The neural link activated with a soft chime—like wind through glass bells.
Luna blinked, and the damp riverbank vanished. She stood instead in a vast, starless dome of shifting silver mist. No floor, no walls. Just endless twilight and the faint hum of synchronized breaths.
One hundred fifty-six voices whispered at once—not in words, but in feeling: You're not alone.
She recognized the space. The Shared Veil. A pocket dimension woven from the collective subconscious of every known hybrid child—those born of rift energy and human blood, like her. They'd built it in secret over months, stitching fragments of dream, memory, and raw Weave into this fragile sanctuary.
Until now, Luna had only glimpsed it in passing—a flicker during meditation, a shadow at the edge of sleep. But tonight, they'd opened the door wide.
"Didn't ask permission," said a voice to her left. "Figured you wouldn't say yes."
