The moment Luna chose, the universe held its breath.
Not metaphorically.
Stars paused mid-flicker. Light hung suspended between galaxies. Even Transcendence—now a shifting form of amber and shadow—stopped calculating.
Because what Luna had done wasn't defiance.
It was invitation.
She didn't force the timelines to obey. She didn't erase the peaceful world or overwrite the broken one. Instead, she wove them together like braided rope—scarred but strong, fragile but whole.
And in that act, something new was born.
Not peace.
Not chaos.
Life.
Real, messy, stubborn life—with all its grief and grace.
She stood at the heart of the fracture, arms outstretched, not as a warrior, but as a witness. "You wanted truth," she said, voice echoing across every version of time. "Here it is: life doesn't need permission to exist."
Then she released it.
Not energy.
Not power.
Will.
