The meeting place had no sky.
No ground, either—just a floating disc of pale stone, ringed by mist that never thinned. It smelled like rain on old paper and the faint tang of ozone after lightning. No one knew who built it. Only that it appeared when enough people stopped shouting long enough to listen.
Today, four stood on it.
Not armies. Not banners. Just four figures, each carrying the weight of their world in the set of their shoulders.
Luna arrived first.
She came alone, barefoot, wearing jeans and a faded hoodie two sizes too big. Her hair was tied back with a shoelace. She didn't look like someone who'd just been named the possible savior of reality—but then again, maybe that was the point.
She knelt and pressed her palm to the stone.
It warmed under her touch.
"Thanks for coming," she said to the empty air.
A ripple.
Then Victoria stepped out of the mist.
