The veil opens. We step into it. Sound shatters, then reforms. The constellations swirl their goodbyes.
We emerge into twilight. A sky of green-gold arches above. Twin suns glow. Silver grass bends.
A console hums beneath Jabari's hand. A map blossoms—stars unnamed, futures unwritten.
A statue stands in the grass: mother and child, vine-wrought and alive. I think of Accra, of red dust, of tea and laughter. My roots follow me.
"A new horizon," I say.
We step forward. The cosmos waits, vast and hungry. But we carry Earth in our bones.
And we are ready.