The gazebo was an island of polished, dark wood floating over the still, black water of the canal. Seraphina Vey led him across a short, arching bridge, her steps silent on the planks. The structure wasn't built so much as it was grown, its support pillars thick, living trunks that twisted up to form a canopy of broad, waxy leaves. The air inside was thick with the scent of night-blooming flowers and damp earth. This was her office.
A man who looked to be Kaelen’s age, maybe a few years younger, shot to his feet as they entered. He was draped in robes of a deep, shimmering indigo, dusted with what looked like actual flecks of gold. His T-Minus was a bright, healthy green, and his smile was wide enough to split his face in two. This had to be Orion Vale, the junior Seer Seraphina had mentioned.
— You’re here! — Orion’s voice was a boom that seemed too large for the tranquil space. Before Kaelen could even process the greeting, the man closed the distance and wrapped him in a hug. It was all encompassing, a crushing wave of warmth and the faint, spicy scent of incense.
Kaelen’s entire body went rigid. His TAC training screamed at him. Proximity was a threat. Unsolicited contact was an attack vector. His hands, trained to stay free for a weapon or a tool, hovered uselessly at his sides. He was being assaulted by goodwill. He felt the cold, smooth weight of the obsidian charm in his pocket, a small, hard point of logic in a world of suffocating softness.
— I knew your attunement signature would be fascinating, — Orion declared, finally releasing him. — It’s all sharp angles and quiet spaces. Like a locked room full of humming machinery!
— Orion, let the man breathe, — Seraphina said, her tone gentle but firm. She gestured to a low table surrounded by cushions. — Kaelen, some tea? It helps us… settle the day’s accounts.
Kaelen looked at the setup. A simple, dark clay teapot sat on the table, steam rising from its spout. There were no data-slates, no ledgers, no screens of any kind. Just the pot and three rough, handleless cups. This was their command center. It was absurd. He gave a stiff nod, the only response he could manage, and lowered himself onto a cushion. The movement felt alien, a surrender of the tactical readiness his posture was meant to maintain.
Seraphina poured the tea. It was a dark, murky liquid that smelled of bitter herbs and wet soil. She handed him a cup, her fingers brushing his for a fraction of a second. Her touch was warm. He pulled his hand back as if burned.
— Accounts, — Kaelen repeated, testing the word. It was his objective, after all. To audit their accounts. He needed to understand their system to find the fraud he was sent to pin on her.
— We read the dregs, — Seraphina explained, settling onto a cushion opposite him. She held her own cup in both hands, cradling it. — It’s more honest than a ledger. A ledger can be forged. The flow of things… that’s harder to lie about.
Snake oil. The thought was immediate and sharp. He was sitting in the heart of the enemy’s operation, and they were making decisions based on the sludge at the bottom of a teacup. It was a system built on superstition, a house of cards waiting for a firm push. And yet, the Athenaeum hummed with a stability his own decaying district hadn't known in decades. The contradiction was a splinter in his mind.
He had to participate. The price of his infiltration was this small, humiliating act of faith. He had to drink the tea. He raised the cup to his lips, the warmth of the clay seeping into his fingers. The first sip was a shock. It was profoundly bitter, an aggressive, earthy taste that coated his tongue. He fought the urge to grimace, forcing his expression to remain neutral. He swallowed. It was like drinking dirt.
This was a step away from his own world, a step into theirs. It felt like a personal defeat. He was trading his own rigid certainty for a taste of their communal nonsense, and the cost was the foul brew scalding his throat.
Orion was already done, having drained his cup in one long gulp. He swirled the cup dramatically, then peered into it. — The currents are agitated today. Lucius is stirring the silt again. And there’s a new pattern here… a hard line cutting through the usual flow. That must be you, Kaelen!
Kaelen glanced at Seraphina. She was watching him, not the tea, her head tilted with an expression of calm curiosity. She was assessing him, but her method was a mystery. It wasn't an audit; it was something else, something he couldn't parse.
As if summoned by the thought of power, a new figure appeared at the edge of the gazebo. An older woman, her face a mask of serene wrinkles, stood watching them. Her robes were the color of bone, simple and unadorned, yet she carried an authority that made Orion’s vibrant display seem childish. Her T-Minus was a deep, ancient blue, showing a lifespan that felt impossible. This was Matrona Helia, the elder and patron Kaelen’s file had mentioned.
She didn’t speak. She simply glided into the gazebo and came to a stop behind Seraphina. She placed a hand on Seraphina’s shoulder, a gesture that might have looked supportive to anyone else. But Kaelen saw it for what it was. He saw the way Seraphina’s posture stiffened for a barest fraction of a second. He saw the way the Matrona’s fingers pressed just a little too firmly. It wasn’t a gesture of affection. It was a reminder. A hand on a leash.
The open thread from his briefing file solidified into a hard fact. Seraphina was indebted to this woman. The foreshadowing of the Helia Debt Sigil wasn't just a rumor; it was a visible power dynamic playing out right in front of him. Matrona Helia’s gaze swept over Kaelen, her eyes placid but analytical. They held the cool, detached assessment of a banker reviewing a new, unproven asset.
Kaelen felt the cold weight of the obsidian charm in his pocket again. A hard piece of reality.
The Matrona’s silent audit lasted only a moment. She gave Seraphina’s shoulder a final, proprietary squeeze, then turned and departed as silently as she had arrived, leaving a void in the air where her presence had been. The easy atmosphere of the gazebo was gone, replaced by a lingering tension.
Kaelen felt a wave of something close to vertigo. He was out of his depth. This wasn't a straightforward mission of infiltration and data theft. It was a web of personal loyalties, hidden debts, and political maneuvering that he had no metrics for. His target wasn't just a manager; she was a political piece on a complex board, controlled by a silent old woman with an ocean of time. His rival, Lucius, was a pawn for another power. And he, Kaelen, was a knife sent by a third, aimed at the wrong person.
The mission was a lie wrapped in a fantasy, and he was at the center of it. His confidence, built on a foundation of logic and procedure, was cracking.
Seraphina seemed to shake off the Matrona’s visit, her warm smile returning, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes this time. She looked at Kaelen, her expression shifting to one of professional purpose.
— Well, Kaelen, — she said, her voice regaining its cheerful efficiency. — Time to earn your keep. Your first official task is a simple attunement. A test of focus.
She stood up, brushing off her robes. The moment of quiet intimacy, of shared tea and unspoken politics, was over. It was time for him to perform.
— There’s a Chronoblossom in the west arboretum that’s been… reluctant to bloom, — she explained, walking toward the bridge. — We’re going to see if your particular resonance can coax it open.
He stood, his joints stiff. He had to prove his fraudulent abilities. He had to pass a test that, according to every law of physics he knew, was impossible.
