The interior of the hauler had been transformed. Pim's holographic displays were now dominated by a single, rotating schematic: the Aether-City Central Processing Station Gamma-7. It was a brutalist cube of blackened plasteel, depicted as a nest of overlapping security layers—resonance fences, automated plasma turrets, and patrol routes of Guard Hounds, sleek, four-legged drones with integrated stun-prods.
"Corbin is here," Pim stated, zooming in on a sub-level labeled 'Psi-Holding.' "Scheduled for 'Metaphysical Re-alignment' in seventy-two hours. That's Guard-speak for having your Nexus forcibly drained and your personality wiped."
Elara stood with her arms crossed, her gaze fixed on the schematic. "We can't get to the Echo without a Pathfinder. Corbin is the best. He can feel the weak points in the Weave, the folds in space a normal Spinner would miss. We need him."
Rork grunted, his massive arms folded. "Assaulting a fortified Guard station is suicide. Even with our new… asset." He nodded toward Kaelen, but his tone was skeptical. "One wrong move, and we trigger a full lockdown. Then it's just a matter of time before a Sentinel folds in and turns us into paste."
"We're not assaulting it," Elara said, a sharp smile touching her lips. She manipulated the hologram, highlighting a different area: a loading bay. "We're hijacking the prison transport. It's a shielded vehicle, scheduled to move a batch of 'high-value assets'—including Corbin—to the central citadel for processing. We hit it during transit. It's our only window."
All eyes turned to Kaelen. He understood the unspoken question. The plan hinged on him. Again.
"The transport will have a resonance shield," Pim explained. "It creates a bubble of 'real' space that's incredibly difficult for a Space-Spinner to penetrate. It also acts as a sophisticated scanner, sniffing out any Nexus signatures that get too close."
"Your job," Elara said, her voice low and intent, "is to be a ghost. Not just to hide us, but to make the transport's sensors believe we aren't there. You edited a Sentinel's technique. Can you edit sensor data?"
Kaelen looked inward. His Loom was stable, a solid foundation upon which his will could stand. The Spark hummed, offering not power, but understanding. He saw the problem not as a physical barrier, but as a data stream. The sensors would be looking for specific energy patterns—the unique resonance of a cultivated Nexus.
"I don't need to fool the sensors," Kaelen said, the plan forming in his mind as he spoke. "I need to fool the space the sensors are reading. I need to create a… a blind spot in reality itself. A pocket where the rules of resonance don't apply."
He focused on the air around Elara. He didn't try to make her invisible. Instead, he imposed a new, localized axiom on the Aether immediately surrounding her body.
[NEXUS_RESONANCE = NULL]
It was a subtle, constant edit, like maintaining a low hum. He felt the drain on his Loom, a steady, manageable pull. To his eyes, nothing changed. But Pim gasped, his eyes wide on his scanner.
"Her resonance… it's gone," he whispered. "The scanner reads her as one of the Unwoven."
Elara raised an eyebrow, impressed. "How long can you hold that? And how big an area can you cover?"
Kaelen let the effect drop, the strain dissipating. "The hauler? I think so. For a short time. But it will require all my focus. I won't be able to do anything else."
"You won't have to," Elara said, her smile widening. "That's what the rest of us are for. You create the opening, and we'll punch through."
For the next forty-eight hours, the scrapyard safehouse was a hive of focused activity. Rork and Pim worked on the hauler, reinforcing its armor and calibrating its jamming systems. Elara drilled them on the plan, running through every conceivable variable.
And Kaelen practiced. He expanded his "resonance null" field from a single person, to a crate, to the entire hauler. He learned to make the effect a passive, "sticky" field that clung to the concept of the objects and people he was protecting, rather than a constant, active projection. It was an exercise in finesse and efficiency, a stark contrast to the brute-force editing he had used in the tunnel. He was learning to use a scalpel instead of a sledgehammer.
On the eve of the operation, a heavy silence fell over the team. They were a handful of misfits and fugitives about to strike a direct blow at the most powerful regime on the planet. The weight of it was a physical presence in the air.
Kaelen looked at them—the cynical Luck-Weaver, the stoic cyborg, the nervous tech-genius. They were risking everything, not for a grand cause, but for one man. For the chance of a path to safety. He was no longer just a passenger, a victim of circumstance. The power he cultivated, the Loom he was building, it was for this. To protect. To fight back.
He was no longer just the Axiom. He was becoming their Axiom.