Chapter Twenty -Four: Suspicion and Observation

The room was quiet, dimly lit by the soft blue glow of the active hologram console. It cast long shadows over the metallic walls of the covert operations chamber, tucked deep beneath one of Gilkesh's oldest outposts. The cold woman stood tall and motionless, her hands clasped behind her back, her silver uniform immaculate.

Before her flickered the image of a man—faceless, masked, and draped in an indistinct uniform that bore no allegiance. He was known only as Commander.

"Report," the modulated voice came through, curt and clipped.

"I have reason to believe," she began, her tone sharp, "that the one currently residing in Gilkesh—the boy called Linxia—may be a Reality Weaver."

A long silence followed.

She continued, her words precise, devoid of speculation. "There's no official record of him before his arrival. The identity he presented was flagged as forged, but when the system initiated deeper scrutiny, it encountered a high-level SSS+ encryption. Untraceable. Self-healing. We've never seen anything like it."

The Commander's mask tilted slightly. "Explain."

"When we pushed to probe further… that was when the bus incident occurred. The moment he stepped aboard, the trace vanished. All surveillance blacked out for a brief window. A seamless cover-up. As if he had anticipated the breach and acted accordingly."

The Commander's voice was low. "You suspect he planted the encryption himself?"

"No, sir. He doesn't have the profile of someone with that level of precision. If he is a Reality Weaver—as his aura and presence suggest—he's young. Inexperienced. Perhaps not fully aware of the extent of what he is. But someone is protecting him."

Another pause.

She took a breath, her eyes narrowing. "There's more. SilentQuill."

The name brought another beat of silence.

"I believe the figure known as SilentQuill may be tied to this rising power. And though there's no conclusive evidence linking them directly, it's possible they both answer to the same force—or ideology. They call themselves Authors."

The Commander's head shifted again, just enough to betray interest.

"Codename?" he asked.

"Unclear. It could be a facade—or something more symbolic. Either way, it doesn't match any known faction. They're not aligned with the Circle, not affiliated with the Northern Archives, and no contact points have been traced to the Whispered Court. They are... entirely outside our grid."

The Commander sat back slightly, folding his gloved hands beneath his chin.

"A rogue force, then. One that knows how to remain hidden."

She nodded. "Neutral, for now. But highly insulated. Whatever their agenda is, they've made a conscious effort to stay undetected."

"And Linxia?" he asked.

"Placed here under false credentials. Protected by impossible encryption. Likely unaware of his deeper role. But even in his subtle movements, there's… something unreal. Something fractured about him. Like reality bends around him in brief, subconscious ways."

The Commander was silent for several moments before he spoke again.

"Observation only. Do not confront. Do not interfere."

"Yes, Commander."

He leaned closer into the projection. "The encryption—does it match any archived key signatures?"

"No, sir. Not even in restricted sectors. Which means either someone has created a new classification above our own systems... or they've rewritten a portion of the framework reality itself is built on."

He tilted his head slightly. "You're saying..."

She nodded grimly. "If Linxia is what I suspect, then the 'Authors' have access to a Reality Weaver capable of altering foundational structures. They're not just hiding—they're rewriting the rules."

The Commander straightened.

"Continue surveillance. Send updates every cycle. Do not let him detect you. If this Author faction truly exists, we need to know what they want—and whether they intend to remain neutral."

"Yes, Commander."

"And if Linxia begins to awaken fully to what he is... inform me immediately."

The hologram flickered once.

"Observation begins now."

And then the connection severed, the blue light fading into black.

She remained standing in the silence, mind racing with the weight of implications. Unknown powers. Hidden factions. A boy wrapped in mysteries so dense that even the highest-clearance systems recoiled at his touch.

Linxia. SilentQuill. Authors.

None of them belonged to the world she knew.

But that wouldn't last for long.

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The banquet hall shimmered with soft magic—gilded lights dancing off floating orbs, music drifting through the air like scented silk, and voices weaving in and out of laughter and polite diplomacy. Nobles, envoys, and scholars mingled, their gowns and robes whispering secrets as they moved.

But in the far corner, half-concealed behind a decorative illusion of hanging ivy and soft fog, a figure stood alone. Unremarkable in appearance, they blended in effortlessly, like a shadow born from the architecture itself.

Their gaze, however, was sharp—fixed on the boy seated across the room.

Linxia.

He didn't stand out. Not particularly. Quiet, polite, observant. He smiled too little for a guest, and too much for someone trying to hide. His presence was... conflicted. Like a paradox quietly unraveling in the middle of the room.

The observer tilted their head slightly.

"A Reality Weaver, hmm?" the words were a whisper, not spoken aloud but felt—like a breeze threading through the room.

That phrase had slipped out earlier. Carelessly.

The observer hadn't meant to overhear, but when someone as cautious as that Woman muttered something under her breath, even subtle shifts in the air changed around her. She had leaned toward a hologram projector in a side chamber—shielded, of course—but the observer had ways of listening.

They always did.

A Reality Weaver, they repeated silently, tasting the words like fine wine. Now that's interesting.

Their eyes narrowed, the edges of their irises shifting, for the briefest of moments, like ink swirling in water.

Most Reality Weavers were dead. Bound. Institutionalized. Their power too unstable to be left unchained. And the few that remained? Watched. Heavily. Some served the Circle. Others had been dissected into systems. None were... new.

And none moved through the world unnoticed.

So how had this one slipped through?

"Forged identity... sealed with SSS+ encryption... and yet not a trace of origin," the figure whispered to themself, a smile curling on their lips. "Not bad."

They sipped from a glass that hadn't been there before.

The enchantments Linxia wore weren't his own. That much was obvious. His aura—it flickered. Not because he was hiding it, but because something else was doing the hiding for him. An external signature. Someone had bent reality to wrap around him like armor. Whoever it was had power, influence, and worse—vision.

"Must be that organization the woman talked about ," they murmured.

They'd heard the term in passing, buried in fragmented data, stolen whispers, obsolete archives. A name with no context. Author. A title too bold for a faction, too dangerous for a myth.

But if Linxia was the creation, and the Author the pen...

Then the story was only beginning.

A soft laugh escaped their lips.

"Neutral, are they?" They swirled the liquid in their glass, watching the reflection of the boy within it distort. "Let's see how long that lasts."

The observer slipped back, deeper into the illusion, vanishing into the decorative fog.

And the banquet continued.

Unaware.

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