Atlas stood on the ridge overlooking the central square of Haven, arms crossed as the sky above them rippled. It started small, like heat haze on a hot day, but quickly spread. The Weave was syncing with something new. Mirror Nodes.
Parallel pockets of the Reset that had taken different paths. Some rigid and locked down. Others spiraling into pure chaos. Now they were reaching out, and the main Weave was answering.
"Looks like the universe decided we needed a family reunion," Flick said, shielding his eyes. His troupe had gathered around him—ten of them already arguing over who got to visit which node first.
Torval grinned. "I just want to meet the version of me that actually sleeps past noon."
Clara snorted. "Knowing you, that version is probably hungover in a ditch."
Atlas didn't laugh. He felt the pull in his chest. These mirrors weren't enemies. They were possibilities. Versions of their choices played out differently.
