Returning to the Cloister felt like sinking into a cool, dark pool after the sterile, over-lit stage of the Polished Arium. The silent vastness of the Memorate was a relief. They found Joram waiting for them in their alcove, seated at the simple table, a single, unmarked ceramic cup of steaming liquid before him.
He didn't ask for a report. He simply looked at them, his grey eyes expectant.
Echo spoke first, laying out their observations in a calm, concise sequence: the sanctioned deceptions, the pre-stressed spatial folds, the emotional threads, the Authority's smug anticipation, and the surgical, non-diplomatic intervention.
Ryn presented her data-trace evidence. Leyla described the intent-shadows. Mira detailed the spatial architecture of the trap. Kiera spoke of the emotional currents, focusing on the desperate hope of the Mycelium aide and the cold satisfaction of the Authority.
When they finished, Joram took a slow sip from his cup. "Good," he said, the single word holding more weight than a torrent of praise. "You saw the play. Now tell me about the playwright."
They were silent for a moment, considering.
"The Confluence Authority," Mira said. "They staged it."
"Why?" Joram pressed.
"To test their systems," Ryn answered. "To gather data on emerging threats. To reinforce their control by demonstrating it."
"All true," Joram acknowledged. "But insufficient. Think deeper. What was the cost?"
Leyla's eyes narrowed. "The Mycelium aide. It was... sacrificed. Its hope was used as bait."
"And the Star-Drake negotiator?" Joram asked. "He will return home with a psychic scar, a failure, and fear of the Nexus's reach. His client, whoever it is, will be delayed, chastened."
He set his cup down. "The Authority did not just run an experiment. It pruned a narrative branch. It prevented a minor trade dispute from escalating into a small-scale psychic war or a corporate espionage arms race. It maintained the stable, predictable ecosystem of the Nexus by cutting away a budding chaos before it could grow. That is their primary function: narrative gardening for the Grand Design."
He stood, walking to the edge of the alcove, looking out into the canyon of shelves. "You are thinking of power as a blade or a shield. Here, power is a pair of shears. The Spire of Law wields them openly, to shape reality to a blueprint. The Forge of Artifice ignores them, letting wild growths proliferate until they must be burned. We of the Cloister... we study the gardener. We learn the patterns of growth and the timing of the cut. Sometimes, we suggest where to prune. Sometimes, we hide a valuable shoot from the shears."
He turned back to them. "Your performance was adequate. You observed the cut. For your next lesson, you will attempt to influence the growth."
He produced five small, smooth stones from his robe—Witness Stones, blank and inert. "Your next mission is in the Lively Market, a neutral trading zone in the Artifice District. A merchant from a water-world is selling 'Tears of a Drowned Star'—concentrated emotional resonance from a dying celestial being. It is a powerful, unstable Artifice component. Three parties want it: a sculptor from the Forge who wishes to make art that induces sublime despair, an agent from the Spire who wishes to destroy it as a hazardous emotional contaminant, and a private collector with unknown motives."
He handed each of them a stone. "Infiltrate the market. Using only observation, social manipulation, and the strategic application of your personal abilities—without direct confrontation or overt power displays—ensure the Tears go to the party you deem will cause the most interesting long-term outcome for the Nexus. Not the safest. Not the most moral. The most narratively fruitful."
He met each of their gazes. "This is not a test of goodness. It is a test of judgment. You are not gardeners yet. You are apprentices learning to spot which flowers might, one day, be worth saving from the shears. Or which weeds might be useful. You have forty-eight cycles. The Merchant's name is Coralis. Do not be detected by the Authority monitors. They will be watching this, too."
With that, he was gone, leaving them with the blank stones and a mission that was a thousand times more ambiguous than the first.
Echo looked at the stone in his palm. It wasn't a tool. It was a metaphor. They were to be silent witnesses who somehow shaped the outcome.
Kiera let out a slow breath. "Narratively fruitful. He wants us to play at being junior Loremasters."
"He wants us to think in terms of consequence, not just victory," Ryn corrected. "A fascinating logistical and ethical puzzle."
Leyla grinned, a sharp, feline expression. "So we get to cause trouble. But quietly."
Mira nodded, already thinking. "The market will be a spatial nightmare. Crowded, layered, full of pocket-dimension stalls. Positioning will be everything."
Echo closed his hand around the stone. The first mission had been about seeing the system. This one was about learning to nudge it. They were no longer just stones.
They were stones about to be thrown into a pond, to see what ripples they could make.