A new message was delivered in the darkest moment of the Turn.

It happened just as Eve was beginning to wonder if the first message had been an illusion: a wistful creation of her own dormant imagination, a figment stirred by a prolonged period of isolation and longing.

And yet Murmur had acknowledged the Messenger, with a gentle affirmation of energy through Eve’s nexus.

This time the message was softer and more appealing; tugging emotion through her perception, accompanied by the pulsating rhythms of residual memories. Her memories. Flashes of color and textures splashed wild and free and then vanished.

Murmur was pleased.

The message tumbled continuously through Eve’s consciousness. “There are seven secrets waiting to be uncovered. They are secrets to a new awakening. Prepare yourself. The ripple of the next Turn may carry you on wings of peril or promise. The choice has always been yours.”

There had been a nano of silence, then, “The secrets await.”

And then it was gone.

Eve clutched the staff of the Phylores and prepared herself.

The epilogue to her seclusion was near.