Beyond the valley lay a plain where light had fallen for centuries.
Where light had repeatedly touched, the earth hardened into smooth stone. These regions shone with stability, cool and reliable beneath Liora’s feet.
Other regions remained soft — dust rising with the slightest wind.
No one had commanded the stone to form.
It had settled where repetition occurred.
The hardened paths guided future travellers. They did not force, but they invited. Walking elsewhere required more effort. Walking along the stone felt natural.
Tradition was not a decree.
It was light, having fallen often.
The plain remembered.
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