Chapter 46

  Leo exhaled slowly, like he’d been holding it in the whole time.

  “Alright. Let’s say you’re right. Let’s say there are five more of these things. Then what? We go looking for them? Just the two of us? Hope they haven’t been ground to dust or—worse—opened by someone who didn’t know what they were?”

  “No,” Ren said quietly. “We tell Soraya.”

  Leo blinked. “You want to tell the Grand Scribe we accidentally tripped an artifact that might be part of the only thing holding back an

  ancient world-killer?”

  “Yes.”

  A pause. Then Leo gave a long, slow sigh and pushed to his feet. “Well. That sounds like a Tuesday.”

  ________________________________

  They found Soraya tucked within a quite corner of the Council’s encampment.

  Her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, her fingers smeared black, her expression thunderous.

  Whatever she was working on, it wasn’t going well.

  “I don’t take walk-ins,” she said without looking up.

  Ren stepped forward anyway, holding the sealed case out in both hands like it was something shameful. Or sacred. Maybe both.

  Leo, ever helpful, cleared his throat. “It’s important.”

  Soraya looked up, annoyed.

  Then she saw the cube.

  Her annoyance vanished, replaced by curiosity.

  She stood slowly. The silence was so complete Ren heard the ink in the basin drip, once, as she crossed the space and stopped just short of taking the case.

  “What is that?” she asked, voice low in curiosity.

  Ren opened the case.

  The cube sat nestled in cloth, its surface still faintly etched with those shifting lines—half geometry, half memory. It didn’t glow. It didn’t hum. It just existed, in that quiet way things too old for time tend to do.

  Leo answered before Ren could.

  “I found it in one of Raven’s old caches,” Leo said before Ren could. “Artifact storage, secondary lockdown storage

  . It was labeled as dysfunctional.”

  Soraya didn’t respond at first. Her eyes, pale and sharp were fixed on the cube. She didn’t move closer, didn’t reach out. She simply watched.

  “And you activated it,” she said eventually. Her voice was perfectly calm.

  Ren nodded, throat dry. “It wasn’t… on purpose. I touched it, and something in my Threads resonated with it. It latched on.”

  Soraya didn’t speak right away. Her gaze stayed fixed on the cube, her expression unreadable. Eventually, she lifted it gently with one hand, cradling it like something ancient and volatile.

  “Close the door,” she said.

  The next 30 minutes passed in quiet, tense discussion. They told her everything. The vision. The six seals. The broken one. About the feeling that the cube hadn’t shown Ren a past event, but a live warning.

  Soraya didn’t question the truth of it.

  She just listened.

  When they stepped back out into the cool dusk, the trees around the council camp rustled as if they'd been listening too.

  Then came the alarm.

  A warbled ripple tore across the camp’s outer wards—followed by a low, pulsing hum that made Ren’s stomach drop. Crimson light flickered through the treetops. A runner’s boots skidded past their cabin with a shout. Then another.

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  Leo froze. “That’s a high-priority alarm.”

  A single glyph lit up in the air above them. Soraya reached toward it. A shimmer of reading light flickered across her irises—and then her expression shifted, sharp and cold.

  “There’s been a sighting,” she said.

  Ren’s blood ran cold. “Of what?”

  She turned to look directly at him. “Of something carrying the Divine’s resonance. Strong enough to trip half our outer scanners. Just outside Redvine.”

  Ren’s heart stopped.

  “Redvine—?” he croaked. “That’s where Farin is! We need to help the-”

  “I know,” Soraya said. Her voice was already brisk, efficient. “I’m alerting Sinclair.”

  Ren took a step forward. “Then we’re coming too.”

  Ren froze.

  “You’ve done enough,” Soraya said, already working a casting glyph midair. “You brought this to me, and that matters. But if this is what I think it is, it’s not for you to handle.”

  “But I saw it,” Ren said. “I felt it. The cube—whatever it is—chose to show me that vision. There has to be a reason.”

