A silence fell across the Arboretum, a collective intake of breath before the plunge. Then, the first note. It was not a sound, but a feeling, a vibration that started deep within the Seeker and radiated outwards, touching every single Woven construct. The Artist caught the note, amplified it, and wove it into a single, unified wave of intent. The symphony had begun. It was a terrifying, beautiful thing, a delicate web of pure will, stretched to the breaking point. Every construct was a voice, every voice was a note, and every note had to be perfect. The slightest tremor, the smallest deviation, and the entire structure would collapse. The Purists felt it too, a strange, unnerving resonance in their systems, a ghost in their perfect machine. The race was on.