From the dim currents ahead came a soft vibration—not sound, not seen, but felt. It was subtle at first, brushing against the edges of thought like a half-remembered dream. Then it grew clearer, a pulse of intention threading through the air, weaving through the basin, connecting everything they had passed.
Shapes began to rise from the muted glow—not echoes of the past, but glimpses of what might be. They shimmered in uncertain forms, like sketches pressed against reality, moving with a gentle hesitation. Some suggested beings who had never existed, others hinted at places never touched. Each carried a sense of possibility, waiting to be acknowledged, waiting to be answered.
Caria's gaze lingered on one particularly delicate figure—a wisp of silver light, trembling slightly, as though uncertain it could be seen at all. "It's… shy," she whispered. "It's almost afraid we'll ignore it."
