The rest was uneasy. It felt like a chilling descent, into the foundation of his own essence. Cassiathon drifted through the blackness linking the two rivers observing the fissures he had caused. They had grown beyond fine lines. They were canyons nested within others a fractal terrain of looming collapse. The Angel's caution resonated in the quiet: To channel is to be drained.
He grasped the calculus at last. Each significant deed—the Resonant Defense, the Nostalgia Engines corruption, the disruption, the Great Transmission—was a disastrous wearing down episode. He had bartered lifespan, for urgency consuming decades of his life in mere weeks. The burden of the conduit was pulverizing him to fragments.
He emerged to the scent of healing herbs and the gentle verdant radiance of Tania's moss-lights. He found himself in the infirmary. Celeste was asleep, in a chair her features weary. His father remained watchful at the foot of the bed a figure of attentiveness.
"How long?" Cassiathon's voice was a dry rasp.
"Three days " Tania spoke, her hand immediately slipping into his. The heat of her touch was a valuable anchor. "You frightened us."
"The Athenaeum?"
"Vacant. Raziel used it briefly for a day then departed. The building remains. The wisdom… exists everywhere nowhere." A slight sorrowful smile appeared on her lips. "Individuals are exchanging fragments. A snippet of melody here a schematic. It feels as if the world is attempting to recall a dream."
Cassiathon shut his eyes taking in the feeling of triumph. He had preserved the narrative. With a price the ledger was just beginning to disclose.
"The fractures " he murmured without lifting his eyelids. "They're… fatal right?"
The Angel of Death was truthful. Indeed. You have set your finale. It is not immediate. It is presently a quantifiable span away. You might have one final deed akin, to those you have been executing.. Several minor ones. The journey approaches its end.
The chamber lay quiet the reality weighing like granite powder.
"Then we ensure the move matters " Cassiathon declared, rising to his feet. Exhaustion descended upon him an emptiness inside. He was, like a bell struck excessively; the metal had. Its sound was permanently changed. "Raziel won't relent. The Queen's tolerance has ended. She will approve something "
Almost as if called by his statement Sierra came in her expression tense. "There's an issue. Specifically there's someone. She approached the outer guard line an hour ago. Insisted on talking to you."
"Who?"
"Lorelei Wilde."
The name struck the room as if it were a tangible strike. The muted alarm.
"Why?" Morgan inquired, stepping in after Sierra. "Retaliation? An agreement?"
"She claims to have details " Sierra answered. ". That she'll share them only with the 'Conduit.' Mentions she's been picking up on the static well."
Cassiathon glanced at his father. Lorelei was an individual driven by amoral self-interest. She had been crushed by him then exploited by him and finally deserted by her Queen. What loyalty could she realistically possess?
"Bring her to the outer courtyard," Cassiathon said. "I'll meet her there."