The peculiar coldness lingered long after Marius’s hand left Lorian’s shoulder. It wasn't the chill of a draft, but something deeper, an unnatural resonance that had momentarily muted the glowing lines in the floor. Lorian rubbed his arm, a prickle of unease unsettling the careful apathy he usually wore. Marius’s words, a blend of concern and casual dismissal, echoed in his mind: *“a cosmic ‘key’ to unlocking dormant veins… a fool’s errand, chasing after a star that is merely a shadow.”* He watched Marius depart, his gait confident, his smile still pleasant. The Regent’s ‘advice’ felt too neatly packaged, too perfectly aligned with a desire to keep Lorian away from something important. Yet, the star-chart, while centuries old, was undeniably real. And the Voron Heartstone, as described in Alaric’s journal, was the source of their power, not a celestial event. Something was wrong. Lorian resolved to proceed with the voyage, but with a heightened sense of caution. Preparations for the supposed quest to find the ‘Sunken Lodestar’ began almost immediately. Lorian, though internally skeptical of the objective, played his part. He spent hours in the estate’s tactical room, poring over old navigation logs and geological surveys, his Starfall Veins humming with newfound clarity as he sifted through data. He felt the pull, a faint but insistent thrumming, guiding his attention to certain coordinates, certain historical records that Marius had casually dismissed as irrelevant. “You shouldn’t be here, Valeray,” Lorian said, not looking up from a holographic projection of an archaic sea route. Ines stood just inside the doorway, leaning heavily on a carved wooden cane. Her injured leg was still tightly bandaged, though she’d discarded the crutches in favor of the cane, a defiant tilt to her chin. “And you shouldn’t be venturing into the Arcanian Straits without proper support,” Ines retorted, her voice sharp. “Besides, the Head Archivist’s presence is required to authenticate any discoveries. And to prevent the heir from stumbling into a reef due to an ill-advised celestial hunt.” She pushed off the doorframe, taking a deliberate, limping step closer. “My leg is mending. I’ll be fine for light duty.” Lorian finally looked at her, a wry smirk touching his lips. “Light duty? The Arcanian Straits are anything but ‘light.’ And last I checked, you were still under strict orders from the infirmary to rest.” “And last I checked,” she countered, her gaze unwavering, “the Voron Endowment’s standing was at stake. Alaric entrusted you with that. And I intend to ensure you don’t squander it on a wild goose chase. Besides,” she added, a softer note entering her tone, “I know this estate better than anyone. I know what to seek, even if *you* are convinced a star is a rock.” Her dedication, despite her pain, resonated with him. It solidified his own burgeoning resolve. “Fine,” he conceded, the smirk softening into something genuine. “But if you slow us down, I’m leaving you to the reef sharks.” “A tempting offer, Kostic,” she returned, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. “But you’d never forgive yourself.” Marius arranged a lavish pre-departure feast in the Grand Dining Hall, a cavernous space with vaulted ceilings and walls hung with heraldic silk. Senior members of the Endowment’s leadership were present, their faces a mix of curiosity and thinly veiled skepticism. Elder Theron, a stoic man whose posture recalled iron girders, watched Lorian with an assessing stare. An elder named Selene, her silver hair pulled back in a severe bun, made no effort to hide her disdain. “A rather ambitious undertaking, Heir Kostic,” Selene remarked, her voice like polished stone. “To abandon the more pressing matters of perimeter defense for a… celestial alignment. A rather nebulous goal, wouldn’t you agree? Especially after recent *incidents*.” She glanced pointedly at Ines’s cane. Lorian met her gaze, calm settling over his shoulders. He felt the subtle shift in the floor's currents, a faint tremor that revealed a nervous tensing in her posture, a slight tightening of her hand around her wine glass. He noticed the faint, dark stain on the back of her hand, residual pigment from scribal ink. *Iron Scribes*, the journal had whispered. *Their presence leaves a mark.