The Horizon Engine hummed louder than usual that morning. Atlas stood on the central platform of the main node, arms crossed, watching the sky above the Weave shift colors in steady pulses.
The expanded network had been stable for weeks, but something new was coming. The pulse wasn't just maintenance anymore. It was a beacon.
"More guests," Clara said beside him. She adjusted the strap on her prosthetic arm, the one that still carried faint scars from the old fractures. "Sensors picked up three distinct signatures. Not from any pocket we've mapped."
Atlas nodded. "Let them come. We've handled worse."
The first group arrived within the hour. A swirling aurora of light dropped from the upper layers, twisting into shapes that sang as they moved. The story-singers. They coalesced into tall, fluid figures wrapped in shifting robes of melody-made fabric.
