The tension broke.
Ian lowered his stance, and the glowing vines around him slowly withdrew. The floating Obryx and Navarax panels faded, dissolving into thin air. Axilya did the same, resting her claymore across her shoulder as her violet glow dimmed.
They walked toward Myrra together.
Axilya rested her claymore against her shoulder and spoke first. "We were just trying to evaluate each other at our best. Nothing more."
Myrra narrowed her eyes at both of them but said nothing.
Axilya turned to Ian, studying him for a moment. "You did well. If you enter the ranking match, you could easily secure second place."
Ian blinked, surprised by the statement.
He nodded slowly. "That's… good to know." Her words gave him a clearer sense of where he stood.
After a few more pleasantries and light talk, Ian and Myrra left together. Behind them, the arena floor was already starting to repair itself, cracked tiles sealing smooth as if the clash had never happened.
Ian was back in his facility in Ial Themar.
Ian opened the vial Lysian had made. He dipped the tip of a thin glass rod and let a few drops fall onto the axomorph. The liquid spread slowly, sinking into the surface like veins merging.
He flicked the crystal on the Lunqra. Symbols began flickering across their bodies as the the greenish surface faded away.
Hours passed like that - feeding new impulses, adjusting settings, recording responses. By the time he leaned back to stretch his fingers, he'd logged a decent number of structure symbols. Small fragments of something bigger.
He pushed the data through his pattern-matching module. Lines of symbols flickered across the screen, comparing them with the equation structures. The matching kept running in the background.
While it worked, he turned to the side bench and set up the nanoforge. Bit by bit, he layered organic circuits and synthetic pathways, until he had a thin biochip on the table, something like a synthetic CPU, shaped to mimic the axomorph's neural and information threads exactly.
He tuned it, ran a few test signals through. A faint pulse, then another, he caught it. The same type of signals, the same flickers of structure he'd just recorded. At least this part worked.
Back at his terminal, the pattern-matching finally started pushing out early results. He scanned the columns, some structures matched faintly to known projections. One linked to a 63-dimensional map, another spiked to 756-D.
It was vague. Too vague. Projecting shapes from high dimensions down to lower ones always broke things apart, any many times the matches were ambiguous.
Ian leaned back in his chair, rubbing the side of his neck. He glanced at the clock. It was late, far later than he'd planned. His mind felt dull, half-burned out from hours of shifting numbers and half-finished patterns.
Enough for tonight.
He stood up, stretched, and stepped out of the lab area into the quieter inner rooms.
Inside the winding lounge, warm lamplight spilled across soft rugs and walls. Enira was there, sitting cross-legged on a cushioned bench. She wore a loose, translucent wrap that fell around her curves like drifting mist, her skin catching the light in soft amber tones. Her silhouette shifted slightly as she scrolled through floating account windows, translucent screens drifting in the air in front of her.
Ian came closer. "Not asleep yet?"
Enira turned her head and smiled when she saw him. "Just some accounts… nothing interesting." She gave the seat next to her a gentle pat with her palm, telling him to sit.
He did. She shifted closer at once, resting her head lightly on his shoulder. Her hair brushed his collarbone as her eyes drifted half shut. Ian caught the faint scent of her skin, sweet, soft, calming, and absently started tapping his fingers over her hair, slow and steady.
They sat like that for a while in the quiet.
After a bit, Ian said softly, "If you're tired, why don't we pick this up tomorrow?"
But Enira didn't answer. She was already half asleep, her breathing slow and even against him.
Ian smiled faintly. He slipped one arm under her knees and lifted her carefully. She didn't stir. He carried her to the next room, where Myrra was already curled up under the blankets, breathing softly in her own sleep.
He laid Enira down next to her, pulled the blanket over both of them, and paused a moment to brush Myrra's hair back from her forehead. He pressed a gentle kiss there, just enough to make her shift and mumble in her sleep.
Then he turned off the lamp and stepped out quietly.
He didn't notice it as he closed the door behind him, how, for just a breath, a faint symbol flickered across Enira's forehead, soft and pale. Almost the same shape as the Mindbloom marks that sometimes glowed in his own eyes.
But by the time the door clicked shut, it was gone.
Yet far from Ial Themar, in another corner of the world where the last slant of evening sunlight spilled over jagged ridgelines, something else stirred in the thin air.
The Trinan Highlands rose like broken blades - tall, harsh mountains catching the soft yellow light on dry grass and pale stone. Deep in a fold of these peaks sat a quiet village, little more than fifty elves who still worked old terraced fields, patched ion mesh over cracked roofs, and kept the dusk wind at bay with flickering rune-lamps that clung to doorframes like barnacles.
Vulas walked down the narrow main path, boots brushing stray grains of static dust that glowed faintly under the sun's last angle. A few villagers drifted past him, unloading woven crates from a mag-cart, checking old bio-filament lines strung between rooftops, feeding animals whose horns glowed softly with embedded tags. They didn't look at him for long.
