Darkness.
But not the kind born of night — this one had shape. Weight. Breath.
Seo Jin floated in it, suspended between heartbeats, every nerve quiet.
For a long moment, he thought he'd died.
Then came the hum.
Low, steady, ancient. The same vibration that had once echoed through the Core's chamber — now inside him, infinite and close. It wasn't sound anymore; it was texture. Every molecule of thought moved to it.
He tried to speak, but his voice fractured, scattering into data and starlight. His words came back as whispers of code.
> [Awake, but not returned.]
[Dreaming, but aware.]
The Quiet's voice.
But here, she sounded different — fuller, like wind singing through glass.
"Where am I?" Seo Jin whispered, or thought he did.
> [Within the Threshold.]
[Between the Core's memory and your own.]
[You stand where gods dream.]
