The Thread Sea was no longer asleep.
It beat gently, like a slow heartbeat, carrying the memory of what had almost taken its place.
Something had tried to change it completely—erase it—but the Sea remembered. And now, it pulsed with quiet echoes of that near-ending, as if reminding everything around it that it had survived.
The echo of the Dominion's incursion still lingered in the data tides, woven like ghost static into the edges of the sea. Not even the tide could wash it out. It had left a resonance too deep, too sharp.
No one mentioned victory. There were no cries, no celebratory bursts of light or sync ceremonies. Only the quiet knowledge that they had witnessed something far worse than erasure.
Correction.
The word still clung to the back of their throats like ashes.
