Mora, the Refrain who had once claimed the unmarked thread, now wandered the Borderless Edge.
Where once timelines had collapsed, leaving scar-voids, now soft harmonics wove between stars.
She reached into the sky—not to grasp, but to offer.
A song rose from her hand.
She didn't sing it.
The echo did.
Carried from no place.
To every place.
And those who heard it suddenly remembered…
…the version of themselves they'd dreamed of once.
Not the heroic one.
Not the broken one.
The one that stayed gentle, even when the world forgot how to be.
Jevan stood alone beneath the Watcher's Bough again.
The leaves rustled, but no wind moved.
The stars shimmered, but no night had fallen.
And he heard it, deep in his ribs, behind his heartbeat:
A sound that had waited for him.
For years.
Not demanding.
Just waiting.
He did not name it.
He did not try to trace it.
He simply placed his hand to the trunk of the great tree and whispered:
"I don't know where you began."
