The quiet of the Memorate was a balm after the orchestrated chaos of the Lively Market. The Circle returned to their alcove, the weight of their subtle manipulations still humming in their nerves. This time, Joram was not waiting at the table. He stood by the ledge, looking out into the canyon of artifacts, his back to them.
"You were seen," he said, his voice echoing softly in the stone space.
They stopped. It wasn't an accusation. It was a statement.
"By the Authority monitors," Ryn confirmed. "Acknowledgment was given."
Joram turned. His expression was unreadable, but his grey eyes held a new intensity. "You were not seen as threats. You were seen as... instruments. Skilled, novel ones. The report has already been filed. 'Unaffiliated Potentate unit, designation Sovereign's Circle, demonstrates high aptitude for complex social-narrative manipulation. Motive: unclear. Methodology: cohesive, multi-spectrum. Recommend: elevated observation status.'"
He walked toward them, stopping before Echo. "You succeeded in your mission. The Tears will become a monument. It will inspire some, depress others. It may cause incidents. It will, undoubtedly, create 'story.' That was the assignment. But you also revealed your hand. To the Authority, you are no longer an unknown variable. You are a variable with a confirmed function."
He picked up one of the Witness Stones from the table, the one Echo had worn. It glowed softly in his hand, replaying the final moments of the auction—the Sculptor's triumphant cry. "You played your roles well. The Phantom created a distraction. The Archivist provided inspiration. The Core sowed doubt. The Weaver planted paranoia. The Lord set the stage." He looked at each of them. "But you played them together. As a single mind with five bodies. That is what they noted. That is what makes you dangerous, and useful, to them."
He set the stone down. "Your apprenticeship in basic observation and indirect action is complete. You have learned to see the currents and to paddle. Now, you must learn to navigate the whirlpools."
He moved to a section of the alcove wall that appeared seamless. Placing his palm against it, he murmured something in a language of clicks and hums. The stone shimmered and receded, revealing a hidden niche containing a single item: a data-slate of dark, non-reflective material. It was old, its edges worn smooth.
"This," Joram said, lifting it with reverence, "is a Veiled Report. It does not exist in the Nexus archives. It was never filed. It details an event that was officially 'smoothed over'—pruned from the narrative. Your next mission is not to influence an event. It is to investigate a ghost."
He handed the slate to Echo. It was warm, almost alive. "Three hundred cycles ago, in the Nexus's Reconciliation Galleries, a diplomatic summit between the Chronosian Imperium (beings of ordered time) and the Entropy Gild (beings of celebratory decay) ended not in a treaty or a dispute, but in a silent, mutual disappearance. Both delegations, thirteen beings of significant power, vanished without a trace, in a room under total surveillance. No energy spikes. No spatial breaches. No signs of conflict."
He paused, letting the impossibility sink in. "The official report cites 'voluntary mutual dimensional transcendence,' a polite fiction. The Authority's internal investigation was inconclusive. The case was closed, the Galleries were cleansed and reopened. But whispers remain. A ghost in the machine. A narrative that was not pruned, but severed."
Joram's gaze was grave. "Your mission is to enter the Reconciliation Galleries, which are now used for low-priority trade negotiations. Using whatever means you deem necessary—without triggering a full Authority security response—recreate the event. Find the ghost in the data. Discover what truly happened. And most importantly, determine if it is still happening."
He stepped back, folding his hands into his sleeves. "This is not a test of subtle influence. This is a test of investigative synthesis. You will face layered security, residual temporal and entropic energies, and the ever-present gaze of the Authority. You must be ghosts investigating a ghost. You have one hundred cycles. The slate contains all unclassified access codes for the Galleries and the internal case number. Do not get caught. And do not... disappear."
He turned to leave, then glanced back. "Oh. One more thing. The private collector you outbid in the market? Its signature has been traced. It was a drone for an entity known as The Curator. An independent operator who collects anomalies. They have a long memory, and they do not like to lose. Consider them a tertiary variable."
With that, he vanished into the Memorate's shadows, leaving them with the warm, heavy slate and a mission that smelled of old dust and profound danger.
Echo looked at the slate, then at his Circle. The Lively Market had been a game. This was a descent into the Nexus's buried secrets.
They were no longer novices learning to paddle.
They were being sent into the whirlpool.