With the permit crisis averted, filming on Aethelgard's Echo began in earnest.
The brutalist architecture of the Hyperion Power Plant was a stunning backdrop, its decaying concrete and rusted gantries lending a palpable sense of history and decay to the alien world.
Xavier was in his element, delivering a performance that was nuanced and powerful.
The despair of the past few weeks had been channeled into his character, adding a layer of authentic weariness that was captivating to watch.
For a time, it seemed their troubles were behind them, that the unseen hand protecting them had cleared the path for good.
The next blow came not from an external enemy, but from a contracted partner.
They had hired VFX Prime, a well-regarded special effects studio, to handle the film's extensive CGI requirements such as the sprawling space battles, the alien cityscapes, the holographic interfaces.
Midway through the first week of shooting, Alistair received a call from the head of the studio.
The tone was regretful but firm.
"Alistair, we have a problem," the studio head, a man named Marcus, began. "We've run the numbers on the initial sequences, and the complexity is far greater than anticipated in the original bid. We're going to need to revise our budget. Substantially."
He named a figure that was a full forty percent higher than their contractually agreed upon price.
Alistair felt a familiar dread creeping back in. "Marcus, we have a signed contract. You can't just demand more money."
"We can if the alternative is delivering substandard work," Marcus countered smoothly. "Look, I don't want to do this, but my team is telling me it's either this or the quality suffers. And I know you and Xavier want this film to be perfect. Think of it as an investment in excellence."
It was polite, professional extortion. Alistair knew exactly what was happening. Word of their new, deep-pocketed anonymous backer had gotten out.
VFX Prime smelled blood in the water, assuming their mysterious benefactor had bottomless pockets and would pay anything to avoid compromising the film's quality.
The news hit Xavier hard. This felt different from Blackwood's overt sabotage. This was a betrayal from within, a cynical cash grab that threatened to compromise the very soul of the film.
He discussed it with his agent, Jerry, a slick, perpetually distracted man who seemed more interested in his commission than his client's career.
"It's the cost of doing business, X," Jerry said with a shrug. "Pay them. What choice do you have? Your magic money tree can afford it, right?"
Xavier's frustration mounted. "It's not a magic money tree, Jerry. It's an investor who saved us. We can't let people take advantage of that. This project has become so… lucky. It feels wrong to squander that luck."
The word lucky felt inadequate, but he didn't have another. He felt a fierce, protective instinct over this anonymous generosity, a desire to honor it by being responsible.
Leila received the report on the VFX Prime situation during a flight back from Tokyo.
The audacity of the studio's move didn't anger her; it amused her. It was a simple problem of leverage.
VFX Prime thought they had it. She was about to teach them what real leverage looked like. By the time her jet touched down in her private hangar, she had already set her plan in motion.
She didn't just provide the funds through Aperture Holdings. That was checkers. Leila played chess, her M&A (Mergers and Acquisitions) team, the most feared in the tech world, had spent the ten-hour flight conducting a full analysis of VFX Prime's parent company, a publicly traded media conglomerate.
They found a weakness that is a significant portion of their stock was held by institutional investors who were growing nervous about the company's lack of innovation.
Through a series of intermediaries, Leila began buying up that stock. It was an aggressive but still brilliantly executed.
Within seventy-two hours, Nexus Innovations, through yet another untraceable subsidiary, had become the majority shareholder of VFX Prime's parent company.
They didn't just have a controlling interest; they owned the entire damn thing.
The next morning, Marcus, the head of VFX Prime, was summoned to an emergency video conference with the new board of his parent company. He expected to discuss quarterly projections. Instead, he found himself face-to-face with Clara, Leila's cunning fox a Vice President.
Clara's face was a mask of polite disappointment. "Mr. Marcus," she began, her voice like ice. "We've been reviewing the contracts of your subsidiary studios. We were particularly interested in your dealings with a film called Aethelgard's Echo. It seems you attempted to renegotiate a signed contract mid-production. That is not how we do business."
Marcus's face went pale. "It was a misunderstanding…"
"There is no misunderstanding," Clara cut him off. "You are to honor the original contract to the letter. Furthermore, you will assign your top effects team to the project, and it will become the number one priority for your studio. The new ownership is a great admirer of Mr. Thorne's work and expects nothing less than the absolute best. Is that clear?"
Alistair Finch received a call an hour later. It was a terrified-sounding Marcus. "Alistair," he stammered, "about the budget… forget I said anything. We're all in. You're getting our A-team. Whatever you need, it's yours. No extra charge. Please, just… tell your backer we're sorry."
When Xavier heard the news, he was utterly bewildered. He sat in his trailer, the script for Aethelgard's Echo in his lap. Lucky? No, this wasn't luck.
This was a display of overwhelming, terrifying power. Someone wasn't just clearing obstacles from his path; they were vaporizing them.
They weren't just opening doors; they were buying the entire building. He felt a strange mix of profound gratitude and a creeping, unnerving sense of being a pawn in a game whose rules he couldn't sit down anymore.