When they appeared the mountain buzzed with activity. The Ghost Web stood prepared for its delicate launch.
Inside the strategy chamber currently called the "Web Hub " Celeste positioned herself in the middle of a ring of runes carved into the ground. Kuro moved swiftly along the edge fine-tuning the crystalline foci at the moment. Morgan, Sierra and Tania stood by communication terminals connected to radios serving as a contingency if the psychic connection broke down.
Cassiathon positioned himself across from Celeste. He was the energy origin. The transmitter.
"This will be a murmur, not a yell " Celeste cautioned him her expression with focus. "We're merely connecting the relays: Kaelen for the Sun-Striders, Elder Wynn for Hope's Respite Head Archivist Finn, for the Athenaeum. Three nodes. A triangle. The basic stable figure."
"Prepared " Cassiathon stated. He shut his eyes locating the inner arrangement—the pair of rivers, streaming. He refrained from pulling from them. Instead he allowed a small regulated offshoot from each to merge at one spot, in his mind forming a low-energy mix: the carrier wave.
He concentrated on the idea of linkage. Of goals. Of a spoken message sent over a vast space.
He released it.
Within the Web Hub the symbols etched on the floor glowed with a continuous silver radiance. Celeste inhaled sharply her hands lifting as though cradling a unseen framework. "I sense them… Kaelen's concentration… Wynn's careful optimism… Finn's inquisitive accuracy… The connection remains intact!"
On the control panels confirmation indicators flashed. Predetermined codes were received via the radios: Striders safe. Respite maintaining position. Athenaeum active.
The Phantom Web existed.
It was an achievement. Yet at the peak of victory Cassiathon sensed it—a unmistakable tension along the canyon walls, within him. A slight seep of wear. The Ghost Web would continuously sap an amount of energy. Manageable,. A constant sign of his limitations.
He opened his eyes. "Its functioning. Now we wait."
Their wait was brief.
Two hours afterward the initial significant Abyssal strike struck not the mountain. The most vulnerable area in the fledgling Compact: a tiny newly-discovered farming community named Greenhaven still outside the Web. The assault was a Raziel hammer-blow—swift, fierce and overpowering. Their first alert was a call, for aid broadcast over the open radio frequencies.
"They'll be eliminated before any troops reach the site " Sierra conveyed, her expression.
Cassiathon examined the map. Greenhaven lay beyond the Web yet remained inside the reach" of Hope's Respite's relay Elder Wynn.
"Is it possible to use the Web?" he inquired of Celeste. "Not, for deploying troops. To deliver… a caution. A barrier of resolve."
Celeste shook her head. "Wynn lacks training. The signal would be too rudimentary. It could only transmit fear."
"Then I'll transmit it " Cassiathon stated. He concentrated on Elder Wynn's trace within the Web, a consistent glowing ember of determination. He refrained from speaking. Instead he dispatched a packet: a condensed surge of meaning—the vision of the Sun-Striders embracing their true existences the sensation of the Real-Memory Pulse, the idea of unity. He sent it through the connection, to Wynn not as an order. As a token of empowerment.
At Hope's Respite, from Greenhaven Elder Wynn abruptly stirred in her seat. She would later recall it as a "intense recollection of the reason we battle." Without any notion of how she sensed that Greenhaven was being assaulted. She hurried to the Respite's wall summoned all defenders and took the one action available, to her: she guided them in a resolute booming shout—an expression of the united resolve Cassiathon had inspired.
Within the Web Hub, Cassiathon still connected sensed the joy pulsating through Wynn's interface. He boosted it returning it to the Web allowing it to reverberate.
In Greenhaven encircled by demons the anxious farmers heard no sounds.. They sensed something. An abrupt unexplainable burst of bravery a feeling that others stood with them. It didn't grant them arms or abilities. However it strengthened their determination. They battled with an unity that caught the demonic forces off guard gaining valuable time.
Those moments sufficed. A Sun-Strider scout team, warned by the radio alert and speeding on skimmers topped a ridge. Opened suppressing fire. The demon squad anticipating a victory encountered a hardened defense and unforeseen backup. They retreated, dissolving into the wasteland.
Greenhaven remained. Frightened, bruised, yet upright.
The news spread swiftly throughout the Compact. The Ghost Web had accomplished more, than communication. It had taken action.
However in the Hub Cassiathon rested against a wall panting. The strain of extended-range empathy via the Web had drained him more, than just sustaining the connection. A significant portion of his canyon wall had eroded noticeably.
"It works," he panted, a triumphant, weary smile on his face. "But it has a price. We need more relays. More people to share the load. We can't just be a network. We need to become a chorus."