The air in the sanctuary felt thicker than usual. Not with dust or damp—but with the weight of divergence.
Twenty-three days had passed since they'd retreated underground. Twenty-three days of practice, of waiting, of watching through Aether's distant eyes as the world above transformed their truth into something unrecognizable. The stone walls that had first felt like refuge now pressed in with the weight of confinement.
In the central chamber—a space normally reserved for quiet training and meditation—practitioners gathered in a loose circle. Footsteps echoed against ancient stone. Whispers filled the space where breath-work and Form movements usually dominated. Bodies shifted with a restless energy that betrayed the stillness they had cultivated.