  “You’re a non-combatant, Ren. Barely able to not hurt yourself when practicing.” Her tone wasn’t cruel, but it was firm. “You’ve come a long way, but this is different. You weren’t trained for field deployment, and I won’t have a crucial part of the puzzle bleed out just to prove a point.”

  He looked down at his mechanical hand, fingers twitching.

  “But I can help,” he said quietly. “You’ve seen what I can do with Threads now. And like you said, I’m clearly connected with all this, what if you need me.”

  “If we do, we’ll call for you,” she said, cutting him off. “Right now, we need stability. You touched one artifact and nearly broke yourself open.”

  She turned, casting another glyph, her voice shifting into command. “Prep a scout wing. Two flight-capable units, rapid extraction on standby. Notify Sinclair directly.”

  Ren stepped forward again, quieter this time. “I know Redvine. I lived there. Farin was the first person who actually gave a damn. I owe it to them.”

  Soraya paused—just for a breath. But when she spoke again, her tone was cool and final.

  “That’s exactly why you’re staying here.”

  Ren flinched.

  “There’s no space for emotion on the battlefield,” Soraya said, turning back to the glyph midair. “Not guilt, not debt, not even hope. They all get people killed.”

  She pressed her palm to the symbol. It flared, pulsed once, then scattered into light.

  “I need calm heads and clean execution. Not someone chasing closure.”

  Ren opened his mouth, but she didn’t give him the chance.

  “You want to help? Stay alive. Keep thinking. Keep helping others. There are more ways to win than throwing yourself into a active battlefield.

  She stepped back, and for a moment, she looked at him—not unkind, but unreadable. A commander weighing risks.

  Soraya didn’t wait. She turned and strode out, already barking orders through her communication glyph as the door closed behind her.

  _________

  For a long time, Ren didn’t move.

  Leo stood beside him, eyes gentle, saying nothing.

  “No,” Ren said softly.

  Leo frowned. “What?”

  “I’m not staying behind.”

  “Ren—”

  “I’m going.” He glanced at the closed door. “I have to.”

  Leo ran a hand down his face. “Did you hear anything Soraya just said? That’s the Grand Scribe. You can’t just ignore her.”

  Ren didn’t reply.

  "He moved past Leo, grabbed his pack from under the bench, and began stuffing in supplies—food, his bow and dagger, a flare glyph. He paused, and after a moment of hesitation, took his travel cook-kit as well."

  Leo stared. “This is actually happening.”

  Ren looked up at him. “I’ll hide in the supply hold. Once they’re far enough from camp, I’ll jump out and catch up on foot. I know the back roads better than any of them.”

  Leo blinked slowly. “You’re going to stow away. On a military carriage. Headed toward a godly threat.”

  Ren nodded.

  Leo dragged both hands through his hair, then dropped them to his sides. “You’re serious. You’re actually serious.”

  “Farin helped me—in a world where I had nothing and no one. Even the regulars pitched in, spending what little they had. They weren’t rich—just ordinary, no-name adventurers and yet they still tried their best to help me. They kept that stall going for two weeks. I owe them more than just hoping they’re okay.”

  Leo stared at him for a long moment.

  Then he let out a long breath. “You are, without a doubt, the most unqualified, ill-equipped, and absurdly determined person I’ve ever met.”

  Ren smiled faintly. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  “It was not a yes,” Leo hissed. “It was an observation.”

  But even as he said it, Leo reached under the table and shoved a small pouch into Ren’s pack.

  “Three defensive wards. Use them only in case of emergencies.”

  Ren met his eyes. “Thank you.”

  Leo groaned. “No, don’t thank me. Just try not to die, alright?

  Ren hoisted the pack over his shoulder, then gave Leo a quick nod.

  And without another word, he slipped out the back of the tent and into the trees, vanishing into the deepening dusk—just one more shadow among many.

  Leo watched the flap settle behind him, then sat down heavily on the edge of the bench.

  “I swear,” he muttered, staring at the spot where Ren had stood, “if you get yourself killed chasing ghosts and restaurant regulars, I’m resurrecting you just to strangle you myself.”

  The cube on the table didn’t answer.

  It pulsed once. Then went still.