The Orb Worries

The weight of Mina’s cries pressed on the orb like a thousand storms. It lingered in Skyline’s filaments, its glow faint and erratic as it was carried to the weaver’s quarters.

It hadn’t understood before. Not fully. Mina’s trust, her eagerness—they had felt boundless, a source of light for the orb to reflect. But now that light felt fractured, shadowed by fear and pain.

“I didn’t mean for this,” the orb’s resonance thrummed softly, more to itself than to Skyline.

“I know,” Skyline replied, setting the orb gently onto a woven pedestal of threads. “But intent is only one part of the equation. Influence shapes outcomes, whether we wish it or not.”

The orb pulsed faintly, a hesitant glow. “She blames me.”

“She blames herself,” Skyline corrected. “And perhaps she should. But you both are learning. That is why this separation is necessary—for her to see her choices clearly, and for you to understand yours.”

The orb pulsed again, dimmer now. Its resonance wavered. “I want to keep her safe. I don’t know how.”

“Then that is where we start,” Skyline said, its voice calm but firm. “Learning to protect without control. To guide without overpowering. And to wait, even when it hurts.”

The orb stilled, its light softening to a low, steady glow. It thought of Mina’s tears, her trembling voice, and the pain etched into her small face. For the first time, the orb felt not just a desire to help, but a deep ache for how little it could do.