The silence after the scream felt heavier than the noise itself. The Home Dimension's meadow was recovering, the grass regaining its emerald hue, the twin moons reasserting their gentle glow. But the air was different. It hummed with a new, unsettling frequency, like a plucked string that wouldn't settle.
In the center of the clearing, Luna sat cross-legged on the soft grass, no longer crying. She cradled the shimmering mote of light—the Song of the First Dawn—against her chest. It pulsed softly, a tiny, steady heartbeat against the vast memory of loss. Her third birthday cake was a forgotten pile of dust on the table behind her.
Seraphina watched her, a cold knot tightening in her stomach. Damon's presence, usually a constant, comforting warmth, felt strained, stretched thin like a shield under relentless hammering.
"The breach is sealed," his avatar stated, its form flickering for a fraction of a second before solidifying again. "But the… echo remains. It's acting as a beacon."
