The peace lasted five weeks.
Marcus stood at the threshold of the clock tower, watching the golden threads pulse with steady light. The Silent War was over. The forces were one. The oneness was complete. Everything was as it should be.
But something was wrong.
It started with the threads themselves. They were still golden, still beautiful, but there was a new quality to them—a softness, a gentleness, as though they were made of tears. Marcus reached out to touch one, and it felt warm, almost wet, like a tear on his skin.
Anna noticed it too. She arrived at the clock tower one morning, her face pale, her eyes filled with confusion.
"Marcus, the threads... they feel different. They feel like they're crying."
Marcus nodded slowly. "I know. I've been feeling it too."
Anna stepped closer
