Night settled over Velkaris Prime.
The rain had returned.
Not heavily.
Just enough to make the streets shine beneath the lanterns.
Eryndor regretted every decision that had brought him here.
The address from the letter had led him to an older district.
Quiet.
Almost forgotten.
The kind of place where buildings remembered better days.
A single lantern burned above a narrow doorway.
Nothing marked it.
No sign.
No symbol.
No indication that anyone should be here.
Which meant somebody definitely was.
Eryndor pushed the door open.
A bell chimed.
Inside was a bookstore.
He blinked.
"...A bookstore."
Rows of shelves stretched in every direction.
Dust floated lazily through warm lantern light.
The smell of old paper filled the air.
A fireplace crackled softly near the back wall.
For several seconds he simply stood there.
After everything that had happened recently—
he had expected something more dramatic.
An explosion.
A cult.
An assassination attempt.
Instead—
books.
Thousands of books.
"...Disappointing."
"That's the first time anyone has entered and said that."
Eryndor turned.
An elderly man sat beside the fireplace.
A blanket rested across his lap.
A book lay open in his hands.
He looked completely ordinary.
That immediately made Eryndor suspicious.
The old man closed the book.
"Sit."
Eryndor remained standing.
The old man sighed.
"Fine. Stand dramatically if you must."
Eryndor sat.
The old man nodded approvingly.
"Much better."
The fire crackled.
For a moment neither spoke.
Then:
"You've become quite popular."
"I was hoping to avoid that."
"Most disasters do."
"..."
"..."
Eryndor frowned.
"Are you calling me a disaster?"
"Not intentionally."
"That wasn't reassuring."
The old man smiled.
"No. It wasn't."
He reached for another book.
This one looked ancient.
The leather cover was cracked.
The pages yellowed with age.
He opened it.
Inside were sketches.
Concept Users.
Dozens of them.
Some appeared human.
Others did not.
Several pages were missing.
Torn out.
"Do you know what frightens people most?"
Eryndor shook his head.
The old man tapped the book.
"Not monsters."
Another page turned.
"Not death."
Another.
"Not power."
Then he stopped.
A blank page.
Nothing written.
Nothing drawn.
The old man's eyes narrowed slightly.
"What frightens people most..."
His voice softened.
"...is uncertainty."
The fire suddenly flickered.
Just once.
Eryndor noticed.
So did the old man.
Both looked toward the window.
Outside—
someone was standing in the rain.
Watching the bookstore.
Motionless.
The figure wore a dark coat.
Its face remained hidden.
For several seconds nobody moved.
Then—
the figure turned.
And walked away.
The old man's expression remained calm.
But Eryndor noticed something.
The man's hand had tightened slightly around the book.
Not fear.
Recognition.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Far away—
inside the Scholar Tower—
an alarm began ringing.
Researchers jumped from their desks.
A new signal had appeared.
Not beneath the city.
Not near the tower.
Elsewhere.
Much farther away.
Beyond the borders of the Imperium.
The readings were impossible.
Ancient.
Powerful.
And growing stronger.
Lysandor stared at the projection.
For the first time in days—
he looked genuinely alarmed.
"...No."
A scholar beside him swallowed.
"What is it?"
Lysandor's eyes remained fixed on the display.
His answer came quietly.
"Someone heard the signal."
And somewhere beyond the reach of the Imperium—
something old opened its eyes.