Gabriel's fingers danced over the brass‑rimmed keys, every movement carefully planned, every glyph an extension of his mind.
On the map, the shard's resonance pulsed again, faint and stubborn, hidden deep in the chaos of Donin's occupied wards.
The Empire's core shard, tethered by Damian's own burned ether channels, throbbed in quiet acknowledgment from beneath the palace, a silent twin calling across impossible distance.
Gabriel closed his eyes briefly, feeling the echo through the wards like a heartbeat in his palm. It was faint, the wards already eating at it the moment Damian fused it to the Empire's core.
He opened his eyes again, lashes lowering against the green glow reflected in them, and set his shoulders.
The shard in Donin answered in faint, broken intervals, like listening to a voice underwater, but it was enough. Enough to call to. Enough to wake.
