The Fork didn't hum that evening—it felt like it was breathing.
Each wave of threadlight moved slower than usual, spreading out in gentle, wide arcs, like the whole world had finally let out a deep breath it had been holding in for too long.
The air was still, quiet, almost heavy with the feeling that something had shifted.
And right at the edge of the glowing Thread Sea, Nyra stood by herself.
She wasn't trying to disappear.
She wasn't trying to escape.
She was there to see what had changed—what the Fork had become.
But even in that silence, even in the soft light around her, she realized something:
She wasn't truly alone.
As the threadlight moved slowly in gentle, curved lines across the sand, shapes began to appear in the distance. Some had come by choice.
Others seemed to have been drawn there by a quiet song that hung in the air—too soft to fully hear, but impossible to ignore.
None of them moved.
They didn't have to.
