The Conclave shivered under the lingering pulse of the anomaly. Platforms rocked like restless water, shards spun in erratic loops, and the air thrummed with tension. Aric's gray eyes flicked across the chaos, tracing invisible threads with practiced precision. His fingers moved almost independently, weaving threads that pulled tremors back into alignment, balancing shards and stabilizing each swaying platform.
Lyra hovered midair, shards spinning around her in a controlled blur. Her black hair clung damply to her face, strands plastered to her temple. "I swear, these shards are conspiring," she muttered, swiping at a looping fragment. "Like they have their own vendetta against me. You ever feel like that?"
Aric smirked faintly. "They probably do."
Above them, the kid floated, bells jingling softly. Every movement, no matter how small, rippled through the Conclave. Their guide's pale hands traced micro-gestures that stabilized minor tremors before they could propagate. Aric had learned to feel these subtle corrections—the tiny nudges that only a master observer could provide. The kid wasn't just helping; they were orchestrating, teaching, testing, guiding.
"Convergence points shifting faster than predicted," their guide said, voice light but unnervingly precise. "Stability at risk. Response necessary."
Lyra tilted her head. "Necessary?" she said, eyes narrowing. "You mean 'prepare for chaos or die trying.'"
The kid's bells chimed faintly. "Observation requires exposure. Learning is incomplete without response. Adaptation encouraged."
Aric's pulse quickened. Every flicker of the kid's hands carried weight, every subtle adjustment hinted at understanding far beyond their apparent form. Patterns in the anomaly bent toward the kid's influence, yet never fully obeyed. The subtle teaching was deliberate, pushing them to act while remaining in control.
A spike of the anomaly erupted from the central pool, a shard spinning like a captured star. Aric shot his hands forward, tugging threads in impossible angles, countering the pull of the chaos. The shard veered dangerously close to the edge of a platform.
Lyra lunged, twisting midair, catching it with a flick of her wrist. "Gotcha!" she shouted, breathless but laughing. "You little monster, trying to make me look bad!"
The kid floated silently, guiding the tremor beneath her landing. Bells jingled faintly, steady and precise. "Deviation corrected. Probability of harm reduced. Observation continues."
Aric's focus sharpened. Patterns emerged now, tiny inconsistencies that the kid allowed. Certain platforms tilted more than they should, forcing Aric and Lyra to react, to adapt, to learn. Their guide's influence was everywhere and nowhere, shaping the chaos into a test.
Lyra wiped her brow with the back of her hand. "I don't know whether to thank them or punch them. Seriously, who teaches by almost killing you?"
Aric only tightened his grip on the threads. "Better alive than unskilled," he muttered, though he couldn't hide the thought that the kid's subtlety hid something older, wiser, more dangerous than he could yet measure.
The anomaly shifted again, ripples spreading outward. Small rifts opened on the edges of platforms, scattering shards in unpredictable arcs. Even with their careful coordination, chaos threatened to take a foothold.
"Outer platforms, Aric," Lyra shouted, spinning shards like blades. "If I fall, I'm blaming you for not stabilizing the center!"
Aric's hands traced patterns, weaving a web of threads that pulled shards back, balancing the movement. Above him, the kid adjusted micro-gestures, each one preventing tremors from propagating. They were everywhere at once, a conductor invisible to most, but clear to him now.
The kid's bells jingled sharply, drawing Aric's attention. Their guide moved toward the anomaly, fingers outstretched in delicate arcs. A shard reacted, spinning higher, almost as if acknowledging their presence. Aric felt a chill. The kid was not only guiding—they were recognized, even by the anomaly itself.
Lyra frowned, following his gaze. "Are you seeing this?"
Aric didn't answer immediately. His eyes were fixed on the faint shimmer of the shard, hovering unusually close to the kid. "Yes," he said finally. "And that is not coincidence."
The kid adjusted a subtle tremor beneath the platform. Bells chimed faintly. Every movement seemed effortless, almost playful, but there was weight behind it. A ripple of authority that Aric felt deep in his chest. The kid wasn't just helping—they were evaluating, teaching, gauging readiness.
A shard from the anomaly flickered in response. For a heartbeat, it projected a faint ghostly reflection. Aric blinked. The image resembled the kid, yet warped, larger, and somehow older. Then it vanished before Lyra or Aric could react.
Lyra's lips parted in surprise. "Did you see that?"
Aric nodded, gray eyes narrowing. "I did. And I don't like it. There's more to our guide than they let on."
The kid's gaze flicked toward him briefly, pale and unreadable. Bells chimed softly, almost like a warning. Then they returned to stabilizing the platforms, hands moving in micro-gestures that could have gone unnoticed by anyone else.
The anomaly surged again. This time, multiple shards rose simultaneously, spinning like fragments of fractured stars. Platforms trembled, some tilting enough to threaten collapse. Lyra shouted, guiding shards with precise taps, each movement mirrored and amplified by the kid's subtle adjustments.
The kid darted between platforms, a blur of motion and authority, guiding tremors and adjusting shards. Every micro-gesture prevented disaster, but also forced Aric and Lyra to act, to think, to adapt. Their guide was orchestrating the chaos, shaping the team's responses, and testing them without a word of explanation.
Aric inhaled, following every shift, feeling the pulse of the Conclave beneath him. There was something deliberate in the way the kid let certain platforms wobble—subtle lessons wrapped in danger.
Lyra landed hard on a platform, exhaling sharply. "I swear, I'm going to get grey hairs doing this," she muttered, brushing damp hair from her face. "I don't even care if I survive. I want a medal or something."
Aric allowed a small, ghost of a smile. "Better grey than dead."
The kid's bells chimed softly, a faint vibration that felt like amusement. Their pale eyes flickered in a way that suggested awareness beyond their years, something ancient hidden beneath youthful form.
A central shard, larger than any they had seen before, emerged from the pool of liquid light. Its patterns shimmered like liquid metal folding over itself, reflecting the Conclave's chaos back at them. The kid paused briefly, bells ringing sharply. Even their guide seemed to hesitate before this shard.
"Probability of collapse extremely high," their guide whispered. "Immediate response required."
Aric adjusted threads, Lyra guided shards, and the kid's hands traced invisible micro-gestures, preventing disaster. The shard hovered a centimeter above the pool before finally settling, creating only a ripple. Lyra sagged, exhausted but laughing. "I thought we were dead. That was… insane."
Aric allowed himself a ghost of a smile. "This is only the beginning."
The kid floated above them, bells chiming faintly. Pale eyes held secrets, knowledge withheld, power restrained. They did not speak their name. They never did.
Aric felt it like a warning and a promise. One day, he would know the truth about their guide. One day, the kid's secrets would surface.
The Conclave pulsed around them, alive, mysterious, infinitely dangerous. And the next test was already beginning.