The alarm still echoed through the night like a metal beast trying to wake the entire city. Arin felt the reverberation in his bones—sharp, cold, too close to the hum he had felt when the Beckoned first appeared. His connection didn't flare, not fully, but it stirred like someone brushing fingertips across the surface of a still pond.
Bram swore softly and pulled down three hanging lanterns. They brightened with a pale blue glow, casting soft halos through the greenhouse's leafy interior.
"Everyone away from the windows," Bram ordered. "If the flare came from the northern sector, the Watch will deploy gliders and hounds. They track heat and Weave residue. I'd prefer to avoid all three."
Kael stepped forward, grabbing a metal tool tray and sliding it across the ground to jam the lower hatch. "If they breach, they'll start from the vents or the side panels. The greenhouse sits on old foundations, right? We can barricade the east panels with those storage crates."
Bram squinted at him. "And you know this because…?"
Kael shrugged, rolling his sleeves to his elbows. "Because I've had more than one reason in my life to hide from the Watch. Don't ask."
"Wasn't planning to," Bram muttered.
Arin stood still in the center of the warm, humid room, trying not to panic. His connection pulsed faintly—not dangerous, just aware. Like the Weave had turned its head slightly in his direction.
Lira noticed. "Hey." She stepped close. "You breathe normally or I'll make you. We're fine. You're fine. Focus on my voice."
He tried. Her presence steadied him more than he expected.
Kael dropped a crate beside them. "If he passes out, I'm not carrying him. Just saying."
Arin almost laughed. "Nice to know I'm in good hands."
"You're in many hands," Kael corrected, scanning the windows, "but only two of them are competent, and they're both hers." He gestured at Lira.
Lira elbowed him lightly. "You're helping more than you pretend."
"I pretend for my own dignity."
Bram clapped loudly, cutting across their bickering.
"Enough. Sit—all of you. If the Watch comes, they won't storm the place without sending scouts first. That gives us time. And you"—he pointed at Arin—"are in no state to be pacing holes in my floor."
Arin lowered himself into a chair surrounded by tall, glassy blue plants that hummed faintly. The humming melted into the sound of Bram rustling through books and scrolls.
Kael leaned against a workbench, arms folded, gaze sweeping the room like a seasoned guard. But even with his vigilance, his voice carried a dry ease.
"So, Bram. You said Arin's an Anchor. That usually comes with, what—prophecies? Destiny? A dramatic haircut?"
"Kael," Lira groaned.
"What? I'm gathering intel."
Bram shot him a glare. "If you're finished being insufferable, I'll explain."
Kael smirked. "I'm never finished."
But he fell silent when Bram lowered the old tome onto the desk with reverence.
The pages opened themselves with a faint whisper, guided by a soft glow. Drawings—inked in ancient strokes—shifted subtly as if reacting to Bram's touch.
Arin leaned forward. "These are… alive?"
"Not alive," Bram corrected. "Attuned. Old Weave-script is never completely still. It remembers the hand that created it."
Kael whistled under his breath. "Your library is terrifying."
"It should be."
Bram flipped to a page marked with a sliver of pressed goldleaf. Three figures were inked there:
– one wrapped in light
– one dissolving into mist
– one rooted to the ground by long threads like roots
Bram tapped the last figure.
"This is an Anchor."
The room seemed to hold its breath.
Arin's chest tightened. "What does that mean? In plain words."
Bram folded his arms. "It means the Weave can stabilize itself through you when forces—internal or external—cause imbalance."
Kael raised a brow. "Imbalance like fissures opening in the street and glowing cocoons popping out?"
"Yes," Bram said grimly. "Imbalance exactly like that."
"So the Beckoned—" Lira started.
"—is a messenger," Bram finished. "Or a warning. Or both. They appear only when the Weave is preparing for… upheaval."
Kael muttered, "Great. Love a good impending doom."
Bram shot him a look. "I haven't even reached the bad part yet."
Lira leaned forward, fingers tightening on the edge of the table. "Then reach it."
Bram hesitated. That alone unsettled all three of them.
Finally, he continued:
"Anchors are not chosen. They are awakened."
Arin shivered. "Awakened how?"
"By proximity to destabilizing forces," Bram said. "Or by contact with something ancient. Something older than the Weave itself."
Kael clicked his tongue. "That sounds like the kind of thing people shouldn't be touching. Ever."
"Correct," Bram said. "But Arin didn't touch anything. Something touched him."
The words made the air heavier.
Arin's pulse sped up. "But my connection—it's weak. Barely reacting. Doesn't that mean the Beckoned made a mistake?"
Bram shook his head. "No, boy. It means your awakening isn't complete. The reaction will grow with exposure. Or with stress. Or with fear."
"So basically everything happening tonight," Kael said.
"Yes," Bram replied with painful honesty.
Lira steadied Arin's shoulder. "But he's not glowing or collapsing. That's something."
Arin swallowed. "How long until the awakening finishes?"
