He Merged.
Not fully—his Confluence wouldn't bear it—but enough to borrow Stone Mantle. His skin learned the first line of rock's poem: resist, then rest. The slide became a stubborn stall; his boot found a lip; his weight made a slow argument and won. He didn't fall. He changed where falling was allowed.
[SEQ] Umbra Bind — Success (Relic).
[SEQ] Acquired: Gargouille Mantle (Relic Umbra)
[SEQ] Merge: Stone Mantle (I) — short duration; +stability; +impact tolerance.
He tested the Merge at the smallest scale: stood upright on the slope and let the angle consider changing its mind. It did not. Stone liked being respected. He and it had that in common.
A gust shoulder-checked the roof without apology. The city below made fewer sounds than a story told well. The river's breath convinced gutters to settle partnerships they had left undecided since noon.
By the chimney, a skein of tarred string snapped in the wind like a bad idea. If it loosed, it would skitter to the street and perform bureaucracy with ankles. He crabbed across and tucked the string under a tile, promising the tile to keep a secret.
He took two slow breaths, set his palm once more on the gargouille's brow—not claiming, only acknowledging—and returned to the hatch. The hinge accepted a second thank you.
Patricia waited by the window with the sort of patience that defeats danger. She didn't ask where he'd been. She scanned knees, elbows, and angles the way mothers read tides. Finding no harm, she ladled soup and salted it at the last possible moment, the way saints forgive late sins.
Thibault burst in ten minutes later smelling like cards and victory he wasn't allowed to keep. "Rule," he declared. "Do not gamble with men who say luck is a woman unless you are willing to meet his mother."
Christian, who hadn't left the workshop but had argued with brass and won twice, tapped a lamp cage with his knuckle. "And never trust a fitting that promises to become a different metal when praised."
They ate. They existed. It was enough.
Later, when the house had practiced the first act of sleeping, Thomas lay awake and inspected the new thread of attention in him—the one that led to a stone mouth on a roof. If he tugged, weight would consider him. He did not tug.
[SEQ] Merge unlocked — Stone Mantle (I).
[SEQ] Duration: brief. Cooldown: long. Synergy: Fall, Impact, Stability.
Morning returned with a sense of work. On the way to bread, the old chalk lady tapped a tic onto his sleeve as if knighting him for services to gravity. "Count your downspouts," she advised Patricia. "Bad luck climbs."
"We have a gargouille," Patricia said, deadpan.
"Bon," the woman said, satisfied.
Back home, Thomas tested a private, tiny Merge—borrowing steadiness to pour water from a heavy pot into a narrow bottle without asking the bottle to forgive his aim. Not magic. Courtesy. The bottle accepted the world with dignity.
In the afternoon, wind shouldered the courtyard a second time and found the roof ready. He pictured the gargouille's weight traveling through slate into beam into wall into floor into him. A polite cascade of confidence.
Sequana brushed the edge of him—a pressure like a nod. Rivers approve of people who treat falling as math and roofs as allies.
He wrote nothing down. He didn't need to. The city keeps copies.
Night returned with fewer arguments. Before sleep, he set his palm to the wall and felt the faintest echo of stone-mouth patience waiting above him: a presence that would meet impact with ethics and teach ankles humility.
A last pane arrived, tidy as a receipt.
[SEQ] Lore — Gargouilles (Eaves & Weight).
[SEQ] Tags: Height, Wind, Patience.
He let the pane go and the dark settle. The gargouille guarded the rain; he guarded the room. Between them, fall remembered where to land.