Zethon does not grant access without reason, and they do not rush to meet anyone unless the cost of delay outweighs the risk of engagement. The pass has changed since we last stood here, no longer a quiet corridor shaped by terrain but a structured hold, layered with presence that doesn’t need to announce itself to be understood. There are more of them than before. Not just scouts.
Authority.
We are brought forward without ceremony, guided rather than escorted, their formation loose but intentional, giving the impression of space while removing any real freedom to move outside it. Vaedros walks beside me without interference, his pace steady despite the strain he refuses to acknowledge, his attention not on the soldiers but on the structure surrounding us, mapping it the same way he maps everything.
Let him. This part belongs to me.
The commander is already waiting when we reach the center of the pass, positioned where the terrain narrows just enoughto keep the exchange contained without feeling confined. He doesn’t step forward when we approach. He doesn’t need to.
“You said it couldn’t wait,” he says, his voice even, stripped of anything unnecessary.
“It can’t,” I reply.
His gaze lingers for a moment, assessing, measuring, then shifts briefly to Vaedros before returning to me. “Then you will speak clearly.”
“I will.”
I don’t rush. Timing matters more than urgency here, because urgency without structure invites dismissal, and I need him listening, not reacting.
“The artifact currently in circulation has already been used in active conflict,” I begin, keeping my tone level. “Repeatedly. It doesn’t behave like a weapon, and it doesn’t respond to restraint. The more it’s used, the more it changes the conditions around it.”
“That much we’ve observed,” he says.
Good.
“Then you’ve also seen that it doesn’t scale the way it should,” I continue. “It escalates in ways that don’t align with its form.”
“We’ve seen irregularities,” he replies. “Not enough to justify intervention.”
“Then you’re still looking at the surface.”
That earns a reaction, small, contained, but present.
“Explain,” he says.
I reach into my pack and draw out the fragment, holding it where he can see without offering it yet. The markings along its surface catch the light at the wrong angle, faint lines shifting in ways that don’t belong to stone.
“This came from the same structure as the artifact,” I say. “It carries the same imprint.”
One of the figures behind him steps forward slightly, recognition already forming before the piece is even examined.
“Relic origin,” he says quietly.
“Yes,” I confirm. “But not one you’ve classified properly.”
The commander doesn’t reach for it. He studies it from where he stands, then looks back at me.
“Continue.”
“The artifact doesn’t generate power,” I say. “It opens access. A Deceiver-gate. It creates a point of contact between the one holding it and something beyond it.”
“For what purpose?”
““To allow passage. Not only across distance. Across possibility, blood, and outcome.”
“Be precise,” he says.
“It binds to the user through blood,” I continue. “Not metaphorically. Directly. It uses that connection to reach further, extending through lineage, through proximity, through anything that shares that structure.”