Date: 19th Frostweave, 2026 GEC – 04:32 AM
The five security wards lay on Jack's workbench like sleeping dragons. In the Sanctified Ground ward's silver light, their brass surfaces gleamed with intricate, malicious beauty.
Jack's fingers traced the primary rune sequence. Bloodline-locking. Standard for high-end security, binding the ward's activation to specific genetic markers. The craftsmanship was solid D-Rank—clean lines, efficient mana channels, and layered with anti-tampering protocols that would trigger if approached with crude tools or brute force.
Jack froze. He expanded the system's visualization. There, woven between the primary stability runes, was a secondary pattern so subtle it almost looked like decorative filigree. A locator beacon, dormant but capable of transmitting if activated.
Lena hadn't mentioned trackers. Which meant either she didn't know, or she hadn't told him.
The wards weren't just family heirlooms. They were marked property. Re-keying them was one violation. Removing military-grade trackers was another level entirely.
Thirty percent chance of blowing up his apartment and himself. But the eight hundred sigils meant the auction deposit. Meant Alice's core.
"System, can Crafting Points improve the odds?"
He had 28 Crafting Points left after the ward creation. He'd need 75 for all five wards. He didn't have them.
"Prioritize. Use points on the first ward only. Learn. Adapt."
Jack placed the cracked beast core fragment in a containment circle etched into his bench—a basic damping field using the last of his Essence of Firmness. The fragment pulsed erratically, purple light bleeding through its fractures.
He took the first ward, aligned his Glimmerstone calipers to identify the precise entry points, and began.
With the Crafting Points expended, his movements became economy itself. No wasted motion. His mana needle—a salvaged hypodermic tipped with conductive silver—slid between the anti-tamper layers, guided by the system's real-time mapping. He channeled a thread of unstable energy from the beast core into the ward's lock mechanism.
The brass grew warm. The hidden tracker rune flared once, then went dark as the surge overloaded its delicate circuitry. The bloodline lock dissolved under the carefully calibrated chaos.
Jack pricked his own finger, letting a drop of blood fall onto the central rune. A personal risk—if these were ever used in a crime, his genetic material would be at the scene. But universal bypass keys required E-Rank certification he didn't have.
The ward hummed, accepting him as its new authority.
Four to go. No more Crafting Points.
---
Date: 20th Frostweave – Afternoon
The Ironworks District market was a cacophony of desperate commerce. Jack moved through the crowds, buying low-grade conductive paste and stabilization resin with the last of his legal funds. He felt exposed.
Jack didn't look. He ducked into Old Man Harkin's stall, pretending to examine rusted mana conduits. Through a grimy mirror hanging amid the junk, he saw the observer: mid-thirties, civilian clothes too new for the district, posture too alert.
The military was making its presence known. A warning? Or preparation for a grab?
Jack used the market's chaos—a cart collision, a shouted argument—to slip through back alleys he'd known since childhood. He lost the tail, but the message was clear: they could find him whenever they wanted.
That evening, Rick came to him looking like a ghost of himself. Dark circles bruised his eyes. His hands wouldn't stay still.
"They're in my head, Jack," he whispered, hunched on Jack's pallet. "The Cognizant-class—she left something. A… a loyalty monitor. I can feel it when I think about telling you things. Like a cold spike behind my eyes."
"Can you remove it?"
Rick laughed, a hollow sound. "It's woven into my talent's pathways. Removing it would burn out my B-Rank. I'd be Unranked. A cripple." He looked at Jack, fear naked in his eyes. "They're not just looking for pattern-breakers. They're hunting a specific signature. One that matches 'pre-Collapse artifacts.' Things that shouldn't exist. Things that break reality's rules."
Jack's blood went cold. "My system."
"They have detectors. They've been scanning the city sector by sector. When I was under… she asked about your mother's research. About anything 'unusual' you might have inherited." Rick gripped Jack's arm. "They're watching your building. Not obvious surveillance. They've tagged the area. They're waiting for something."
"For what?"
"For you to slip. To use whatever it is you have in a way they can detect. Or for someone else to come looking for it." Rick stood, swaying slightly. "I can't come back here, Jack. The monitor… it reports proximity. I'm putting you in danger just by being here."
He left without another word. Jack sat in the humming silence of his ward. The system displayed no new alerts, but he felt the walls closing in.
---
Date: 21st Frostweave – Evening
The beast core fragment was now a throbbing, angry purple. Cracks had widened. Detonation probability: 47%.
