The Silent Wellspring

The young one does not know from where the line came. They do not know what would have happened if the hand had not moved, if the scribe’s tools had remained buried in the bag, if the ink had stayed dry.

They only know that the line exists. That it was written. That it remains.

And that sometimes, the deepest magic is not in the words we speak to the world, but in the words we write in solitude, to save ourselves from the silence we did not choose.

This is the end of the story.