Alex steadied himself at the base of the plinth.
He set his feet carefully avoiding fissures in the ground.
Up close the disc dissolved into layers.
Three concentric rings were set into the surface, separated by thin gaps stained a muted red. The outer ring bore seven simple characters, shallow and evenly spaced.
The second ring held dozens of glyphs, each one incorporating fragments of the first, recombined and distorted.
The innermost ring was littered with scratches, its markings fractured beyond easy comparison. Any clear connection to the other rings was nearly impossible to trace.
He fixed his attention on the glyphs, not drawing another breath.
The glyphs responded, drawing the power of his runes toward them.
All except tempus.
— — —
Alex studied the glyphs without touching them.
The outer band was intact. Clean. Its seven characters repeated with minor variation, as if they had never needed to change.
The second ring complicated them.
Fragments of the first appeared there, broken apart and reassembled into longer sequences.
The innermost ring resisted him.
Its surface was scarred with shallow cuts, the glyphs worn down into half-forms and dead ends. Whatever structure had once existed there had been disrupted, not erased, but dragged out of alignment. It felt unfinished. Interrupted.
Alex's gaze lingered.
Damage implied history. History implied use.
He glanced again at the outer ring, then back to the center. The red gaps between them were uniform, unremarkable. Nothing marked a clear beginning. Nothing suggested an order.
But the pull in his chest tightened as his attention returned inward.
The glyphs there did not resolve. They demanded inference.
Alex inhaled slowly.
Simple symbols taught nothing new. Repetition was safe. Familiar.
Growth came from synthesis.
He reached for the disc.
Star magic flowed without friction, his runes answering the call as soon as intent formed. The innermost ring shifted beneath his touch, rotating with a muted click. The mechanism adjusted, precise and accommodating.
Nothing interfered.
The telescope's barrel realigned by a fraction.
Alex did not smile.
But the tension in his shoulders eased.
The adjustment was subtle.
The telescope did not hum. It did not flare. No surge of light followed the movement. Only a soft settling ran through the structure, metal easing against metal as the gears accepted their new alignment.
Alex waited.
Nothing collapsed.
Nothing resisted.
He exhaled through his nose and reached again.
This time, he did not touch the outer ring.
The second ring turned under his hand with the same compliance, its glyphs sliding past one another in slow procession. As it moved, the innermost ring responded in kind, rotating a fraction further without direct contact.
Coupled.
That mattered.
Alex paused, watching the red gaps between the bands. They did not widen. They did not narrow. The spacing remained exact, indifferent to how the rings shifted.
The runes along his arms grew warm, not brighter—focused. The sensation was familiar. Alignment, not exertion. The kind of feedback systems gave when a solution approached completion.
He leaned closer to the barrel.
Through the lens, the stone beyond the aperture darkened. Not obscured—receding. Depth bled into the surface, layers of distance folding inward until the wall no longer read as solid.
Stars flickered at the edge of perception.
Not constellations.
Not motion.
Possibility.
Alex's hand stilled.
He could stop here.
The mechanism was active now. Responsive. Whatever remained misaligned would correct itself with further adjustment. He had felt systems like this before—half-finished states that punished hesitation more than error.
He tightened his grip.
One more turn.
The innermost ring rotated again, scratches sliding beneath his palm. The resistance he expected never came. Instead, the pull sharpened, his runes settling into a configuration that felt deliberate. Final.
The telescope shifted.
This time, the gears did not simply settle.
They locked.
A quiet sound followed. Not a click.
A seal.
Alex straightened slowly, eyes still fixed on the lens.
Whatever the telescope had been waiting for—
it had been given.
— — —