But all five wards lay re-keyed on his bench. The hidden trackers were disabled—not removed, just buried under layers of false mana noise. Removing them entirely would have required tools and time he didn't have.
Lena arrived exactly on time. With her was the silent expert from before—augmented eyes whirring as they scanned the room, the ward, Jack himself.
"Show me," Lena said.
Jack presented the wards one by one. The expert took each, attaching delicate probes to their surfaces. He tested activation, sensitivity, stability. The first two passed with a nod. The third, when activated, emitted a faint discordant hum.
"Harmonic imbalance," the expert said, his voice surprisingly soft. "Anti-tamper protocols were not fully reconciled with the new key. Stress fractures in the mana channels." He set it aside. "Failure."
The fourth passed. The fifth passed.
Lena's expression was unreadable. "Four acceptable. One failure. Payment is six hundred forty sigils."
"The agreement was eight hundred for five," Jack said, keeping his voice steady.
"The agreement was for five functional wards. You delivered four." Lena counted out the money. "Take this, or try again. Your choice."
Jack calculated. Six forty plus his remaining funds was still short of the auction deposit. He needed the full eight.
"Give me the fifth. I'll fix it. Tomorrow."
Lena exchanged a glance with the expert, who gave an almost imperceptible nod. "Tomorrow morning. Final delivery." She left the faulty ward.
As the expert turned to leave, he paused beside Jack. His augmented eye focused, lenses shifting. "The imbalance pattern," he murmured, barely audible. "It's unique. Not a mistake of inexperience, but of… unconventional methodology. Interesting."
Then he was gone.
---
Date: 22nd Frostweave – 06:18 AM
The faulty ward's problem was fundamental. In bypassing the anti-tamper with the beast core's chaotic energy, Jack had created mana eddies that eroded the structural runes. It needed a complete channel rebuild. And it needed a stable power source to replace the deteriorating core fragment, which was now at 61% detonation probability.
His only stable material left was the Glimmerstone ore. The system calculated the cost.
Jack weighed his mother's ore in his hand. It hummed, eager to be used. He needed it for the Echoing Void Locket, for the high-tier crafts that would truly advance him. But he needed Alice's core more.
He spent three hours carving, inscribing, and infusion-sealing. The Glimmerstone battery emerged as a smooth, blue-glowing cylinder the size of his thumb. It sang with steady earth mana. He sacrificed his future potential to fix a stranger's security ward.
The repair worked. The ward hummed in perfect harmony.
At 08:00, Lena returned alone. She tested the ward, nodded, and added the remaining one hundred sixty sigils to the stack. "You're stubborn. That's good. And skilled in… unexpected ways." She handed him a data-chip. "Auction schedules. The one you're interested for is the 30th. Minimum deposit: five thousand sigils. Verified funds."
Jack inserted the chip. His mother's core—Alice—glowed in the holo-image. Lot #447: "Decommissioned S-Rank Support Core – Damaged – For Research/Reclamation." Current verified bidders: 3. Estimate: 18,000-25,000 sigils.
He had 4,270 sigils. He needed 5,000 just to enter the room.
"How do I explain sudden wealth to the ATB?" Jack asked.
Lena smiled thinly. "That's your problem. But a word of advice—my expert was impressed. He has other clients with deeper pockets and fewer questions. You may hear from them. Be careful who you say no to."
---
Date: 23rd Frostweave
The ATB Licensing Office was a study in controlled frustration. Jack stood before a clerk who looked at his F-Rank designation like it was a bad smell.
"Independent Apprentice License. Fee: five hundred sigils. Requires demonstration piece and sponsor testimony from a licensed Journeyman or higher."
"I have a sponsor," Jack said, sliding Marrow's credentials across the counter. The card identified him as "Marrow, J., Retired Journeyman Artificer – Specialization: Reclamation."
The clerk scanned it, eyebrows rising. "Marrow? He's still alive? He hasn't sponsored anyone in… decades." He eyed Jack. "Demonstration piece."
Jack presented the Mana-Stabilized Multitool. It was Unranked+, deliberately made with entirely legal, purchased materials. Good craftsmanship, but nothing extraordinary. The clerk tested it, nodded.
"Acceptable. License granted. You may conduct legal crafts for sale up to one thousand sigils per month. All transactions must be logged. All materials must be sourced with verifiable receipts. Compliance checks are random and frequent."
Jack paid the five hundred. He now had a legal front. And 3,770 sigils.
The victory lasted until school the next day.
Alfred intercepted him in the main hall, his smile venomous. "Heard you got a license. How cute." By afternoon, Jack was summoned to the vice-principal's office.
