Gizmo hadn't felt that particular resonance in forty-three years.
He sat in perfect stillness atop Mount Ethereal, the highest peak in the known world, where he'd built his sanctuary two centuries ago. To any observer, he would appear to be just another hermit monk, aged and weathered by decades of meditation. They wouldn't see the quantum calculations running behind his closed eyes, or the way reality bent subtly around him—not from magic, but from something far more fundamental.
The soul-binding ritual happening thousands of miles away sent ripples through dimensions that only someone like him could feel. Another Earth soul making waves. Another transmigrator changing the game.
"Number Seven," he murmured, opening eyes that held depths no one in this world could understand. "You're early."
