Eryndor spent the next hour attempting to convince himself that the woman with the moving shadows had not existed.
This strategy failed immediately.
Mainly because reality had recently developed a habit of making impossible things exist anyway.
The lower district café was crowded.
Workers.
Merchants.
Students.
A man passionately arguing with a chair.
Nobody seemed particularly concerned about the last one.
The chair appeared to be winning.
Eryndor sat near the window nursing another cup of coffee.
The same poisonous local blend.
He was beginning to suspect the owner hated customers.
Across the room, two scholars argued loudly.
"...I'm telling you, the street disappeared."
"It did not."
"It did."
"Then where is it?"
"That's the problem."
The second scholar paused.
"...Fair."
Eryndor sighed.
The city was becoming increasingly difficult to distinguish from insanity.
Then someone sat across from him.
Without asking.
Eryndor looked up.
And immediately regretted it.
Gray-violet eyes.
Long black hair.
Calm expression.
The same woman.
The shadows beneath the table stretched slightly.
Not aggressively.
Almost curiously.
For several seconds neither spoke.
Finally:
"...This seat was empty."
The woman glanced around.
The café was full.
"...Not anymore."
Eryndor hated how reasonable that sounded.
She ordered tea.
The waiter arrived.
Placed the cup down.
Then frowned.
"...When did you get here?"
The woman smiled politely.
"I walked through the door."
The waiter stared for a moment.
Then accepted the explanation and left.
Eryndor watched him go.
"...That shouldn't have worked."
"It usually does."
The conversation somehow became more concerning.
For several moments they sat quietly.
Then the woman spoke.
"You can see the Threads."
Not a question.
Eryndor nearly dropped his cup.
"...What Threads?"
"That answer would be more convincing if your eyes hadn't moved upward first."
Silence.
"...Who are you?"
The woman considered the question.
"A traveler."
"That's not an answer."
"It was technically an answer."
Eryndor immediately understood why people became violent.
Across the room, a customer accidentally walked into a wall.
Not because he was distracted.
Because the wall had briefly disagreed about being there.
Nobody reacted.
The woman took a sip of tea.
"...You should leave the lower districts soon."
Eryndor frowned.
"Why?"
"Because several groups have begun searching for you."
That got his attention.
"The Church?"
"Yes."
"The Scholars?"
"Yes."
"The Imperium?"
"Unfortunately."
Eryndor sighed.
"Anyone else?"
The woman paused.
For the first time, uncertainty appeared in her eyes.
"...Possibly."
That answer somehow worried him the most.
Outside the café, rain began falling.
Inside, conversations continued.
Workers complained about wages.
Students complained about exams.
Merchants complained about taxes.
Reality complained about existence.
A normal day in Velkaris Prime.
Then suddenly—
every shadow in the room moved.
Only once.
The change was subtle.
Tiny.
Almost invisible.
Yet every instinct inside Eryndor screamed.
The woman set her cup down slowly.
For the first time since arriving—
her expression became serious.
"...Interesting."
"What is?"
She looked toward the window.
Toward the distant city center.
The shadows around her feet tightened slightly.
Something was happening.
Something unexpected.
Far away—
inside the Scholar Tower—
every observation array activated simultaneously.
Researchers jumped from their desks.
"What happened?"
The projections flickered.
One image appeared repeatedly.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Not the underground city.
Not the fracture.
Not Eryndor.
A location.
A forgotten district beneath the city.
One erased from official maps decades ago.
Lysandor stared at the projection.
"...Impossible."
Selyra's eyes narrowed.
"No."
A pause.
"Merely buried."
Meanwhile—
deep beneath Velkaris Prime—
an ancient door opened.
Not the first door.
Not the second.
Not one anyone knew existed.
A third.
And from the darkness beyond it—
something stepped into the underground city.
Human.
At least outwardly.
The ancient fractured clock above the city moved again.
This time—
three hands shifted.
And for reasons none of them understood—
every person capable of perceiving Threads felt the same thing.
A new player had entered the board.