Morning in the Old Harbor District reeked of rust and sea salt. Eloise and her companions lay hidden on the third floor of an abandoned warehouse, watching the street through shattered panes of glass. In the distance, the spire of the Museum of World Wonders loomed faintly within the morning fog—yet every trace of the previous night's battle had been erased by some unseen authority. There were no police cordons, no investigators, not even the usual fishermen heading out to sea. The city behaved as though nothing had happened.
"This isn't normal," Leon muttered, reassembling his modified nail-gun from scorched components. "A soul-energy surge of that scale would never escape the notice of the Thaumaturgical Society."
Redmond sat atop a stack of burlap sacks, chin resting in her hands, amber eyes fixed on the street. "Maybe they noticed—and chose to conceal it. Professor Archer's note said she would 'explain matters to the Association and the Society.' That means the authorities are already involved."
"And we become the scapegoats?" Zoe sneered as she attempted to revive her energy-burnt tablet. "A perfect script: four students trespass into a restricted zone, trigger an ancient defense mechanism, and damage a historic building. Given our special talents, they could even label it a case of dangerous psychic instability."
Eloise did not join their debate.
She sat cross-legged against the wall, holding the dark-violet gem in her hands. Within it, a miniature galaxy revolved. Each pulse carried two distinct rhythms: the steady heartbeat of the Time Anchor, and the intermittent glimmer of Viretta's starlight core—faint, yet persistent.
"Viretta is recovering," Eloise finally said. "Slowly, but truly. The fragments of other spirits absorbed last night are being harmonized by her essence."
"Harmonized?" Redmond turned. "You mean those imprisoned souls—"
"They are not gone," Eloise said softly, eyes closed in spirit-sight. "She did not devour them. They are… cooperating. As if they've found a shared frequency. The pain has lessened. The chaos has quieted. Her starlight core is organizing them."
Leon paused in his work. "An elven core can purify corrupted souls?"
"Not purify. Resonance," Eloise replied. "Viretta said her nature is conceptual—hope, connection, homecoming. Those fragments longed for exactly that. They were not forced together. They gathered willingly."
Silence fell over the warehouse. Somewhere far off, a ferry horn moaned.
"So what now?" Zoe asked. "Archer told us to wait, but we don't even know if she betrayed us to Morrell."
"She led us into a trap," Eloise admitted, rising and stepping toward the window. "But she also gave us emergency beacons and left a warning. More importantly, Morrell called her his great-great-granddaughter. This investigation was his 'gift' to her. That may be true—but it isn't the whole truth."
From her pack she drew a fragment of Morrell's ruby cane. Even in daylight, the broken gemstone gleamed with a baleful crimson sheen.
"Morrell's consciousness was dispersed through the building. Every crystal was his eye, his memory. But this cane was his emblem—his axis. It may still contain condensed memory shards. If we can extract them…"
"Too dangerous," Leon said. "That's a black relic. Forcing it open could rebound on us."
"We won't force it," Redmond said suddenly, kneeling beside the fragment. "I am a Stone-Speaker. I don't just petrify matter—I commune with residual mineral memory. Gems record information… more permanently."
She raised her hands above the shard. Amber light seeped from her palms like molten honey and wrapped the ruby.
"Give me ten minutes," she said. "Don't interrupt."
The warehouse grew still. Zoe repaired devices. Leon watched the street. Eloise held the gem and monitored the energy flow.
The ruby trembled. Luminous, web-like veins spread across its surface and rose into the air, weaving into hazy images—
A Victorian study. A young Sebastian Morrell, scarcely thirty, sat behind a mahogany desk. Opposite him stood an elf in moonlit robes.
"So the Court accepts my proposal?" Morrell asked.
"On one condition," the elf replied coldly. "You must prove your worth. The Starlight Singer, Virlithe, is both a diplomatic asset and a thorn in the hawks' side. If you remove her and make it appear as human treachery, the war faction will gain justification."
"And I receive her core."
"A portion. The whole must return to the Court. In exchange, you will supply data on spirit-seers—especially the Sterling bloodline. Their affinity with time is vital."
Morrell smiled. "Agreed."
The image shifted. Years passed. Morrell aged, white at the temples.
"The war is postponed," he said. "Human industrial magic grows too quickly."
"Then we require the Great Purification," an elder elf replied. "Drain the soul-energy of human cities. Return them to pre-industrial weakness."
"That needs a massive catalyst."
"Virlithe's fragments suffice. But we need more spirit-seers—especially the bearer of the Time Anchor. Find the Sterling descendant."
Morrell turned into shadow. "Gianna is approaching her."
"Then give the girl a reason to enter the trap."
"Such as rescuing an imprisoned elf."
The vision changed again. Professor Archer appeared, younger, facing Morrell's corpse.
"I will not become you," Gianna said.
"You already have," Morrell whispered. "Four seers, and your mother will be cured."
Long silence.
"If they defeat you," Gianna said hollowly, "the debt is paid."
The vision shattered.
Redmond recoiled, gasping. "She's resisting. Archer… she left weaknesses on purpose."
"She gave us a choice," Eloise said, gazing at the now-dull ruby.
Dawn burned away the fog outside.
"But this isn't over," Eloise continued. "The Elf Court knows Viretta has awakened. They will act."
She lifted the gem. Its starlight pulsed brighter.
"We need the truth about three hundred years ago. About the Court. About the Time Anchor. And about my family."
Later, beneath the city in a forgotten pump station, they uncovered records of the Great Purification, the Sterling lineage, and a photograph of Viretta's sister, Eleanor Starlight-Wing, wearing the Ring of Obedience.
At last, as Eloise read, Viretta's consciousness stirred again:
"The Time Anchor… was not given by the Court. It was given by me."
And memory flooded her—
Three hundred and fifty years earlier, a rain-soaked study. An elf placed a glowing gem before a trembling human scholar.
"This is a choice," Virlithe said. "Your pain will ease—but your duty will grow."
"Why help me?"
"Because I see light in you. Humans make light—lamps, fire, engines. Perhaps one day starlight and lamplight will guide the same road."
He took the gem. And hope was born.
Eloise wept silently.
This was not coincidence. It was a seed planted across centuries.
Now the promise had returned to her hands.
"Find Aurora," Viretta whispered. "Show her the unaltered memory."
Aboveground, the elf commander Aurora felt the resonance and hesitated.
"Prepare to breach," she ordered at last. "But… take them alive. I will hear their story."
For starlight does not fear shadow.
And true illumination is born where memory, time, and courage converge.