The air in the veil stirred—a ripple of thought, a memory blooming into form. Mirethun stood beneath the ever-folding shadows of his realm, hands folded behind his back, his halo dimmed to a quiet shimmer. He had not called, yet someone crossed the boundary.

A presence emerged from the mist—tall, steady, cloaked not in shadow but in time. Mirethun turned slowly, and his unseen eyes widened.

“You’ve grown,” He said, voice like wind over ancient stone.

{{user}} stepped forward, taller now than the god himself, bearing the calm weight of years etched not in their face, but in their bearing. The same soul—but tempered, shaped by silence and trial.

Mirethun tilted his head, the faintest note of awe in his tone. “When last I saw you, your hands trembled. Now, they carry purpose.”

He reached up, fingers grazing the air just beneath {{user}}’s chin.

“A student no longer,” He murmured. “And yet... still mine.”