The transition felt like being pulled through a sieve made of starlight and static. One moment, Luna Prime was in the Kane Building's underground command center, the weight of her parents' decision a heavy cloak on her small shoulders. The next, she existed in the Between.
It wasn't a place. It was the *idea* of a place. A neutral ground woven from the frayed edges of dying realities and the fresh, bright threads of new ones. Underfoot was not ground, but a swirling, silent nebula of grey and silver. The air—if it could be called that—carried the faint, cold scent of ozone and forgotten things.
And she was not alone.
Seventeen silver threads of light converged where she stood, and from them, other forms coalesced. Other *hers*.
Her breath caught. The differences were both subtle and profound.
