The square had transformed into a makeshift court. Someone had marked rough chalk lines across the packed earth, and the old leather ball Hale had found finally had a purpose.

“Pulseball,” Jonas declared, puffing his chest. “Three steps, no shard-flaring unless you’re dodging. Liora, you’re with me. Hale, you’re with Maris. Aria, Virel—you’re split.”

Aria brushed a lock of hair from her eyes, feigning outrage.

“Split us up? Cruel.”

“Balance,” Jonas countered, grinning.

The game began with a burst of motion. Aria darted forward, shardlight flashing faintly along her arms as she twisted past Hale’s throw. Virel intercepted and pivoted smoothly, sending the ball arcing toward Maris. She caught it midair—movement sharp, efficient, almost mechanical—and hurled it toward Jonas, who yelped and dove aside just in time.

Hale retrieved the rebound but slowed his throw, lofting it back gently.

“Your move,” he said, tone teasing but kind.

Maris caught the ball cleanly, the weight settling in her palms not as burden, but belonging. She pivoted and passed to Liora, who shouted in delight at the unexpected teamwork.

The rhythm built. Dust swirled underfoot, laughter rose, and sunlight turned shardlight into sparks. Aria’s plating glimmered as she dodged. Virel’s lines pulsed bright with exertion. Clem’s voice hummed faintly at the back of Aria’s mind.

“Observation: resonance elevated across all participants. Non-Avean players displaying harmonic sync. Hypothesis: joy amplifies connection.”

Aria laughed breathlessly.

“You mean we’re contagious?”

“Statistically, yes,” Clem replied.

The game rolled faster. Maris hesitated on her next turn, phantom pain pulling at her reconstructed arm. Hale reached for the pass, brushing her hand.

“Together?”

She hesitated, then nodded.

They moved in tandem—awkward at first, then fluid. Laughter slipped from her lips without warning, light and startling. Hale grinned, radiant in the glow of it. For the first time since the accident, Maris wasn’t measuring what she’d lost. She was simply moving—alive, present, unafraid.

By the end, no one remembered who won. Only the sound of their laughter remained, carrying up the ridge, mingling with the hum of turbines.

Aria, flushed and breathless, caught Virel’s hand. Their kiss drew cheers and whistles, but the real victory belonged to everyone.

In the quiet that followed, Clem’s voice broke the stillness, almost tender.

“Conclusion: joy under pressure confirmed as measurable resistance.”

Maris exhaled, glancing at Hale. The corners of her mouth lifted—the smallest, truest smile.

“Maybe this game’s not so pointless after all.”