"Mr. Milstrom, we received a report you've been engaging in unlicensed commercial crafting," Vice-Principal Thorne said, templed fingers.
"I obtained my license yesterday," Jack said, showing the timestamp.
Thorne examined it. "So you did. The report was filed this morning." He leaned forward. "An F-Rank student suddenly acquiring licensing, doing contract work… it raises questions. The Awakener Track is for those with demonstrable potential. Not for those seeking to bypass academic rigor with… entrepreneurship."
"I'm supplementing my studies. The ATB encourages practical application."
"For those who can handle it." Thorne's gaze was heavy. "I'll dismiss the report. But know this—you're now on our radar. Any slip. Any violation. Any… anomaly in your progress, and we will reevaluate your place here. Understood?"
Jack left, the taste of ashes in his mouth again. He was playing the game correctly, and the house kept changing the rules.
---
Date: 25th Frostweave – 14:00
The message arrived via public terminal, text-only: *Café Elysium. Booth 3. 16:00. Your work on harmonic imbalance shows promise. Contract opportunity."
Jack went armed—his Cinder-1 sidearm concealed, his bone-reinforced knife in his boot. Café Elysium was in the neutral zone between the slums and the merchant districts, a place where no one asked questions.
The expert—Kael—sat waiting. Up close, his augmented eyes were intricate, military-grade optics. But his clothes were civilian, expensive.
"Jack. I appreciate you coming." Kael pushed a data-slate across the table. "Three artifacts. Analysis only. Identify repair methodologies, material requirements, potential risks. No physical work. No questions about provenance. Payment: two thousand sigils."
The slate showed images: a crystalline growth on a mana rifle barrel, a shattered drone core with impossible geometry, a piece of armor that seemed to blur at the edges.
"They're military," Jack said.
"They're curiosities. Owned by a private collector with an interest in… anomalous phenomena." Kael's voice was calm. "The military would call you a pattern-breaker, Jack. They'd recruit you, dissect your methods, and put you in a lab. My employer calls you undervalued talent."
"And what does your employer want?"
"Understanding. The world is developing cracks, Jack. Reality Seams, they're calling them. Places where the rules… bend. My employer believes those who can fix things that are broken in unusual ways might be able to understand things that are breaking in unprecedented ways."
Jack thought of his system. Of the memory fragment about "crystal-thinking." "I analyze. No repair. No further contact. One thousand sigils, half now."
Kael smiled. He placed five hundred-sigil chits on the table. "Half now. Half on delivery. You have three days." He slid a sealed case across. "The first sample. Begin."
Back in his apartment, Jack opened the case. The mana-rifle component lay cushioned in foam. The crystalline growth wasn't frost or mineral deposit—it was structured, branching like a fractal tree, glowing with internal light.
When Jack touched it, his system flared.
[CORE INTEGRITY: 0.012%]
[MEMORY FRAGMENT RECOVERED: 'THEY USED CRYSTAL-THINKING TO BIND REALITIES. IT WAS THE FIRST MISTAKE.']
[ANALYSIS: SAMPLE CONTAINS RESIDUAL REALITY SEAM SIGNATURE. ORIGIN: EXTRADIMENSIONAL INCURSION.]
The news feed on his terminal played quietly: *"...Frontline researchers report increased dimensional instability. New classification: 'Reality Seams.' Military advises civilians report any unusual spatial or temporal phenomena..."*
Rick's message arrived an hour later, fragmented as if typed under duress: "They're asking again. More specific. They know about your mother's research. They're cross-referencing old ATB logs. Jack—they have a list. You're on it."
Jack looked out his window. The military observer was back, this time with a tripod-mounted scanner aimed at the building.
Countdowns flashed in his vision:
- Auction: 5 days
- Deposit needed: 730 more sigils
- Kael's analysis: 3 days
- Military: Unknown
His system displayed the cold calculus: "Threat proximity: High. Survival probability: 58% and decreasing. Recommend: Accelerated progression or immediate evacuation."
Jack's eyes went to his EX-Rank boost counter. 4/5 remaining.
One boost could give him the breakthrough he needed to finish Kael's analysis, craft something valuable enough to sell legally for the remaining deposit, and maybe even enhance his ward to better hide from scanners.
But the system's own warning echoed: Signature would be detectable.
He stared at the boost counter. One use could save him. One use could draw every hunter in the city to his location like a beacon in the dark.
Outside, the scanner's light swept across his window again.
Date: 25th Frostweave, 2026 GEC – 22:41
Next: Chapter 6 - "The Beacon or The Breakthrough"