"That varies." Bram paced. "Could be weeks. Could be days. Could be minutes. Anchors aren't exactly… predictable."
Kael let out a low whistle. "So he's a walking unstable magical fulcrum. Fantastic."
Bram glared. "If you're going to keep commenting, make yourself useful."
"I am useful," Kael said. "I'm the only one here who isn't having an existential crisis."
Bram ignored him and began rummaging through drawers. Scrolls clattered. Metal cups rattled. Something like glass shattered.
"Ah. Found it!" He held up a small crystal prism. Inside it, threads of light coiled gently. "This will measure how far the awakening has progressed."
Kael leaned in. "And if it explodes?"
"It won't."
"Have you tested it?"
"That is entirely beside the point."
Lira groaned. "Just give it to Arin."
Bram handed it over. The moment Arin's fingers touched the prism, the threads inside shifted—slow at first, then brighter, almost curious. A faint warmth spread through Arin's hand, crawling up his arm like waking limbs.
Kael straightened. "That normal?"
Bram tilted his head. "Yes. Or no. Or—well—it depends."
"On what?" Arin demanded.
"On how much the Beckoned marked you."
Arin's heart dropped. "Marked me?"
Lira stepped closer again. Kael moved subtly too—his posture unchanged, but his attention sharp.
Bram opened another book and placed it beside the first.
"Beckoned can recognize Anchors before they awaken," he explained. "Some are drawn to them. Some try to warn them. And some… bind to them."
Kael's voice grew flat. "Bind how? Because I'm not liking the direction this is going."
Bram didn't answer immediately. He turned to a page showing an Anchor with a thin thread of light connecting it to a cocooned figure.
Arin stared. "Is that—"
"Yes," Bram said quietly. "A Beckoned binding."
Arin's breath caught. "But why me? I'm not strong. I'm not—"
"You're not nothing," Lira cut in.
Kael nodded. "You're a pain, but you're our pain."
Arin would have smiled, if he had the heart.
Bram pressed forward. "Anchors are chosen because they can survive the strain. The Weave doesn't pick randomly—it picks those it knows are receptive and won't break."
Arin shook his head. "I don't feel unbreakable."
"No one does," Bram said softly. "Not before it matters."
They all fell quiet.
Outside, the distant alarm faded, replaced by the low hum of gliders sweeping through the district.
Kael moved first, checking the windows again. "If they're in search patterns, they're scanning for residue. Arin touched that Beckoned. He'll leave a trail."
Bram nodded. "Which is why we stay put until the sweep passes. The greenhouse is saturated with Weave flora. It'll mask his signature."
Lira exhaled. "So we wait."
"No," Bram corrected. "We prepare."
He pulled a thick scroll from a drawer and spread it across the table. It opened into a hologram of a map—intricate, filled with fractal diagrams and glowing lines that traced through the city.
Arin blinked. "Is that… Caelum's Weave structure?"
"Yes," Bram replied. "As recorded three centuries ago. And this—" he unfurled a second sheet atop it "—is the updated structure from twenty years ago."
Kael frowned. "They aren't the same."
"They are not," Bram said darkly. "And that is the problem."
Lira leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "The Weave is shifting."
"Not just shifting," Bram said. "It's collapsing inward at several points. Pressure nodes forming where none should exist. Something is forcing the Weave to constrict."
Kael rubbed his jaw. "Something like a Beckoned rising from the ground?"
"Perhaps. Or something driving the Beckoned upward." Bram tapped the oldest diagram. "Anchors appear when the Weave anticipates a fracture too large for the Circles to mend."
Lira swallowed. "Meaning the High Circle has no idea this is happening."
"Correct."
"And if they find out Arin is tied to it—"
"They'll take him," Bram finished. "For study. Containment. Possibly dissection, if they suspect corruption."
Kael stepped protectively in front of Arin. "Not happening."
Bram lifted both hands. "Which is why you are all here. Safe. For now."
Arin wiped his palms on his cloak. "What do we do next?"
Bram took a slow breath.
"We identify the Beckoned. We trace where it came from. And we discover what triggered your awakening."
Kael crossed his arms. "And then?"
Bram's amber eyes sharpened.
"Then we uncover who in Caelum is tampering with the Weave."
The greenhouse felt suddenly smaller.
Arin whispered, "You think someone caused this?"
"I think someone welcomed it," Bram replied. "And if they did… they'll be hunting you."
Kael's jaw tightened. "Then we hunt back."
Lira placed a hand on her blade. "Together."
Arin nodded, though fear flickered behind his ribs.
For the first time, he felt the weight of the word the Beckoned had whispered.
Anchor.
A role he had never asked for but couldn't now refuse.
Bram closed the ancient tome with finality.
"Rest while you can," he said quietly. "Because tonight was only the first tremor."
And outside, through fogged glass and whispering leaves, Caelum pulsed faintly—as if the city itself was waiting for what came next.