The morning sun, now higher above the dense canopy, did little to warm the chill that had settled deep within Jake. Old Man Henderson's words echoed, "Suppression. Pulling inward. Like a star collapsing." Jake sat cross-legged on the illusory rug, eyes squeezed shut, trying to grasp the intangible. He focused inward, seeking the familiar hum of the Locus, the vibrant thrumming that was Aethelred. It felt like a vast, internal ocean, boundless and alive. Henderson had told him to make it shrink, to condense it, to pull it into an infinitely small point within himself.
It was infuriatingly difficult. Every time he tried to compress the energy, it seemed to resist, pushing back, wanting to expand. He felt a throbbing ache behind his temples, a pressure building behind his eyes. It was like trying to hold down a giant, unseen balloon filled with pure, vibrant light. His mind screamed for release, for the familiar rush of creation, but he forced himself to hold, to clench, to dim.
"You're fighting it, boy," Henderson's voice cut through his concentration, calm but firm. "Not against it. With it. Imagine it not as a cage you build around it, but as a breath you hold. The Locus is you, and you are the Locus. Command it. Don't wrestle it."
Jake tried again, shifting his mental image. Not a balloon, but a deep, internal breath. He pictured the light, the energy, drawing inward, consolidating, becoming more concentrated but less expansive. The throbbing eased slightly, replaced by a deep, internal hum, like a distant, powerful engine running at idle. It was still there, vibrant, but quieter, less…loud.
He opened his eyes. Henderson was watching him, a faint nod of approval on his weathered face. "Better. A flicker, not a supernova. Now, maintain it. Hold that state. Feel its pull, and resist the urge to let it blossom."
While Jake grappled with the invisible forces within, Katy sat a few feet away, seemingly focused on her own "anchoring" exercises, but her mind was a whirlwind of worry. She was supposed to be a calm lake, a steady shield for Jake, but inside, a storm was raging.
Their parents. It was a relentless drumbeat in her head. They were on their business trip, gone for a week. They would have called by now, probably multiple times. Katy had left a vague text about being at "a friend's cabin," trying to sound casual, but the thought of their mounting concern gnawed at her. Were they calling their phones, getting no answer? Were they starting to panic? Did they call Aunt Carol? Would they call the police? The idea of police sirens wailing down the narrow, overgrown logging trail, inadvertently leading the Ilinai straight to this cabin, sent a fresh wave of terror through her.
She glanced at Henderson, then at Tiffany, who was sitting stiffly, her eyes unfocused, clearly trying to build her "mental vault." Everyone was focused on their tasks, on this impossible, terrifying reality. But her reality still included her parents. They were oblivious, innocent. And she was lying to them, putting them in danger simply by being here, by having a brother who was a beacon.
The fear for them was almost unbearable. It felt like a physical weight pressing down on her chest, making it hard to breathe. How long could they keep this up? A day? A week? What would happen when their parents eventually came home and found them gone, or, worse, learned why they were gone?
She almost cried out, a scream of frustration and fear building in her throat. She looked at Jake, his brow furrowed in concentration, the faint shimmer of his efforts visible only to her heightened senses. Her distress caused a momentary ripple, a subtle tremor in the air around him. Jake winced, his concentration momentarily broken.
"Katy," Henderson said, his voice sharp, pulling her back. "Your anchor. Your emotions are spilling. Control them. You are distracting him."
Katy flinched, biting her lip. "I'm trying," she whispered, her voice choked. "But our parents… they're going to be so worried. What if they call the police? What if they try to come find us?"
Henderson's expression hardened. "They must not. You understand? They must not. Any official search, any widespread inquiry, is a massive flare. It will draw them like moths to a flame. The Ilinai can infiltrate, they can manipulate, they can follow the faintest lead. We need absolute silence, absolute discretion."
He rose and walked over to Katy, his eyes fixed on hers. "Your parents are safe, for now, precisely because they are ignorant. They are not targets. But if they start digging, if they start asking questions that lead them towards the Cubix, towards you, then they become vulnerabilities. They become a path for the Ilinai to find us. Your love for them must translate into absolute, unwavering secrecy. For their sakes, you must be a rock. You must be silent."
His words were a harsh truth, but they snapped Katy out of her emotional spiral. The thought of endangering her parents further was a potent motivator. She took a deep, shuddering breath, consciously trying to push down the rising tide of panic. She focused on the feeling of the rug beneath her, the scent of pine in the air. She would be an anchor. She had to be. For Jake. For them all.
The rest of the morning passed in a tense, laborious silence, broken only by Henderson's occasional instructions. Jake wrestled with the feeling of the Locus, learning to contract and expand it at will, to make it a contained hum instead of a radiating warmth. It was mentally exhausting, like constantly pushing against an invisible, elastic wall. Katy focused on her breathing, on detaching herself from the frantic worry about her parents, trying to maintain a serene, unwavering internal state, a feat more challenging than any exam she'd ever faced. Tiffany, surprisingly, adapted with a quiet intensity. Her natural guardedness, honed by years of social maneuvering, now served a far more critical purpose. She worked on building mental barriers, visualizing her thoughts as locked vaults, her new knowledge as an impenetrable secret. The fear was still there, but it was slowly being channeled into a fierce determination to survive.
As the sun began to dip towards the western tree line, painting the illusory windows with hues of orange and purple, Jake felt a profound sense of exhaustion. His head throbbed, and his entire body ached from the mental strain. He could feel the Locus within him, still there, still powerful, but now, he could also feel its edges, its containment. It was a flicker, not a beacon. He hoped.
Henderson observed them, a faint, almost imperceptible nod of satisfaction. "Enough for today," he announced, his voice softening. "The first lesson is always the hardest. But you show potential, all of you. Remember what you have learned. Remember the stakes."
The illusory dining table reappeared, laden with another simple but perfectly conjured meal. As they ate, the silence was still heavy, but it was a different kind of silence now. Not one of shock, but of grim, shared purpose. They were still terrified, still overwhelmed, but they had taken the first step. They were no longer just prey. They were learning how to hide. How to survive. The summer, once a symbol of freedom, had become a relentless, terrifying training ground, and the hunt had truly begun.