Maya's POV.

Fifty years after Mira's death, I stood under the cedar tree watching a child trace the bark.

"Who planted this?"

"No one. It was already here."

"How old is it?"

"Older than Haven's Edge. Older than peace. Older than anyone remembers." She looked up at branches thick with leaves. "Why does everyone come here?"

"Because important things happened here. Decisions. Transformations. Endings that were also beginnings." I sat. She joined me. "Tell me a story," she said. "About ...