She closed them.
The rush came before the sight.
A warm, deep pressure in her chest—not painful, not sudden, more like a door she had never known about opening from the inside. Her body heated by a careful degree. Her eyes, behind her lids, flushed with a warm pressure that was not hers.
She opened them.
And the world was gold, not ASI's architecture of data and probability she had been born reading or even the goddess-sight she had grown into over the past days. Something above them both combined.
I was all-seeing, sharper and mercilessly detailed it made her previous sight look like a child's drawing of sight.
The Pacific beneath her was no longer a dark reflective plane. It was an open living membrane through which she could read the temperature of every current, the direction of every migration, the grief of a single whale singing to a mate two hundred miles away... it was everything and there was nothing that could be hidden from this sight.
