The Watching Hall
Verdant Eye Central Division, Deep Eastern Ranges
The room was quiet. Underground, slate-walled, sealed tight with layered Qi-bindings and acoustic veils. No wind. No sound. No mercy.
A hundred coins rested on a concave silver plate in the centre of the chamber, each etched with different ears and tongues, some old, some new; all still humming with breath. Above them, the sound-weavers hung in stasis - glyph-bound parchments suspended in lattice-frames of jade and bone. A faint whisper echoed now and then, overlapping syllables that didn't quite make sense to the untrained ear. The technicians would filter them later. Distill what really mattered.
Across the chamber, a woman stood with arms folded behind her back. High-ranked. No insignia. Her face was narrow and impassive, hair drawn into a perfect knot. She hadn't moved since the hour began.
"The ward failed," a voice finally said from the shadows. "She detected the subversion glyph."
The woman's gaze didn't shift. "Of course she did. That's what she was trained for."
"They've gone to Adlerheim."
Another voice now, younger. A junior agent standing at the far edge of the room, holding a jade tablet that shimmered with the last traces of remote-seen Qi. "Outer Sect. Travelling with Olivia."
The first man scoffed. "Olivia's out of seclusion?"
"You'd have known that if you paid attention to our meetings."
"And the boy?"
The woman finally blinked. Once. "Still radiating anomalous signatures. His Qi is unbalanced."
The others waited.
"Traces of an Upper Realm," she said.
The silence that followed wasn't surprise - it was calculation. A shifting of weight in the mind.
"So the rumours are true," the elder said, voice now quieter. "The Wind God did return."
"Not returned," she corrected. "Reincarnated. Unformed. A vessel still learning its name."
"And Elisabeth shelters him?"
"For now."
"And if he remembers who he was?"
"Then he will become who he was meant to be."
The younger agent frowned. "Should we act? Call the eastern task force?"
"No," the woman said. "Not yet."
"Why not? If the Wind God rises-"
She turned, finally, and her expression silenced him.
"Because a rising storm is only dangerous if it notices you trying to cage it. We'll observe. They think they've hidden. That's good. Let them grow comfortable. Let them build their little roots in the valley and believe they've escaped us."
Another whisper trickled from one of the coins - unintelligible, but pulsing with emotional weight. A dream maybe, a muttered name, or a fragment of song. The woman stepped forward, picked the coin up, and placed it in a lead-lined case.
"Catalogue this," she said, "and forward the rest to Division Nine. I want a full report on all Adlerheim entry points. And keep an eye on the boy's dreams."
The elder voice behind her shifted again, now slow with certainty.
"You think he'll remember?"
"I know he will," she said.
"Why?"
"Because the wind always returns to the mountains that first taught it how to scream."