira.
That last image anchored her. The soulscape—the strange, glowing space where Ellira's voice had reached her—still shimmered faintly in her mind like an afterimage burned into her consciousness.
Her gaze wandered, taking in her surroundings. The room was elegant but not sterile—walls paneled in dark marble veined with gold, vases of pale-blue flowers resting on polished surfaces. A large obsidian dresser stood against the far wall, its smooth surface catching the warm light. Scattered atop it were delicate trinkets and a few holo-frames.
Naia leaned closer, the flickering projections catching her eye. Faces—familiar ones—beamed back at her. Public figures. Celebrities. High-ranking executives and influencers she'd only ever seen on broadcast feeds. Whoever this room belonged to… it wasn't someone ordinary.
She frowned slightly, trying to remember how she'd gotten here. The last thing she could clearly recall was Ellira's hands glowing as the world around her fell apart. And then—something else caught her attention.
Her body felt different. Lighter. Whole. Naia froze. Slowly, she raised her right arm. Her breath caught. Gone were the faint hum of circuitry and the cold weight of her gem prosthetic. In its place was smooth, living flesh—her own arm, as if it had never been severed. The skin bore faint traces of Lumenis veins pulsing softly beneath the surface, perfectly natural. Perfectly hers. Her heart began to race.
"It seems," said a calm voice, "you were able to regain your right arm."
Naia jolted, twisting toward the sound.
A woman stood in the doorway, framed by the ambient glow of the hall beyond. Her presence carried quiet authority—serene yet commanding. Her posture was effortless, and light traced along the edges of her silhouette as if drawn to her. Naia's pulse quickened. She recognized that aura immediately—Luminian.
The woman's eyes, luminous and steady, met hers. "Welcome back, Naia Vasselheim."
And though her voice was gentle, something in its tone told Naia that her life—everything she thought she understood—had already changed.
"Who are you?" Naia asked, though the answer had already begun to take shape in her mind.
The woman standing before her bore the same delicate features as Ellira—and Xerna. The resemblance was unmistakable: the luminous skin faintly haloed with soft light, the subtle glow beneath her eyes. The faint shimmer that clung to her outline gave her away as Luminian, even though she wore a glamor form that softened her alien grace into something almost human.
"I'm Julia Solenne," the woman said. "Mother of Ellira and Xerna."
Naia blinked. "You're… El's mother."
Julia's lips curved slightly. "El?" she echoed, amusement flickering in her tone. "So you're friends with my daughter."
Naia froze. She hadn't even realized she'd used the nickname—hadn't thought about it at all. It had just slipped out, natural, unguarded. Which was strange. She'd only known Ellira for barely a week. But from the moment they met, something about the girl had felt familiar, like their souls recognized each other. After fighting together, bleeding together… that feeling had only deepened.
"Yes," Naia said softly. "We're friends. We were investigating the Hall of Radiance bombing together."
Julia nodded slowly. "I see." Her gaze softened. "How are you feeling?"
Before Naia could answer, a strange rhythm thrummed faintly at the edge of her awareness. A heartbeat. Not her own—but close enough that her body responded to it instinctively, her chest rising in time with another pulse that wasn't hers.
Her brow furrowed. "There's… someone else."
"You can sense her presence without even trying, can't you?" Julia said quietly.
Naia turned toward the door. "El… Is that El outside?"
The door slid open with a soft hiss. Ellira stepped through, sunlight trailing her like an aura. She wore a light yellow dress adorned with delicate sunflower patterns, her golden hair tied back into a long, neat braid that shimmered with faint Lumenis motes. The moment their eyes met, the air between them changed—warmer, heavier, alive.
Naia's heart kicked hard in her chest. It wasn't just emotion—it was resonance. Her pulse raced faster than it should, her mind crowding with sensations that weren't fully hers. Joy. Relief. Worry. And something deeper—something that burned softly behind her ribs, making her cheeks flush. She tried to breathe through it, to steady herself, but every breath seemed to echo Ellira's.
