The twelfth anchor was beneath it.
He could feel it — the primary cage anchor, the one that had been directing the Warden's output at the Shroud suppression function for thirty years, the connection between the cage and its contents, the last thing standing between an uncontrolled Warden and sixty thousand people.
He crossed the sanctum in ten seconds.
Pressed the Key of Depths to the altar's base.
The stone opened.
The twelfth anchor burned in the space beneath — brighter than anything he'd seen in the Veil work, the full weight of the Warden's caged presence concentrated into a single architectural point, pale and cold and radiating the between-space quality that he recognized from his own Class.
He reached into the channel.
The Warden reached back.
