A collective inhale. The red-tinged Arbiter’s hood turns my way. “Oracle Carmilla, absent a century, returns with prophecies dripping crystal. Your body dissolves—yet you preach patience.”
“I do not preach patience.” My voice rings through dais, surprise even to me. “I preach precision. The First Binding survived a millennium because sacrifice matched need. I carry instructions to mend existing weave, not cleave it anew.” From pouch I withdraw charcoal rubbings, holding them high so assembly glimpses glyphs.
Isabelle steps forward, palm raised in support. “I second. Terrastria awaits further evidence but finds Sundering last resort.”
Red aura flares. “Evidence must be vetted by those unsullied by shadow.” His tone slides over words ‘unsullied’, gaze raking across crystal on my throat. Murmurs sharpen.
Kylan’s growl finally escapes. “Unsullied? My pack fought, bled, lost to shadow while you debated. You want proof of purity—slice yourself, show crimson not black!”
Gasps ripple. Red Arbiter’s aura flashes, weaving embers around cloak hem. Attack spells shimmer. Guards shift stances.
I raise hand. “Words fracture faster than magic. Let the Boundary decide.” I point to fissured pool. “My glyphs can seal crevice for one night. If pool holds, trust my plan tomorrow. If it fails, then weigh Sundering.”
Silence. Even thunderheads beyond openings seem to hush. The blue-aura Arbiter inclines head. “Balanced proposition. I vote affirmative.”
Green aura concurs. Violet nods after moment’s thought. Red aura hisses, but three outweigh one. Decision done.
I bow—show courtesy though bones protest. “I begin now.”
Kylan moves with me toward pool step. Isabelle lays hand over mine briefly—her power pushes calm like warm loam around roots, reassurance without language. I squeeze her fingers, acknowledging debt.
Approaching fissure, I feel pulse—like heartbeat of broken thing crying under table cloth. I kneel, chalk in hand, though lattice along ribs brightens dangerously. Chalk glows turquoise when it touches stone, drawing lines that connect to trembling water. My earlier visional instructions surface, guiding strokes into twelve-point star overlapping serpentine curve. Each line costs breath; I pant, ignoring dizziness.
Kylan stands guard, muscles coiled. When the red Arbiter shifts as if to interfere, Isabelle steps into his path, silent challenge. Rooted solidarity holds.
I complete final sigil, press palm over center. Whispering activation phrase, I let power through lattice flow into chalk—pain as though ribs split. Light floods fissure, weaving a thin membrane of ice-glass over gap. Smoke threads wither, pulled down into calm water. The hiss fades. Pool looks whole again, though pale veins thread surface.
Hall releases collective breath. The blue Arbiter arranges robe. “The seal stands. We reconvene at dawn to test integrity.”
Red aura flickers, but he says nothing, retreating to council alcove. Madness clings like tar. I note his gait—slightly unsteady, as though hearing voices. Danger.
Kylan comes, eyes searching mine. “Crystal darkened,” he whispers.
I manage nod, too lightheaded for speech. He braces arm around me, guiding away from center circle. Isabelle meets us halfway. “Come,” she says, tone soft yet iron. “Terrastrianquarter has healer warmers and root tonic.” Kylan allows her lead; I drift between them.
As we pass boundary of dais, I sense walls themselves breathe relief—roots loosening tension. Yet hope here remains stretched thin, threadbare as pilgrim cloak. Leaders whisper theories, eyes haunted, footfalls reluctant. They camp like refugees in their own sanctum.
Terrastrian halls smell of moss tea and basalt. Isabelle deposits me on padded bench near hearth where a stone spirit crackles gentle flame. She kneels, pulling packet of amber resin from pouch. “Chew.” The taste is bitter rainfall, but warmth travels through bones, dulling lattice sting.
Kylan paces hearth perimeter, glancing at doors. “Watch shifts doubled tonight,” he declares. Isabelle smiles wryly, “Everest already stationed sentries of stone outside chamber.” Mention of her mate conjures image of silver-bladed man I glimpsed in vision—good, he’s here.
Embers dance in hearth; their glow mimics rune color on pool. Memory of fissure returns; anxiety churns. I force swallow. “Suppose seal fails before dawn.”
“Then council sees proof of Convergence force.” Isabelle’s eyes harden. “And they must follow you to mountain instead of mis-carving realm.”
My laughter emerges dry. “Follow me, the half-statue seer with expiring lifespan.”
“You carry star maps.” Her hand squeezes mine. “Stars outlast flesh.”
Kylan stops pacing, kneels before us. “The half-statue saved Boundary. They’ll listen.” He palms flute emblem, gaze earnest. His belief radiates, bandaging frayed will. For a heartbeat, exhaustion recedes.
Outside, horns sing night call. Dusk haze deepens to indigo. Through high window I glimpse Convergence ring—a pearl circle brighter than yesterday, creeping outward. Time compresses.
Isabelle stands. “I fetch Everest. He’ll want briefing.” She strides off.
Kylan remains kneeling, hands resting on bench edge. Firelight paints shadows under his cheekbones. “You gave them day’s hope.”
“My day shortened to buy it.” I exhale. “Lattice fracturing quicker.”