Behind him, Kolvar followed like a shadow - head bowed, steps measured, eyes flicking over every doorway, flickering rune-lamp and Vulas. The more he looked at Vulas's back, the colder his spine felt.
Who… or what… is walking in front of me?
They'd gone from one lead to another, trying to find the one in charge of the Quiet Testament. For the past week they'd gotten a name here, a message there. One checkpoint after another, one clue always leading to the next. And for each answer they found, someone else ended up dead.
Now, after all of it, they were here, this quiet village hidden in the Trinan Highlands. Maybe this was the end of it. Maybe not.
Kolvar kept his head down and matched Vulas's pace.
At the far end of the lane rose a single structure that didn't fit: three stories, high-set windows sealed with dark polar glass, its surface patched with layered panels that pulsed softly under the evening sun. Vulas paused for a moment, gaze drifting up the facade as if listening to it hum.
Then he turned aside before reaching the door, smirking, and stepped into a side alley that twisted toward the edge of the settlement.
Here sat a squat old building, wooden frame overgrown with strands of dormant vines, circuit plates half-sunk into cracked walls, giving off a weak blue glow. From the outside, it looked like a leftover service shack, half-forgotten.
Vulas pressed his palm against a hidden mark beside the door. A small sigil flared, the latch clicked, and the door hissed open.
Inside, the light shifted. A low ceiling, warm air humming with faint re-circulation. Pale rune-strips traced the walls, giving off an uneven glow. Half a dozen elves sat at round hex-tables, some sipping clear synth-liquor from crystal flasks, others flicking through floating data screens that hovered over the table surfaces.
No one looked up when Vulas entered. One flicked a glance, then went back to the holo hovering over their drink.
Vulas spread his arms wide, voice dripping lazy mockery. "Well now, seems like a nice gathering. No one thought to invite me?"
No answer. Just the soft hum of a cracked projection node on the ceiling and the low shuffle of someone shifting in their seat.
Kolvar stepped in behind him, silent, eyes tracking flickers of hidden circuits along the walls.
Vulas strolled in as if it was his private den. He picked an empty hex-table near the far corner and sat down with a soft thump, boots up on the side rail. Kolvar lowered himself onto the bench next to him, shoulders squared, eyes always moving.
Vulas reached inside his coat, pulled a slim, matte-black flask, popped the cap and poured a sharp-smelling liquid into a thin glass. He swirled it lazily, taking in the room with a grin too wide to be friendly.
Soon, an elven man appeared from a side door. He looked like a kind, middle-aged father - soft lines around his eyes, simple gray robes, hands that looked used to carrying things instead of wielding blades. He moved quietly through the room, nodding once to Kolvar, then sat down at Vulas's table without asking permission.
He set down a small tray, placed a few rough glass cups on the table, and poured out a clear drink for Vulas first.
Vulas downed a few gulps, just a few, then set the cup down. "So so."
The middle-aged man gave a polite, apologetic smile. "Sorry to disappoint the guest. In this old place, there's not much better to offer."
Vulas gave a low laugh. "Ha. Ha." Like he understood the real meaning behind the apology.
"Yeah…" Vulas looked him up and down, then gave a small, amused snort. "But I didn't expect someone like you here".
The man didn't flinch. "After all, the Lord's steps passed through here once before."
Vulas's smirk widened. "And you're still scratching around for anything he might've dropped."
The man looked down for a moment, embarrassed. "We're just trying to follow the Lord's path… to keep what we can alive."
"Ha ha…" Vulas chuckled under his breath and said nothing more. He drank again, slow this time, savoring it even if it tasted cheap.
After a few more quiet sips, Vulas lowered his cup and spoke, voice calm but sharp underneath. "Well, I don't really care what you're hoping to find here, or whatever scraps your 'Lord' left behind. This god is only here for one thing… Luminis Sangua."
At that, the man's eyes narrowed, all warmth slipping away in an instant. Just hearing the name, and worse, the way Vulas called himself this god, made his throat tighten. Depending on who was really sitting across from him, this might be the worst possible outcome.
Vulas kept smiling. "So tell me… where'd you get it from?"
Cold sweat beaded at the man's temple. He knew he had to say something. Normally, if anyone had come asking like this, he would've snapped his fingers and erased them without a second thought. But this one…
From the moment this figure had stepped into the village, he'd felt a faint, crawling danger, like the air itself wanted him to kneel. He'd come to meet him thinking he could handle it. Now he realized too late that the meeting had been the trap all along.
The man cleared his throat, voice lower now, cautious and submissive. "I… I'm not really sure about its true origin. Where it came from. It was delivered to me by the Quiet Testament, for experiments. I have a few remaining samples here." He quickly set a small storage unit on the table, pushing it forward with both hands.
"Apart from that, I don't really know," he added, head lowering a fraction.
Vulas didn't even glance at the storage device. He just leaned back slightly, grin unchanged. "I didn't expect you to know."
He paused, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make the man squirm. Then his tone turned soft, almost playful. "Find me the source. After all… you wouldn't want the big ones upstairs in Luminal Space to find out what you've been doing here… would you?"