The Emissary's return was a triumph, but it had come at a great cost. Channeling her will into the construct for the duration of the summit had drained Mo Chen more than any battle. The psychic link had been a raw, open nerve, and she had felt the crushing pressure of The Directory's collective gaze through it.
For days after, she was bedridden, her Ember Core flickering weakly. The physical act of creation on such a precise, spiritual level had a tax she hadn't anticipated.
Dr. Aris, in an unexpected act of compassion, tended to her. He had developed a nutrient-rich broth from the first successful harvest of his engineered algae, which he claimed had restorative properties.
" You are the heart of this place," he said, forcing her to drink the bitter liquid. "If your flame goes out, everything you've built turns back to ash. You must learn your limits."
It was a humbling experience. She, who could melt battleships and raise cities, had been brought low by the act of making a puppet. It was a lesson in the conservation of power. Destruction was a release; creation was an investment of the self.
During her convalescence, she reviewed the data from the summit. The Directory was not defeated. They were recalculating. She had made herself an existential problem for them. A sovereign power that refused to be integrated was a cancer in their perfectly ordered system.
The next test would not be a puzzle or a summons. It would be an excision.