The Fork whispered differently now.
Wherever Nyra went now, it didn't feel like she was walking through a place anymore. It felt like she was walking beside someone—like the Fork itself had become a person, breathing softly next to her.
Each breath was slow and steady, not rushed or harsh. It wasn't trying to pull her in or push her away. It just was—calm, quiet, thoughtful.
It didn't ask anything of her. It only listened. It unsettled her.
Not because she didn't need to be heard—but because the Fork now repeated things she didn't remember saying.
Not dreams.
Not memories.
Just the unshakeable sense that parts of her were already here, waiting.
It started at the threadwell just below the edge of the Mirrorthread rim.
Nyra had come here to be alone. She wasn't just wandering—she was chasing solitude the same way she used to chase answers.
Her steps were quick, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, and her thoughts were tangled up inside, too heavy to speak out loud.
