The world outside the cistern became a tapestry of shadows, phosphorescent glows, and calculated movements. Rhys moved with a fluidity and silence that would have been impossible before completing his body refinement. The ground, littered with treacherous roots, crumbling ferrocrete, and slick patches of mutant slime, seemed almost cooperative under his enhanced agility and balance.
His stealth was an active, multi-layered process, fueled by the effortless flow of Aether from his harmonized core. He constantly wove faint Air currents around his body, disrupting the passage of sound waves, subtly bending light at the very edges of perception to make his form less distinct in the gloom. He manipulated the air further out, creating tiny, localized breezes that rustled leaves in adjacent bushes or stirred dust devils downwind, providing auditory camouflage for any unavoidable misstep. His own scent, the human smell that could alert creatures or keen-nosed guards, was dispersed, masked by counter-currents carrying the pungent aroma of decaying vegetation and damp earth.
His Echo Sense acted as his eyes and ears in the darkness, reaching ahead, mapping the terrain in three dimensions. He felt the subtle vibrations indicating loose rocks, the slight give of unstable ground, the hollow echo beneath thin crusts of dried mud. He sensed the lingering Aether signatures of passing creatures, the residual warmth of Lyra's guards where they had recently stood. Most importantly, he tracked the single remaining sentry near the dome entrance – Elara. Her Aether signature was a fluctuating beacon of anxiety and fatigue, her awareness focused primarily inwards towards the dome and her companions, not outwards into the oppressive ruins.
He closed the distance, utilizing dense thickets of glowing fungi and the skeletal remains of hydroponic racks as cover. He moved in short bursts, freezing instantly whenever Elara shifted or glanced outwards, melting back into the deepest shadows. He could see her now, a silhouette framed against the dome's luminous entrance, her hand resting nervously on the hilt of her sword. She peered out into the darkness, likely unnerved by the diversion Boulder had created, then turned back towards the interior, presumably checking on Lyra and Borin.
This was his moment.
He surged forward, covering the last few meters in near-total silence. Elara was just turning back towards the entrance. Rhys didn't have time for complex Weaving, nor the desire to cause serious injury. He needed speed, precision, and incapacitation without noise.
He executed two Weaves almost simultaneously, a testament to his improved control and the effortless flow provided by his completed foundation. A thin, almost invisible film of slick condensation – Water Weaving – coalesced instantly on the grimy floor directly behind Elara's heels. As her foot began its backward step, Rhys released a sharp, focused puff of compressed air – Air Weaving – aimed precisely at her ankles.
The combination was brutally effective. Her boot heel hit the unexpected slickness just as the air gust pushed her off balance. With a muffled gasp of surprise rather than pain, her feet shot out from under her. She windmilled her arms for a split second before crashing backward into a thick patch of soft, leafy undergrowth just inside the dome entrance. The fall was cushioned, silenced by the vegetation, but jarring enough to likely stun her for precious seconds.
Rhys didn't pause to confirm. He slipped past her prone form like a phantom, crossing the threshold into the geo-dome proper.
The interior hit him with the force of a physical blow. The air was thick with the intoxicatingly pure, cool Aether of the Moonpetal Bloom, now at its absolute peak. It washed over him, soothing his nerves, momentarily silencing the background static of the ruins, making his own Aether sing in response. The Bloom itself, situated on a raised dais of earth and roots near the center of the dome, glowed with a brilliant, opalescent light, casting long, dancing shadows from the overgrown flora and fungal stalks that filled the vast space.
Near the Bloom, Lyra and Borin were hunched over, their backs to the entrance, completely absorbed in the delicate task at hand. Tiny, shimmering droplets of the Moonpetal Dew were coalescing on the Bloom's luminous petals. Borin, with rock-steady hands, was carefully using a pair of long, non-metallic tweezers to guide the droplets into one of the waiting crystal vials held by Lyra. They hadn't heard Elara's muffled fall; they hadn't sensed his entry.
Rhys froze behind a cluster of massive, glowing blue fungi, his heart hammering against his ribs despite the Bloom's calming influence. He could see the vial in Lyra's hand was nearly full. Another vial rested nearby, ready. The prize was within reach. But Elara could recover at any moment, raising the alarm. Lyra and Borin were seasoned cultivators, alert despite their focus. And overlaying everything was the cold, silent, analytical pressure of the Watchers' unseen gaze, undoubtedly registering his successful infiltration.
This was the razor's edge. The slightest mistake now would mean failure, and likely death. He gathered his Aether, preparing to make his move for the Dew.