"Naia," Ellira said, her voice trembling slightly.
Naia could tell she was feeling it too—the crosscurrent of emotion, the confusion, the shared intensity. Their Lumenis patterns were overlapping, amplifying each other's states. The Symphoria Link was alive between them, binding emotion to emotion, pulse to pulse.
Julia watched silently from the doorway, her expression calm but thoughtful as she observed the two girls struggle for equilibrium. She'd seen this before—the first signs of Symphoria resonance in its early, volatile stage.
"This is the negative side of the Link," she murmured to herself. "They'll have to learn to master it soon."
And in time, they did.
Naia closed her eyes, centering her breathing the way she had been trained as a Sensor—sifting through waves of empathy until her own feelings settled back into place. Across from her, Ellira did the same, her Solar Weave energy pulsing gently until her aura stabilized.
Bit by bit, the overwhelming tide of shared emotion calmed—two hearts learning, slowly, to beat in harmony.
"What was that?" Naia asked, still catching her breath. The echo of emotions—Ellira's, hers, both tangled—lingered like a second heartbeat in her chest.
"That," Julia said evenly, "was the Symphoria Link."
Naia blinked. "Symphoria… link?" she repeated, the unfamiliar term rolling awkwardly off her tongue. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"I'm so sorry, Naia," Ellira blurted out. Her face had gone crimson, golden aura flickering nervously around her shoulders. Even without trying, Naia could feel everything—her embarrassment, her panic, her mortification—like heat flooding through her veins.
"Sorry?" Naia frowned. "For what? You healed me. You saved my life."
"And did so at a great cost," Julia said softly, her tone carrying both pride and concern. "To both of you."
Naia's confusion deepened. "What are you talking about?" she asked. The emotions flowing off Ellira were only making it worse—waves of guilt and nervousness that buzzed against her senses.
Ellira wrung her hands, unable to meet Naia's eyes. "When I healed you… I—I think I accidentally formed a pact with you."
Naia's breath caught. "A binding pact?"
She knew exactly what that meant. Pacts weren't casual agreements—they were sacred. Powerful. As a Vasselheim, she'd been raised to understand the weight of an oath, the spiritual and legal implications of a vow sealed in Lumenis. But this—this was different. She had never heard of something called a Symphoria Link.
"Something like that," Ellira said timidly. "A Symphoria Link is… a bi-directional resonance phenomenon. It happens when two Lumenis-bearing beings synchronize their emotional wavelengths—essentially, their hearts and souls start resonating in unison."
Julia sighed dramatically and crossed her arms. "Oh, for Lumethra's sake—you two have basically joined your souls in holy matrimony."
Naia's eyes widened. "What?"
"Mother!" Ellira's voice cracked, her entire face turning the color of molten gold.
"What? It's the truth," Julia said matter-of-factly, gesturing at the two of them. "Naia's soul and yours have formed a bond that goes beyond the physical. It's metaphysical—a shared field of emotional and spiritual resonance. In Luminian culture, that's practically a marriage."
Naia blinked at her. "Wait—matrimony?"
Ellira groaned softly, pressing her palms over her face. "It's… It's not exactly marriage," she said, voice muffled behind her hands. "But yes—among my people, a Symphoria Link is considered something like it. A spiritual joining. A… partnership of souls."
Naia stared at her, completely thrown. "Are you saying you and I are married?"
The question hung in the air like a spark waiting to ignite.
Ellira peeked at her through her fingers, her blush deepening. "...Technically?"
Julia just smiled faintly, the corners of her eyes glinting with amusement. "Congratulations, newlyweds."
Naia's jaw dropped. "What?!"
Ellira groaned audibly this time. "Mother!"
Julia chuckled under her breath. "I'm only teasing. But still—if you two are going to share a soul-link, you'd better learn how to breathe without setting each other off."
Naia could only stare between them, her mind caught somewhere between disbelief and the unmistakable flutter in her chest that wasn't entirely her own.