The echoes of Bolt's revelation—Krell's plan, the stellar alignment, the new weapon—hung heavy in the vast, silent Sanctum of Echoes.
Eva's face was a mask of grim disbelief, while Lyren and Coria, the usually serene Aethelgardians, radiated an uncharacteristic tension that rippled through the very air of the sanctuary.
"He was so certain," Bolt elaborated, his transformed voice a low, urgent rumble. He paced before the silent Progenitor sphere, his new form radiating a restless energy.
"The vision was… like being there. He spoke of the 'Solstice Concordance' – a stellar alignment that would temporarily neutralize certain ancient Progenitor defenses around the Heart of Orion. And a weapon… something reverse-engineered, volatile…"
Lyren exchanged a heavy glance with Coria. "The Solstice Concordance," Lyren breathed, their deer-like eyes wide with alarm. "It is a known celestial event, occurring once every few standard centuries. Its gravitational and energetic tides do indeed create… vulnerabilities in the old Progenitor containment fields around the Heart. We had believed the knowledge of how to exploit it was lost."
"Or deliberately suppressed," Coria added, her golden gaze sharp. "To attempt to seize the Heart during such a phase, especially with unstable weaponry… Krell is not just ambitious; he is reckless. He risks unraveling the very fabric of that sector, perhaps beyond."
"How much time?" Eva asked, her voice cutting through the dire pronouncements, practical as ever. "When is this… Concordance?"
Lyren accessed a shimmering console that rose from the crystalline floor. After a moment, they looked up, their expression grave.
"By your Terran reckoning, Captain Rostova… less than ten of your planetary rotations. Perhaps as few as seven."
A collective intake of breath. Seven to ten days. An impossibly short window.
"We have to do something!" Bolt exclaimed, the Ahna'sara flaring within him, a desperate surge of protectiveness not just for Aethelgard, but for the distant, vulnerable Heart he had only just begun to understand.
"We can't just let him!"
"Aethelgard does not wage war, Seed-Bearer," Lyren stated, the sorrow in their voice profound.
"Our strength lies in preservation, in nurturing the echoes of what was, in the hope of what might be. To meet Krell's armada with force would be to become what we have striven for millennia not to be. And frankly, our defensive capabilities are designed to shield Aethelgard, not to project power across the galaxy."
"But this isn't just another skirmish in the Outer Systems," Eva argued, stepping forward. "You said yourselves the Heart of Orion is vital. If Krell controls it, or worse, breaks it…"
"She is right," Coria affirmed, her gaze unwavering. "The Heart is a keystone. Its destruction or corruption would unleash energies that could destabilize this entire galactic arm, perhaps even awaken far older, more dormant terrors.
This transcends our policy of non-intervention." Her eyes then settled on Bolt, a weight of unspoken expectation within them.
"But Aethelgard's ships cannot reach the Heart before Krell, nor could they face his war fleet directly if they did."
A heavy silence descended. Bolt felt the crushing weight of the implication. The vision had come to him. The Ahna'sara had shown him. The catalyst's burden, indeed.
"Then I have to go," Bolt stated, the words emerging with a certainty that surprised even himself. The fear was there, a cold knot in his stomach, but beneath it was the clear, unwavering song of the Ahna'sara, no longer just a melody of peace, but a call to responsibility.
"If this 'unlocking,' these abilities… if they mean anything, then they have to mean something now."
Eva looked at him, a complex mix of pride, fear, and fierce loyalty in her eyes. "You're not going alone."
Coria studied Bolt intently. "Your training is far from complete, Seed-Bearer. To project harmony in the face of true, calculated malice, to navigate the chaotic energies of the Heart, especially during the Concordance… it is a task for which even the most seasoned among us would tremble."
"But perhaps," Lyren mused, their gaze thoughtful, "direct confrontation is not the only path. Krell plans to use a 'new weapon.' Progenitor-derived, you said, and volatile. Such things often have… unforeseen sensitivities.
Especially to the pure frequencies of the Ahna'sara."
"Your empathic resonance, Bolt," Coria continued, picking up the thread, "your ability to 'sing the song of the Seed' as you are learning, might be the one thing Krell's brute force cannot account for. It would not be a battle of firepower, but of influence. Of harmony against discord, on a level his warlike mind cannot comprehend."
"Can you teach me enough?" Bolt asked, his voice urgent. "In days?"
"We can give you the tools, the focus," Coria said. "Aethelgard possesses a vessel, small, swift, and shielded by arts Krell will not anticipate.
It can traverse the hidden pathways. And Lyren and I can impart what knowledge we can in the time we have." Her expression became intense.
"But the greatest part of this will fall to you, Bolt. To the strength of your will, the clarity of your intent, and the depth of your connection to the Ahna'sara."
As the Aethelgardians began to outline a desperate, high-stakes plan – a targeted insertion, a mission not of destruction but of empathic intervention – Bolt felt the Progenitor sphere behind him hum softly.
A fleeting image, sharp and cold as starlight on ice, flashed through his mind: Krell, on the bridge of his flagship, a cruel smile playing on his lips as he gave the order to fire a colossal, pulsing beam of raw, unstable energy. The vision was followed by an almost physical sensation of the Heart of Orion screaming in silent agony.
The burden felt heavier than ever, but now, it was mingled with a fierce, burning determination.
Aethelgard might not wage war, but he, Bolt, the Seed-Bearer, the unlikely catalyst, would carry its hope into the storm.