Reykjavík · Cadence Day + 1
Sunrise dripped coral across Faxaflói Bay. Gulls wheeled patterns no mathematician could tidy up, and the city stirred with the after-buzz of festival noise still fluttering in windowpanes.
Deep beneath the dream-hub, cooled basalt vaults housed a single exhibit: Dawn-Core, cradled inside a braided ring of cloak ribbon, lantern glass, and Lin's last surviving tea fork. Security lights strobed randomly by design, so nothing within the chamber was ever perfectly lit for more than a heartbeat.
Cassie descended the spiral stair with two mugs—one cocoa, one polite tea. Aiden followed, kettle tucked under one arm, fresh socks (flamingo pattern) dangling from his belt "for chaos." Glitch and Chip skated on the handrail, chattering half-primes.
They found Lin already there, cross-legged by the plinth, eyes closed but smiling. He held the mnemonic card Maya had drawn for him—tea-cup, tennis-ball, tarantula, trombone—edges worn soft by a year of anxious fingers.
"Memory check?" Aiden asked.
Lin opened one eye. "Stable as your coffee." He paused. "Which is to say—alarmingly erratic, but present."
Cassie set down cocoa. "Core behaving?"
Dawn-Core pulsed through its familiar ladder… 107-109—then that odd, unfiled 113 they'd documented but never solved. It lingered, almost expectant.
Observatory Up-Link
A chime echoed through the vault: Maya on comms from the hilltop array.
"Telescope bravo just flagged a reflective anomaly past Mars. Clear-thread sail, eight-metre span, delta-vector inbound. Broadcasting a three-prime beacon: 97-101-113."
Aiden blinked. "Our missing beat answered back."
Nephis's voice followed, smoother with cloak-lace static:
"Trajectory intersects Earth orbit in twenty-one days. No radio handshake beyond the prime ping."
Cassie chewed her lip. "Last time we ignored mirror dust, it rode the hull."
Lin tapped the mnemonic card against his knee. "Could be Liora. Could be leftover Null echo in disguise."
Chip whistled 113, Glitch echoed 101, like children calling across a field. Dawn-Core brightened a fraction—as if pleased someone finally replied.
Solayna's calm alto joined over comms from a Quiet-Weave relay far past Neptune:
"New envoy… or new test. Imperfection never finishes its lesson."
Choice at the Pier
By afternoon, the five Guardians plus two shard children gathered at the same battered jetty where Cadence crowds had danced. Wind smelled of algae and chimney smoke; sails from tourist boats fluttered crookedly out of sync.
Maya arrived last, waving a data slate. "Trajectory confirmed. We have ten days to prep Contrapunctus for another outbound run—or let someone else greet it."
Nephis lifted an eyebrow. "Official agencies would sterilise first, ask questions later."
Cassie swung her guitar case forward. "That beacon's prime stack starts with 97, a high prime. Whoever's coming speaks deeper flaws than we do. Feels… polite to reply."
Lin exhaled steam into cold air. "Tea ceremony says guest knocks, host opens."
Aiden looked across the harbor at Esja's snowy ridgeline. A gull screeched off-key, perfect punctuation. "Then we brew hospitality—and keep the kettle whistle handy if it's a trap."
Glitch and Chip pumped fists, prime-chanting 97-101-113 all the way up the pier.
Dawn-Core's New Beat
That night, while city lights dimmed and Aurora smudged horizon green, Aiden visited the vault alone. He placed a second kettle beside Dawn-Core—smaller, painted with stars—and whispered, "For whichever traveller needs bad coffee next."
The crystal answered with a soft triple-pulse: 107-109-113, followed by a skipping silence that suggested a fourth note not yet born.
Aiden nodded, satisfied and slightly uneasy. "Mystery intact."
He turned off the chamber light. Imperfect darkness welcomed him—alive with possibilities.
Curtain Line
Above Reykjavík, a faint speck like a dew-drop sail tore a zigzag through starlight—one move too quick to register on civilian trackers. It whispered primes no human had cataloged yet.
The world slept, Cadence Day cleanup crews washed confetti from the streets, and seven flawed guardians packed travel socks, tea leaves, and mismatched courage to meet whatever off-beat hello tomorrow would sing.
End of this novel.