The morning after the convergence, a golden hush blanketed the lands. It was not silence, but the sacred pause after a grand symphony—a breath taken by the universe before the next note. Across the world, people began to awaken with remnants of dreams they couldn't explain. In the southern villages, farmers recalled lullabies sung by voices they had never heard. In the northern peaks, sentinels swore they heard the mountains hum. In the depths of the sea, sirens blinked in surprise as echoes danced along their coral reefs like promises remembered.
And far in the east, under the canopy of the living forest of Myrielle, a girl named Lys knelt beneath a weeping tree whose sap dripped in harmonious rhythm. Her eyes shimmered violet—a shade that didn't exist in nature until the Pulse began. Born moments after Mira's final sacrifice, Lys had been different from the moment she cried her first breath. Instead of wailing, she had sung.
