Aria sat by a small fire, a cup of strong, sweet tea warming her hands. Petrus moved around the edges of the camp, murmuring in a language she didn't understand. The dancers had faded with the coming of true night, but the rhythm remained, a constant presence just at the edge of hearing.

"I don't understand," Aria said, her voice small in the vastness. "What is this place?"

Petrus settled beside her with a sigh that seemed to come from the earth itself. "This place? It's where the world comes to remember itself, miss. The ancient face of the earth, unmasked."

He fell silent, and Aria found herself leaning in, hungry for more. The quiet that had eluded her in the city now enveloped her like the Karoo's red dust, settling into every crevice of her being, not suffocating but grounding.

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