* “Representative Selene,” Lorian began, his voice even, “the ‘Sunken Lodestar’ is far from nebulous. It is a fundamental component of the Voron family’s legacy, a truth that has been obscured by centuries of misinterpretation. My grandfather’s final research suggests its importance goes beyond simple artifact retrieval.” He paused, allowing his eyes to sweep across the table, making brief contact with each of the skeptical faces. “And as for fortress defense, I’ve personally reviewed the protocols. We are making strides. In fact, my understanding of the ground currents suggests a subtle shift in the outer wards, a minor fluctuation I’ve instructed the sentinels to investigate.” A subtle ripple went through the room. The sentries were a rarely spoken-of entity, an almost mythical inner guard. But mentioning them, and feigning knowledge of the wards, had the desired effect. Selene’s expression faltered, her mouth stiffening. Even Elder Theron leaned forward slightly. “My focus,” Lorian continued, projecting confidence, “is on securing the *entire* inheritance. A foundation that extends far beyond these walls, and whose true power lies in understanding the core principles Alaric himself dedicated his life to. This journey, while seemingly unconventional, is designed to uncover those very principles. It is a calculated risk, yes, but one based on deeply encrypted family texts that only the true heir can fully interpret.” He felt Ines’s gaze on him, a quiet warmth in her expression. He had no idea what encrypted texts he meant, but the subtle energy lines had shown him the assembly's anxieties, and he had pressed those points with precision. He had even used a version of Marius's own misleading words, twisting them to his advantage. Later, as the dinner wound down, a page discreetly approached Lorian. “Heir Kostic,” the young man murmured, bowing slightly. “A message from the Steward’s office. Regarding the observatory clockwork.” He handed Lorian a small, intricately folded piece of parchment. “They request your presence to assess a… peculiar recalibration.” Lorian unfolded it, his senses prickling. The parchment bore a series of symbols he didn’t recognize, but beneath them, in a different, familiar script, was a single, undeniable word: *Zoran*. Lorian excused himself from the table, citing a need for fresh air before tomorrow's transit. The old observatory stood on a secluded ridge overlooking Aethelburg, its domed roof a silhouette against the moonless sky. The air was cool, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant salt. Lorian entered, the groan of rusted gears echoing in the vast, circular chamber. The celestial currents here were muted, almost dormant, as if the stone foundation absorbed their luminance. “Took you long enough, Kostic,” a familiar voice said from the shadows. Zoran stepped into a sliver of moonlight filtering through a high window, his face etched with a tension Lorian had never seen. He wasn’t wearing his usual worn university hoodie, but a dark, practical tunic and trousers. “Zoran? What are you doing here? How did you even bypass the gates?” Lorian asked, confusion warring with relief. “And what’s this about a recalibration?” Zoran’s lips twisted in a humorless smile. “Patrols are… complicated, Lorian. And the recalibration was a code. One Alaric taught me, just for you.” He took another step forward, his jaw tight. “I belong to the Watchers. Or I *did*, until Marius’s purges. Alaric Voron tasked me years ago to protect you. We are sworn to the bloodline that holds the Starfall gift.” Lorian stared, utterly dumbfounded. His best friend, his only friend from his old life, was a secret agent, a guardian from a hidden world he never knew existed. The implications spun through his mind, a dizzying revelation. “Marius… he’s not who you think he is,” Zoran continued, his voice dropping to an urgent whisper. “He corrupted the drone attack reports. The ones blaming the Valeray faction? Lies. I found the original logs, hidden in a dead drop Alaric prepared. They pointed to an internal saboteur, someone with high-level access. And the perimeter sensors? They’ve been systematically downgraded, blind spots created. Marius wants you stripped of protective wards.” “The Iron Scribes,” Lorian breathed, the name a chilling confirmation. “He’s one of them, isn’t he? He’s trying to steal the Starfall ability.” Zoran nodded grimly. “They call it the Severing. He wants to strip the Veins from your bloodline. He wants to be the one to wield their power. And this expedition, this ‘Sunken Lodestar’… it’s a trap. A way to get you far from here, far from anyone who could help. He’s not trying to guide you, Lorian. He’s trying to break you.”

The Watcher's Warning