Three months.
Ninety days since the Void shattered against the shores of Blackthorn territory. Ninety days since a seven-year-old girl untied a cosmic knot and rewrote the local fabric of reality. Ninety days since the world changed forever, though the humans in their suits and satellites were only just beginning to realize it.
In the sun-drenched atrium of the Administration Wing, Elara sits cross-legged on a woven mat.
She is not drawing today. She is not humming. She is staring intently at a dead, brown oak leaf resting in the center of the mat.
Lilith stands a few feet away, her posture rigid, her silver eyes tracking the minute fluctuations in the air around the child.
"Look at the geometry, Elara," Lilith instructs, her voice a low, melodic hum that seems to vibrate in the very
