The world above had changed.
As Lan and Nam emerged from the depths of the Nexus Core, the sky shimmered differently. Colors were sharper, sounds deeper, as if reality had been tuned to a higher frequency. The Weave had marked them, not just physically, but metaphysically.
"I feel like I'm hearing things I couldn't before," Lan murmured, her eyes scanning the horizon. "Thoughts… vibrations… stories."
Nam glanced at her, the symbols on his forearm glowing faintly. "We're connected now. Not just to the Weave—but to everything tied into it."
Before they could make sense of their new senses, the communicator in Nam's suit crackled to life.
"Command to Team Echo—do you copy? You've been offline for 36 hours. Report immediately."
Nam activated the mic. "Echo here. We're alive. Mission status… has changed. Greatly."
There was a pause.
"Return to base. Debrief immediately. And Nam—bring everything."
The line went dead.
Lan raised an eyebrow. "You think they're ready for the truth?"
Nam shook his head. "They're not. But we'll have to choose what to reveal... and what to protect."
As they made their way back through the ruined corridors of the forgotten civilization, echoes of voices followed them—voices from the Weave. Whispering warnings, offering insight, sometimes even laughing in long-lost dialects.
They reached their shuttle just as the sun dipped beneath the alien mountains. As Nam prepped the flight, Lan sat quietly, staring out the viewport.
"Do you think we were the first to be chosen?" she asked.
Nam hesitated. "No. But we might be the last if we fail."
The shuttle lifted into the atmosphere, leaving behind the Nexus Core. But the Weave was with them now. Always. Everywhere.
Meanwhile…
In a different quadrant of the galaxy, a rift flickered into existence. A ship—ancient, impossibly advanced—emerged, its hull laced with dead threads of a corrupted Weave.
Inside, a figure stirred.
Eyes opened.
And smiled.
"The Guardians have awakened… Good. Let's see if they remember how to fight."