The Spiral whispered again.
But it wasn't pain. Not yet. Not quite.
Darius stood in the high sanctum of the Codex Tree, gazing across the newly stabilized layers of reality. Light shimmered across endless dreamstrands, humming with restored narrative alignment. On the surface, all seemed well.
But that was the lie.
He could feel it—too much harmony. Too much clean order. The myth-threads no longer fought. They obeyed.
"This isn't balance," he muttered, fingers trailing through the narrative stream. "It's choreography."
Kaela appeared at his side, barefoot, humming to herself as she twirled with her usual chaotic sway. But her smile didn't reach her eyes. They twitched.
"You feel it too," she whispered. "They're brushing the chaos off. Dusting it away."
She lifted her arms and spun, summoning a fractal bloom of broken timelines in her wake. They collapsed too fast. Smoothed over like static being silenced.
