The Edge Where Wind Writes

At the edge of the plain, the wind moved freely.

Here the ground was thin, almost formless. Few had walked here long enough to settle light into stone.

Liora stepped into this thinning.

Her first step left a mark that almost vanished.

Her second deepened it.

By the tenth, a faint path shimmered where none had been.

Behind her, some travellers hesitated. Others followed. The wind did not resist; it shaped itself around repetition.

If enough followed, this thin line would one day harden. It would become part of the settled plain.

But for now, it trembled — possibility in formation.

Innovation was not rupture.

It was density gathering where once there was openness.