Liora did not notice the shift at first.
The path had been rising gently for some time, though she could not remember when the incline had begun. The stones beneath her feet were regular, evenly spaced, each one worn just enough to suggest long use.
It was only when she paused to rest that something unsettled her.
The step ahead of her seemed no higher than the one she stood on. Nor the one behind. And yet, when she looked back, the path descended.
When she looked forward, it climbed.
She frowned, not in confusion, but in a kind of delayed recognition—as though something she already understood had failed to remain understood.
She took another step.
The motion was effortless. No strain in the legs, no shift in breath. And yet, the sense of ascent persisted.
A current moved here too.
Not through water, but through relation. A gathering—not of things, but of directions that did not quite agree.
She stopped again and placed her hand against the wall beside her.
It was solid. Cool. Unquestionably there.
And yet, as she traced the line where wall met stair, the angle resisted her touch. It was not that it changed, but that it could not be held as a single orientation. It was always just about to settle into one, and then—no—into another.
Liora smiled faintly.
Here, the slipping did not pass.
It remained.
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