Dawn broke over the vale with a pale, reluctant light, discovering across jagged terrain and shattered modes like the first conservative strokes of a painter’s encounter. Maya stood at the edge of the crest, tablet pressed to her casket, sanguine gleam faint but steady, illuminating her determined face. The remnants of the structure below lay silent, yet every shadow sounded invested with a residual mindfulness that clung stubbornly to the broken geography. Each palpitation of the tablet reverberated noiselessly with the intelligence moping in the vale, a subtle chirr that Maya could now read nearly artificially. It was further than a