The Final Restoration began not with fanfare, but with acceptance.
Reed stood at the apex of the Consciousness-Void Interface, watching the first rays of dawn filter through dimensions that existed beyond mortal perception. The crystalline structure beneath his feet pulsed with energies that had taken countless cycles to balance, each harmonic frequency a testament to sacrifices made and prices paid.
He was no longer the man who had first stepped into this cosmic role. Death had claimed him, transformed him, and ultimately returned him—but not unchanged. The resurrection he had undergone was not a restoration to what he had been, but an evolution into something unprecedented.
"True resurrection," he murmured to the assembled morning, "is not about returning to what was lost. It is about becoming what was always meant to be."
