The wind in Tangier was not gentle.
It tore through the fabric of the sky like a toddler unwrapping gifts, sending scarves flying and hats sailing across rooftops. The team arrived in the middle of what should have been a sunset, but the sky flickered like a broken light bulb. Birds flew backward. An old man on a bicycle paused mid-air for a solid ten seconds before gravity remembered its job.
"Okay," Amihan said, squinting up at the glowing tear in the clouds, "this place is officially broken."
"Welcome to Morocco," Ellie replied, still somehow sipping tea despite the sideways wind. "Try not to insult the architecture. It hears you."
They were standing at the edge of an alleyway that shimmered like a mirage. At the end of it stood a large arched door, painted sapphire blue and covered in strange script that rearranged itself when stared at too long. It pulsed faintly, like it was breathing.
"Is that a... portal?" Luz asked.
"No," Jax said, holding up a scanner. "It's a door. A very moody one."
The door groaned. Loudly.
"Did it just sigh?" Mateo asked.
"Apparently it has opinions," Ellie said.
Rami stepped forward, eyebrows knitted in careful analysis. "The inscription says, loosely translated, Enter only with memory, leave only with truth."
"Sounds like a therapy session," muttered Noah.
The wind stopped. Dead still. Not a single sound. The team exchanged a look. The door clicked.
"Well," said Amihan. "Guess that's our cue."
Inside, the world was entirely different. Warm light filled the corridor. Tiles formed intricate geometric patterns beneath their feet. Every footstep echoed as if they were walking through their own thoughts. Murals on the wall shimmered to life, showing fragmented memories of the team's ancestors—grandmothers weaving, musicians performing, revolutions blooming under desert stars.
"Why do I feel like I'm being... downloaded?" Jax whispered.
"You might be," said Rami. "Just relax your mind. Let it show what it wants."
They came to a chamber that seemed to pulse with breath. At the center was a weaving loom that worked on its own, threads floating and intertwining in the air above it. The tapestry it produced glowed—images of places both real and impossible flickering across its surface.
A child stood beside it, watching them.
Or at least, someone shaped like a child.
They wore no shoes. Their eyes shimmered like sand under moonlight, and when they spoke, it sounded like a thousand voices whispering from a library.
"You're late," said the child.
"We weren't given a time," Luz replied carefully.
"You should have known."
Ellie stepped forward. "We're here to patch the Atlas."
"You're here because it's falling apart. Look." The child pointed at the loom.
The tapestry stuttered. Threads frayed. Images flickered. One scene—India's Ganges glowing like a neon river—morphed into a Canadian snowfield before collapsing entirely.
"The worlds are bleeding. Language, myth, identity. The stories that keep the borders firm are unraveling," the child said.
"We're trying to stop that," Rami said.
"Then prove it," the child said. "Fix this."
A challenge appeared.
Not physically. But mentally.
Each of them was suddenly somewhere else.
Amihan found herself in a typhoon, trying to remember the lullaby her grandmother sang to calm storms. Luz stood on a tightrope made of papel picado, balancing between versions of herself. Mateo relived a memory he hadn't thought about in years—a football match interrupted by a power outage, during which his father told him stories by candlelight.
Jax was coding while standing in a burning forest. Ellie poured tea over a broken compass. Rami faced a mirror that only reflected people he'd written poems about. Noah was on an ice-covered lake, trying to remember who he was before the world got loud.
They all returned at once, gasping. The child was gone. The loom was calm.
"Did... we just reboot something?" Mateo asked.
"I think we passed," Ellie said.
The door behind them opened—not the one they came in through. A different one. Covered in frost.
"New location?" Amihan asked.
"Next surge," Jax confirmed.
As they walked toward the exit, Luz touched the tapestry gently.
"Do you think we'll know when it's too late?"
Noah didn't look back. "We might not. But at least we'll go down trying."
They stepped through the icy doorway.
And the sky changed again.