The Star-Swallowing Tower disciples made no attempt to blend in. They took the best rooms at the inn without paying, their disdain for the "mud-grubbing mortals" palpable. Their leader was a young man named Kael, with sharp features, silver-streaked black hair, and eyes that seemed to consume the light around them. His aura was a 2nd Order, 9th Rank (Peak), a step from the 3rd Order, and thrummed with the Tower's signature technique: Mana-Drain. His two companions, a man and a woman, were 6th and 7th Rank.
Their purpose was clear. They had felt the shift in the Vale's mana when Damien purified the mine. To the Tower, which fed on unique spiritual phenomena, it was a dinner bell.
Factor Jaxom met them with oily deference. Damien observed from the shadowed eaves of his cottage, his new Oculus active. He saw the threads: a thick, greedy purple thread from Kael to Jaxom (demand), and a thin, fraying silver thread from Jaxom back (fearful compliance). Jaxom was selling him out.
The System confirmed it. [Political Analysis: Factor Jaxom's primary directive is self-preservation. Confronted with superior force (Tower Disciples), he will sacrifice the asset (Host) to maintain his position. Probability of betrayal within 24 hours: 94%.]
Damien wasn't angry. It was a logical outcome. The treaty was void. New variables required a new solution.
He listened as Kael's voice, laced with bored authority, carried on the cold air. "…anomalous frost-aligned signature. Not natural. We will inspect the mine and interview this 'Silent Frost.' He will explain the phenomenon. If it is useful, the Tower may… recruit him. If not, we will dissect the site and take its essence."
Dissect the site. Meaning, they would rip the Glacial Silverite veins from the mountain, draining them dry, likely killing the mine and destabilizing the local geomantic web. Hearth's Watch would be a corpse-town within a week.
Jaxom murmured assent.
Damien's mind worked. Three opponents. Kael was a serious threat—stronger, with a draining technique that could negate his mana advantage. A direct fight was unfavorable. But the Conclave was in one month. He couldn't afford a major injury or to reveal the full extent of his power yet.
He needed to make himself more trouble than he was worth, without open combat. He needed to speak their language: leverage and mystery.
That evening, as the disciples prepared to visit the mine, Damien acted. He went not to the mine, but to the town well—the central nexus of its fresh water and a minor ley-line convergence.
He placed his hands on the stone rim. Through his Oculus, he traced the delicate web of water and earth mana that fed the town. Then, carefully, he pinched one of the minor frost-attuned ley-lines he had created from the mine's purification. He didn't sever it. He introduced a feedback loop—a simple, elegant piece of spiritual engineering Tock would have admired.
The effect was immediate, but subtle. A deep chill ran through the water in the well. The moisture in the air began to crystallize into tiny, beautiful, and perfectly harmless snowflakes that drifted down over Hearth's Watch. It was a light, unseasonal snowfall that carried the distinct, pure signature of his frost. A signature impossible to ignore.
He then returned to his cottage and waited.
An hour later, Kael and his disciples stood outside his reinforced door. Jaxom hovered behind them, looking pale.
"Open," Kael commanded, his voice imbued with a compulsion technique.
The door did not open. Damien's voice came from within, calm and clear. "You wish to speak. Speak."
Kael's eyes narrowed. His compulsion had shattered against the door's frost-runes and Damien's mental ward. "You are the anomaly. You will come out and explain the geomantic shift you caused. And you will cease this parlor trick with the snow."
"The snow is a demonstration," Damien replied. "The mine's new state is a complex, self-sustaining spiritual ecosystem. My ecosystem. Your Tower's crude extraction methods would collapse it, rendering the silver inert and poisoning the ley-lines for a hundred miles. You would gain a temporary snack and earn the ire of every entity that draws power from this stretch of the Shatterfang Mountains, including the Stone-Giant Thanes and the Frost-Drake matriarch whose territory begins three ridges over."
He was bluffing about the drake matriarch, but his Oculus's new mana-flow prediction showed a 40% probability the lie would hold—the region could support such a beast.
Kael paused. The Tower was powerful, but it avoided unnecessary wars with ancient races. "You claim ownership of a geomantic node?"
"I claim understanding. You seek power. I can provide it—in a stable, renewable form." Damien paused, letting the snow fall silently. "But not for free. And not through threats."
"You are in no position to bargain, blindworm," snarled the female disciple.
"Aren't I?" Damien asked. "If you try to force me, I will collapse the node. You get nothing. If you kill me, the node destabilizes. You get a toxic wasteland. If you listen, you get a new, rare energy source to present to your Tower masters, along with the one who can manage it."
Kael was silent for a long moment. Greed warred with caution. The Tower cultivated ambition, but also a cold rationality. "What is your proposal?"
"A trade. At the Ferros Conclave. You will have your display of power there. I will provide you with one refined Glacial Silverite Core—ten times the potency of the raw shards—as a sample. In return, you and your Tower leave my node and my person untouched until after the Conclave. You get your prize publicly, enhancing your standing. I get to demonstrate my value to a wider audience. Post-Conclave, we can… renegotiate."
It was a delay. A month of safety. A chance to operate on a larger stage where the Tower's actions would be watched by others.
Kael laughed, a dry, humorless sound. "You have spine, for a defective. A core, you say? Very well. We will play your little game. The Conclave. But know this: if your 'core' is unimpressive, or if you attempt to flee, we will not just drain your mine. We will peel the frost from your soul while you still breathe. The Tower eats paradoxes for breakfast."
"Understood," Damien said.
The disciples left, the unnatural snowfall ceasing the moment they were out of sight. Jaxom shot a look of pure, bewildered hatred at the cottage door before scurrying after them.
Alone, Damien let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. The immediate threat was deferred. But the cost was high. He now had to produce a Glacial Silverite Core—something that didn't exist yet. He would have to create it, which meant compressing and refining the mine's energy further, a dangerous and draining process.
And he had made himself a target for a major sect. But he had also secured a platform. At the Conclave, he wouldn't just be Jaxom's oddity. He would be a point of interest for the Star-Swallowing Tower. That brought danger, but also a degree of protection—others would think twice before moving on someone the Tower had publicly claimed an interest in.
He looked at the schematics in his mind, the ones Tock had drawn for advanced spirit-core construction. It was time to build. Not just a lens, but a battery of immense power. A bomb, or a beacon, depending on how it was used.
The path forward was clear, narrow, and lined with predators. Damien Karyon sat in his frozen cottage, the Oculus on his brow showing him the swirling, treacherous currents of power and intent that now surrounded him.
He had traded the solitude of the peak for the jungle of politics and power. And he would conquer it the same way: one calculated, ruthless step at a time.