The quiet, in the Web Hub felt like a burden. The psychic runes resembled lifeless stone. Celeste rested on a cot, her breath faint her thoughts lost in the aftermath of the severing. Kuro removed fragments of crystal from his hands his typical playfulness swapped for a determined seriousness.
Cassiathon rested on the ground leaning against the wall sensing the profound foundational exhaustion within his spirit. The Ghost Web had vanished, an appendage that still throbbed. Still on Morgans display that solitary line of text flashed like a star, in a lifeless sky: HEARD YOU. NOT ALONE. WHAT NEXT?
"Its originating, from a location known as Ironroot " Morgan stated, his tone rough. "A deep-extraction cooperative. Secured suspicious. Always ignored our attempts at contact."
Sierra bent over the console following the source of the signal. "They're employing -fall military-grade encryption on a civilian frequency. They intercepted Finns transmission. Decoded it sufficiently to respond. This is more, than sympathy. It's a demonstration of their capability."
Tania placed a chilled cloth, on Cassiathons brow. "You shared all of yourself. They experienced your emotions."
"He whispered, eyes shut, 'It was a call, for help.'"
"It served as a call to action " the Angel of Death clarified. He remained motionless like a statue, in the corner his figure drawing in the surrounding light. "You did not send a plea for help. Rather proof of a cause deserving support. You carried the load together.. Through that you eased its weight."
The atmosphere, in the room started to change, not rising, but evolving from hopelessness into a gritty resolve. The Web was a mental instrument. What endured was something tougher: a system of vintage radios, reclaimed transmitters and human messengers—the "Static Net." It operated slower exposed to tapping but it relied on concrete fragile hardware, not susceptible cognition. It couldn't be cut by a blade.
"Then we adjust " Cassiathon remarked, rising with effort. The motion taxed him, a surge of dizziness washing over him. "We utilize our resources. Sierra, Morgan—uniform the encryption establish relay stations. Jareth—your trading paths turn into our delivery channels. We reconstruct, not as a mind but as a nervous network, with a thousand touchpoints."
He glanced at the message more. WHAT SHOULD HE DO NOW?
He grabbed the microphone his voice hoarse yet distinct. "Ironroot this is Cassiathon Abysswalker. Next we exchange. Not merely signals. Resources. Information. We locate the echoes, within the noise. We demonstrate that apart we can remain a harmony. Send us your frequencies. Inform us of your needs."
The response came delayed typed out. SEED STOCK. BLIGHT-RESISTANT. HAVE ORE. WILL TRADE.
It was a beginning. Not a grand alliance, but a barter. A practical, tangible thread of trust.