SAGE
Thick silence fell over the hall after my narration.
It was not the restless, breathing quiet of a crowd waiting for the next spectacle. No. This silence was dense. Heavy. It pressed against my skin like cold water, like the moment before a storm finally broke.
No murmur. No shuffle of feet. No cough. Nothing. Everyone was staring at me.
I felt their gazes move over me slowly, carefully, almost greedily—as if they were trying to peel me apart layer by layer. They were measuring the slope of my shoulders, the glow that still clung faintly to my skin, the unmistakable celestial weight of the power I now carried.
They were comparing the girl they remembered… to the being standing before them. They were comparing Dora to Sage.
Their eyes narrowed. Widened. Flickered with doubt, with awe, with fear. And then—
The murmurs began.
Soft at first. A ripple. A crack in the glass. Then the hall filled with whispers.
"She… she does look different…"
