The hall was full—voices, movement, and the quiet weight of expectation. Firelight threw restless shadows across the beams, and the smell of smoke and metal lingered like memory. When Clem spoke, the murmurs fell away.

“Data compiled. Compatibility analysis complete. Result: fewer than ten percent of humans exhibit full resonance potential. Most will achieve only partial sync.”

The words rippled through the room like cold water. Shock. Unease. A few muttered curses.

Aria’s brow furrowed.

“So we’re… rare?”

“Not rare,” Clem replied. “Selective. Variables include trauma, augmentation, emotional bonds, and environmental exposure. No single cause. No guaranteed outcome.”

Hale’s arms folded tightly across his chest.

“So most people never light up like them?”

“Correct,” Clem said. “Probabilities for full transformation remain below fifteen percent.”

A chair scraped back hard. Maris’s voice cut through the tension, sharp as broken glass.

“So the rest of us are what—defective? Background noise while the chosen few shine?”

Her implants caught the light, metal and skin glinting as one. For a heartbeat, she looked like the thing Reylanda once called her—a machine that dared to survive.

Clem’s tone stayed even.

“Classification: not defective. Partial resonance strengthens collective stability. All signals contribute.”

Maris’s fists clenched.

“That’s still Reylanda’s language. Classifications. Probabilities. You sound just like them.”

Silence.

Hale moved first. He stepped into the firelight, between her and the rest of the room. His voice was low, steady, grounding.

“You’re not defective. You’re proof. You lived through what they tried to erase. You matter more than any percentage.”

Maris’s jaw tightened, but the defiance in her eyes began to tremble.

From the benches, Jonas spoke softly, his arm brushing Liora’s.

“He’s right. We don’t all have to glow. We just have to stand.”

Liora nodded, sketchbook forgotten in her lap.

“Resonance isn’t purity—it’s connection.”

Aria’s shardlines brightened in response, light weaving faint reflections across the hall. She reached for Virel’s hand and found his already reaching back.

Clem’s voice softened, something like warmth in its tone.

“Observation: resonance amplifies through cohesion. Thresholds are not walls—they are doors. Not all may pass through, but all can hold them open.”

The murmurs quieted. Fear didn’t vanish, but it shifted—tempered now with unity.

Maris exhaled slowly. Her shoulders dropped. She didn’t thank Hale—not out loud—but when his hand brushed hers, she didn’t pull away.

And that was answer enough.