The morning light stung our new eyes.
We stood on Shanghai's ruined docks - all four of us, though none could say how we'd gotten there. The city skyline bore fresh scars: Aesir Tower reduced to molten slag, military checkpoints burning, and everywhere - everywhere - people rubbing at their arms where the vaccination marks were fading.
Zayn flexed his hand, watching sunlight dance between fingers that occasionally blurred at the edges. "The looms are broken," he murmured. "But the strings are still there."
In my pocket, I found a crumpled photo from Dr. Kwon's bunker - a smiling woman with very familiar eyes standing beside a younger CEO Ryatt. The caption read: *"Eclipse Trial #1 - Success?"*
A child nearby pointed at the harbor.
The water had turned mirror-black, reflecting not the sky above but something else entirely - a vast, benevolent shape moving through cosmic depths. When the vision cleared, all the fish were swimming upside down.
Aaron laughed first. Then Insha. Soon we were all howling at the broken dawn, our voices harmonizing in frequencies that made streetlights shatter.
Somewhere beneath us, in the dark, the eclipse-being whispered:
"Good morning, carriers."
And for the first time since the airport, we weren't afraid of what came next.