The chamber was empty now.What remained of the Seventh Ring had scattered—light without anchor, truth without a master. It shimmered once over the stone altar, then vanished entirely, bleeding back into the structure of reality itself.Nathan stood at the center, shoulders slack, watching as invisible lines of tension snapped back into place. The planet stilled. Not with silence, but balance.The astral currents settled. The sky no longer shimmered at wrong angles. Cities that had flickered from existence reappeared, disoriented but intact. Somewhere in the Pacific, time resumed. Stars returned to their rightful constellations.It was done.Beside him, Miko sat cross-legged on the floor, fingers wrapped in bandages still faintly smoking from contact with the mirror’s forging. She was watching the stone platform, eyes half-lidded.“That’s it?” she asked.Nathan gave a faint nod. “That’s it.”Nyx’s form blinked in on a flickering projection node near the door. Her voice was steady, but

The ruins of the monastery still clung to Nathan’s mind like incense. Stone steps worn by centuries, whispers of the monks fading into the wind, Harper’s steady hand on his shoulder. But peace never lasted. It never could—not for him.Two weeks after Miko released the open-source Codex, the first World Guardian Summit convened in Marrakesh. It was meant to be a gathering of unity—a table where each continent’s newly appointed Guardian would stand as equals. Instead, it became an arena.The grand hall was built of glass walls and open air, letting the desert wind drift through. Sunlight slashed across marble floors, the council dais glimmering like an altar. Guardians from Africa, Eurasia, the Americas, the Pacific, and the Polar Convergence stood in their ceremonial mantles, each flanked by aides and emissaries.Nathan entered last. He had refused the mantle, wearing instead a black linen jacket, collar open, a deliberate contrast to the pomp. Harper walked behind him, expression unre

The marble floor of the Bellavista Grand gleamed under the warm chandelier light, but Nathan barely noticed it. He had walked through lobbies like this a hundred times before—always with quiet confidence, never questioned. Today, though, was different. The receptionist’s eyes flicked up from her computer screen as he approached, then narrowed. “Can I help you?” Her tone made it clear she meant prove you belong here. “I have a reservation under Nathan Hale,” he said evenly, setting his ID and booking confirmation on the counter. She didn’t pick them up. Instead, she glanced at his plain jacket, then at the duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “Sir, guests of this hotel usually check in through our executive desk,” she said, voice sugar-coated but laced with condescension. “The standard lobby is… for other clientele.” Around them, conversations paused. A pair of suited businessmen glanced over. A family on the sofa exchanged awkward looks. Nathan kept his voice calm. “I am a guest.”

The revolving doors of the Meridian Crown Hotel spun Nathan into a burst of polished marble and the low hum of wealth. Crystal chandeliers dripped light across the lobby, catching in the gold leaf trim of the pillars. He walked toward the reception desk, his black coat trailing a muted swish against the tiles. It was a quiet evening, the kind where the only sounds were the faint notes of piano music from the bar and the soft clicking of heels across the floor.The receptionist spotted him halfway across the lobby. Her name tag read Elise, her lipstick too sharp, her smile too thin.“Yes?” she said before he could even greet her, her tone clipped and impatient. “We have a dress code for guests. Sir, the lounge is through the other entrance.”Nathan stopped. “I’m checking in.”She gave a slow, skeptical glance over his outfit—a tailored coat, dark trousers, polished boots. Not a thread out of place. Yet she arched an eyebrow as though he’d wandered in from the street.“I think you migh

The old refuge tunnels beneath Nova Point were supposed to be dormant. Sealed. Cleansed. Nathan stepped into the darkness anyway. Harper waited at the surface gate, uneasy in a way she rarely was. “They said something moved down there last night. Something whispering.” Nathan nodded. “If it’s just a fragment echo, I’ll deal with it.” He paused, met her eyes. “If it’s more—pull me out. No hesitation.” Harper gave a single nod and closed the gate behind him. The descent was silent. Cold. Lantern light flickered along the curved stone, catching old markings from the Syndicate’s occupation—symbols meant to focus fear, still etched faintly along the walls. Nathan moved until the air shifted, like a breath drawn in the dark. And then he heard it. A soft laugh. Dry. Childlike. “Still pretending to be their savior?” Nathan stopped. Slowly turned his head. There was nothing there—just a smear of shadow in the shape of a human, barely visible at the edge of the light. It moved agai