The global chat wasn't meant to be entertaining. Not for Riku, anyway.
Most sovereigns treated it like a warzone dressed in diplomatic robes—deals half-offered, insults disguised as courtesy, boasts draped in riddles. He only skimmed it, most days. But that morning, the message struck a different chord.
[Nyrran-FLAME] :: "Recovered a blade from a crater beast. Engraved with my sigil—my forge seal, dammit. But it's not mine. Never forged this pattern. Never issued it."
At first, silence followed. Then came the predictable skepticism.
[Druv-Orbit] :: "Yeah, sure. You accidentally discovered the art of ghost smithing."
[Venel-Tide] :: "Copycat tribes. Or lies."
[Redhill-Singh] :: "Could be a mimic drop. Beast bio-fold."
[Nyrran-FLAME] :: "Not a drop. It was buried. Pulled from under scorched roots. The edge was dulled like it's seen use. I KNOW my own work. But I didn't make it."
The room lit up after that. Accusations, theories, one-liners. Several sovereigns claimed similar stories—"I saw my own engraving," or "That formation was from my training drills."
Riku watched from the shadows of the Blackridge command chamber, a blackleaf infusion going cold beside him.
"Something bothering you?" Sira asked. She stood just behind the stone railing, sharpening a hook-knife.
"Read this." He flicked the screen crystal to life, letting her scan the latest exchange.
Sira's brow furrowed. "So… replicas?"
"No," Riku murmured. "Not exact ones. They're similar, but wrong in small ways. Like shadows mimicking shapes they never fully understood."
Kael strode into the chamber, dust clinging to his forge-vest. "I've already had two drills today. No blade imperfections reported."
"That's what I wanted to discuss," Riku said. "We start introducing them."
Kael paused mid-step. "Imperfections?"
"Minor. Unseen unless inspected by the crafter. Pattern inconsistencies in the handle-grain. A misaligned rivet inside the hilt frame."
Kael raised an eyebrow. "You want us to mess up on purpose?"
"I want every weapon tied to us to be traceable. To us. If one shows up where it shouldn't, and it lacks the flaws—then we know."
Sira nodded slowly. "We'll know it didn't come from your forge."
Kael still looked doubtful, but gave a slow nod. "I'll start logging distinct variance tags into the master list. But this… this smells like bleed."
"What kind of bleed?" Riku asked.
"Design echo," Kael said. "Ever since that second glaive turned up—something's been shifting. It's like our actions aren't just watched. They're mirrored. Like a second version of Blackridge is building itself somewhere else."
Sira stepped forward, crossing her arms. "We saw that forge copy. With our blueprints, right down to the chimney stones. The one our scout found but couldn't look into."
"And now," Riku said, "we're seeing our blades. Our formations. Maybe even our training style."
"It's not mimicry," Kael said. "It's not even theft. It's parallel development. But it's… wrong."
They were quiet for a while after that.
The wind outside scraped gently against the stone ridges. Smoke spiraled from the secondary heat vents, glowing faintly orange.
Riku finally spoke. "We've triggered something."
"From the Hollow?" Sira asked.
"Or from deeper. We're past the edge now. Things aren't responding to presence. They're responding to identity. Maybe even potential."
Kael let out a low breath. "Then we're being watched."
"Worse," Riku replied. "We're being measured."
Sira picked up a shard-blade from the table. "Then we give them nothing clean to measure."
Riku gave a small nod. "Exactly."
Kael turned to leave, already thinking about the new variance tags he'd add to tomorrow's blade batch.
Sira lingered, looking at the chat feed.
One last message had appeared. A new user. Not a name Riku recognized.
[USER – VeilMirror] :: "Some of you are starting to see. That's good. The ones who remember before—they never built anything that lasted."
No reply.
No profile trace.
Just that single message.
Riku stared at it long after Sira had gone.
He didn't log off.
Didn't close the chat.
He just whispered to the empty room, "And what are you remembering?"
Then he stood, set his drink aside, and walked down into the forge to mark a blade of his own.
Just in case it ever turned up… somewhere it shouldn't.