The universe held its breath.
Or perhaps, for the first time, it began to breathe with them.
The shift was not a cataclysm, but a quiet dawn.
Anya felt it as the scent of wet earth after a long drought, a fragrance that carried the promise of imminent life.
Kael perceived it as the resonant hum of a perfectly struck anvil, a note that hung in the air, shaping the silence around it.
Lyra experienced it as a question that bloomed in the space between heartbeats, a query that was its own answer.
Silus felt it as the quiet strength of a bridge settling into its foundations, a sense of connection that was both ancient and brand new.
And Echo, the loom, perceived it as the first, tentative touch of a weaver’s hand, a silent instruction to begin.