The rune-lines along the chamber walls dimmed further, one by one, like the slow breath of something vast and hidden beneath the hull.
Therion stood motionless. His fingers twitched once at his side, the only outward sign that he, too, had registered the change.
"Mana fluctuation?" he asked, his voice low.
Lyra's projection shimmered in place. "Negative. External readings remain stable."
"But internal?" Iliar prompted, his voice now brittle, sharp. He slowly stepped back from the Arc Crown, silver eyes narrowing.
Lyra paused. Her head tilted again, but there was no curiosity in the motion this time, only cold calculation. "One moment…"
The silence returned, but it felt wrong now. Not the stillness of a quiet room, the pause before a predator moved.
Therion shifted his weight forward slightly, hand raising. The pen, still glowing with that violet-blue mana, zipped to his side and anchored itself magnetically against his bracer.
"Lyra," he said without turning. "Seal the chamber."
"Done."
The door hissed shut. A locking tone pulsed through the floor, not mechanical, but arcane, the sound of layered wards folding into place.
"Iliar," Therion said, finally facing the boy. "Describe it."
The boy didn't answer immediately. His eyes were distant, pupils dilated. His breaths came short now, like something inside him was hearing what no one else could.
"It's… faint," Iliar said at last. "But it's real. A frequency. Like something just tapped the edges of reality and left a crack."
Therion frowned. "Magical?"
"Not exactly," Iliar muttered. "It doesn't feel cast. More like… remembered. Like something old trying to find its shape again."
Therion glanced at Lyra, but she was already working. Her body blurred with data streams as she ran diagnostics across all ship systems. Her expression sharpened.
"I'm detecting a recursive mana loop centered around the Arc Crown," she said. "It's reflecting external energy that doesn't originate from this vessel. Feedback is forming a pattern. Not random. Constructed."
Therion stepped closer to the floating sphere. The glow had shifted now, still beautiful, still pulsing, but the veins' pattern had changed. No longer flowing outward in elegant spirals, but collapsing inward, drawing light into itself.
A quiet hum began to fill the room.
"I don't like that sound," Iliar said.
Therion reached forward, placing one gloved hand near the sphere without touching it. The hairs on his arm rose instantly. The field around it was charged — unstable, but familiar.
"This isn't a malfunction," he said. "It's a response."
"To what?" Lyra asked.
He didn't answer.
Somewhere far below, deep in the lower decks of the Odyssey, a single runic plate pulsed once and then shattered.
A whisper ran through the ship's mana lines. It was not heard by most, but those who were attuned, those who remembered other worlds, would feel it in their bones.
Back in the chamber, Lyra snapped to attention.
"Captain signal anomaly. External."
Therion's eyes narrowed. "Source?"
"Unknown. It's echoing our signature. Arc Crown's exact frequency, reflected from orbit."
Iliar tensed. "We're being mimicked?"
"No," Lyra said, her voice dropping. "We're being answered."
A long silence followed.
Then, Therion spoke calmly, precisely.
"Lyra, prep the Odyssey for system lockdown. Engage stealth protocols. I want long-range scans across all frequency bands, magic and non-magic. Start with the relay moons."
"And what about the Arc Crown?" she asked.
He looked at the floating device again, its glow now impossibly deep, a well of shifting thought and power.
He reached for it.
The Arc Crown answered. A small number shimmered in the air, floating just above the sphere. It pulsed once, then stabilized, burning faint gold against the violet-blue field.
Therion spoke quickly. "Lyra, are these coordinates?"
Lyra's frame faded out and reappeared just behind him, golden light weaving itself together mid-step. She didn't blink.
"Yes, Captain. They belong in the sector Inner Core of the Velas Meridian Galaxy. I will be able to find more details about the planet once we are in that sector."
Therion brought a hand to his chin and stared into the Arc Crown. The number rotated slowly, wrapped in script-like glyphs he hadn't programmed. Coordinates, yes, but ancient ones. From a system that predated known stellar cartography.
"I've incorporated navigation magic," he said quietly. "But this result is fascinating." He lowered his hand and turned. "Lyra, inform the rest of the crew. Let's have a meeting."
---------------------------
The corridor lights dimmed as Lyra rerouted nonessential energy. Mana pulses redirected through secondary circuits, and ambient sound was muted. The hall was long, ribbed with arching metal and embedded glyphs. As Therion walked, the glow of his coat's internal runes mirrored the pulse of the Arc Crown still floating beside him, suspended and silent like a moon following its planet.
Doors slid open at the end of the hall, revealing the meeting chamber.
The room was circular, set low like an amphitheater, but built from dense alloy and void glass. A holographical table occupied the center, its ring already active, waiting for data. Tiered seats rose in a gentle arc around it, enough for twenty but rarely filled. Light lines traced concentric circles along the walls designed for projection, shielding, and defense.
Lyra's projection reappeared near the command terminal. "I've summoned the primary crew."
Therion walked to the center platform and set the Arc Crown in its cradle above the holographical table. The cradle accepted it silently, locking it into a low magnetic hover. Glyphs lit up beneath it, reacting immediately. The number still hovered in the air above the device.
Without command, the table synced. Starfields shifted into view. A spiral galaxy rotated lazily in front of him, labeled in clear script: Velas Meridian.
"Center focus," he said.
The projection zoomed in. One arm of the galaxy expanded, then narrowed down to a region marked Inner Core. Lyra highlighted a single red point a world unnamed, unscanned, but now marked by the Arc Crown.
He narrowed his eyes. "Find me a pattern. Cross-reference mana signatures, pre-collapse astral maps, anything related to that region."
"Already working, Captain," Lyra replied. "This level of isolation usually indicates a vault world. Or something deliberately forgotten."
The lights dimmed again slightly as power rerouted toward data synthesis.
Therion stepped back from the table. He folded his arms and waited in the silence. Behind him, mana conduits hummed. Above him, the stars drifted through the chamber dome like distant truths waiting to be named.
The others would arrive soon.
And with them, the questions.