Dawn broke over three continents, but no one was watching the sunrise.
In the frozen highlands of Tibet, Elder Chen slammed his palm onto a stone altar etched with dragon sigils. Blood—his own—sizzled as it hit the ancient script. "The child must not complete the Balance," he growled. "If the Weave resets, our bloodlines vanish with it."
Around him, twenty elders of the Old Families bowed their heads, their combined will pressing against the fabric of reality like a hand trying to smother a flame. They weren't attacking Uluru directly. They were severing its connections—cutting the ley lines that fed the ritual site, starving it before it could peak.
Half a world away, in a sterile lab buried beneath Geneva, Victoria adjusted the final sequence on her console. Her eyes gleamed under the cold LED lights. On the screen, a live feed showed Luna's vitals—heart rate spiking, neural activity off the charts.
"Perfect," she murmured. She tapped a key. "Initiate Phase Omega."
