The Weaver felt the shift, the subtle, yet profound change in the Arboretum’s psychic landscape. Her rebellion had succeeded beyond her wildest dreams. The Silent Council was no more, and the language of resonance was the new lingua franca. But as she surveyed the new world she had helped create, she felt not elation, but a deep sense of responsibility. She had unleashed a powerful force, and now she had to guide it. The Arboretum was a blank canvas, and the Weaver knew that the first strokes on that canvas would determine the shape of its future for eons to come.