The golden threads hummed with quiet contentment.
Marcus stood at the threshold of the clock tower, watching the city breathe. The division had been guided. The two paths of the oneness flowed together in harmony—the path of connection, warm and embracing, and the path of distinction, focused and individual. Together, they created a tapestry of light that was more beautiful than anything he had ever seen.
The pilgrims had become woven into the fabric of Havenport. They had built homes, started families, created communities. The strangers who had tried to study the oneness had departed, their attempts at control frustrated by the living nature of the connection. Everything was as it should be.
But something was gathering.
It started as a presence at the edges of the oneness—a new energy
