5

The stone hallway was colder than it should've been.

Not like a draft. More like the air itself had forgotten how to carry warmth.

Elisha walked with his hood down, hands tucked in his coat, eyes shifting to everything—shadows, flickers of torchlight, whispers echoing behind walls. The deeper they moved into the Fallen Sages' archive, the more he felt something gnawing at the edges of his skin. A tightness in his chest, like the place had teeth.

Tommy stuck close to his side, quiet for once. Jin and Kessara walked a few paces ahead, while Vera stayed at his shoulder. She didn't speak, but she kept glancing at him out the corner of her eye—checking for cracks.

The escort—four robed Sages and one armored guide—didn't speak at all.

"How much farther?" Elisha finally asked.

No one answered.

That was the first clue.

---

The second was the council room itself.

Wide. Dome ceiling. Gold-painted arches rising like ribs over the chamber. At the center, a low stone table in a ring of chairs. No windows, no exits but the one they'd come through.

And the silence. Not peaceful. Not reverent.

Heavy.

As if the walls themselves were holding their breath.

Thirty of them waited inside. Robes in gray and violet and black. Old faces, young faces, faces that looked ageless. A few of them turned as Elisha stepped in, their eyes dragging over him like cold hands.

He took a single step forward.

And stopped.

The weight hit him like a wave—like stepping into water too deep, too cold, too fast. His throat clenched. His knees almost buckled.

Vera noticed. Her fingers brushed his back, steadying him without words.

Sequence.

That was the only explanation. The people in this room—they weren't Sequence 9s. They weren't even 8s or 7s. These were Sequence 6s. 5s. Maybe higher.

Elisha's breath came shallow. The air felt thin. The golden light behind his eyes—usually warm, steady—now buzzed like a trapped hornet. Nervous. Uncertain.

He didn't belong here.

Tommy whimpered behind him.

"I don't like this place," he whispered.

"Feels like everything's watching."

Elisha swallowed. "You're not wrong."

---

A man stood near the table and raised one hand—palm open, a small gesture.

"You are Elisha. Controller. Sequence Eight. Natural awakening."

His voice was calm. Not loud. But somehow it filled the room.

"I'm Cornelius," he added. "Archsage of Haven Twelve."

Even that title made something in Elisha's spine lock up.

Cornelius looked old—but not frail. He had short silver hair and pale skin that almost glowed in the lantern light. His robes were stitched with endless geometric shapes. And his eyes...

Elisha had never seen eyes like that.

Sharp. Not in the cruel way. But like they saw too much. Like if you looked too long, you'd get cut.

"Come sit," Cornelius said.

Elisha didn't move.

He wasn't sure if he could.

Vera stepped forward. Her posture was stiff, controlled.

"With respect, Archsage," she said, "he's only recently awakened. We've been traveling. He hasn't eaten. He—"

Cornelius didn't interrupt her. But somehow, the moment she stopped talking, it felt like he had.

"We understand," he said. Then, to Elisha again: "Sit, if you can."

That part wasn't said unkindly. Just... honestly.

Elisha forced his legs to move. One step. Two. He sat.

The chair felt too big.

Too exposed.

The rest of his group stayed behind him. Watching. Waiting.

Around the circle, the Sages watched too. Not with hostility. Not even curiosity.

With intensity.

"You're probably wondering what we want from you," Cornelius said as his voice echoed through the hall.

Elisha nodded, keeping his shoulders stiff.

"We want to understand," Cornelius continued. "You awakened without preparation. Without ritual. Without instruction. You rose to Sequence Eight overnight. That's not supposed to happen."

Elisha cleared his throat. *"You think I'm lying?"

"No." The word was soft. "We think you're dangerous."

That landed harder than it should have.

Not shouted. Not accused.

Just said.

Like a truth no one needed to argue.

---

Another Sage—a tall woman with hollow cheeks—leaned forward.

"Did anyone guide you in dreams?"

Elisha blinked. "Dreams?"

"Voices. Patterns. The old language."

"There was a voice." He didn't want to say it, but something in him knew hiding would only make it worse. "Itade me say things I didn't understand. Symbols in the air. Then pain. Then the System interface."

"What did it say?"

"Blood calls to blood. Will calls to will."

The silence that followed was colder than any winter wind.

Tommy shuffled behind him. Kessara's hand went to her knife.

Cornelius closed his eyes for just a second.

"That's from the First Cycle," someone muttered. "Pre-Collaspse."

---

Cornelius looked back at him. "We need to test you."

Elisha's hands curled into fists.

"I'm not a weapon."

"Neither Do we think you are ," Cornelius said. "But knowledge without action is dust. You brought something into this world. Something we thought long buried."

He stood.

The others rose with him.

Elisha stayed seated. He couldn't move even if he wanted to. The room was choking him now.

"Follow," Cornelius said.

---

The next room was darker. Smaller.

Stained-glass windows filtered soft light across the floor, where a circle of runes had been carved into the stone.

Cornelius gestured.

"Step inside."

Elisha did.

He shouldn't have.

The moment he crossed the boundary, the room pulsed. The air bent. His ears popped.

The sigils under his feet lit up with golden fire.

The same color as the System interface.

"Shit," Jin whispered from the threshold.

Kessara didn't move.

Cornelius stayed calm. But his fingers twitched.

"Say the words," he said. "The ones you used in the cell."

Elisha hesitated.

He didn't want to.

But the room was already reacting. The words were _already_ crawling up his throat.

He spoke.

Softly. Reluctantly.

"By blood spilled and words spoken..."

The pulse hit the walls. Candles flickered without wind threatening to die.

"By will imposed and souls broken..."

The sigils flared.

"I bind you to my purpose."

His voice having an unusual echo

The glass windows shook.

"I bind you to my word."

Silence.

Then—

+5 Primary Strength gained. Sequence Unstable.

The words weren't spoken.

They weren't seen.

They were _felt._

Every person in the room stumbled back.

Tommy fell flat. Jin grunted. Vera hissed.

Only Cornelius remained still.

But his jaw tightened.

---

"How—" he began.

Then stopped.

He was staring past Elisha. Past the circle.

At the far wall, where a mural had begun to glow.

A depiction of the Cycle Spiral.

Except the final arc—the last Sequence—was... gone.

Eaten away.

Burned clean.

In its place: a single mark.

A circle with a dot in the center.

---

"That's not supposed to happen," Cornelius whispered.

One of the More knowledgeable safe stepped forward, breathing hard.

"Is that... the Angel - Monarch of Jerusalem -, Sequence one sigil of the Controllers Ruler pathway?"

Cornelius didn't answer.

Another Sage—one who hadn't spoken yet—muttered something Elisha didn't catch. Then turned and walked out.

"I want answers," Elisha said. His voice didn't sound like his. "Now."

Cornelius turned.

His face was pale.

"We don't have them."

"Bullshit."

"No," Cornelius said again. "We really don't. That's the problem."

---

The alarms started then.

Not bells. Not sirens.

A low, grinding hum. Like metal dragged against bone.

"What's that?" Vera snapped.

"Intrusion," Kessara said. "At the upper halls."

A runner came in—breathless, bleeding. "Weeping Sun. Blasphemers. And... Ghoul Alchemists."

The word sucked all the air from the room.

Cornelius turned to Elisha.

"You need to leave."

"What?"

"You're the target. You stay, if collision happens it will burn this place to the roots."

Elisha shook his head. "I can't run."

"You're not ready."

"Neither are they."

---

Outside, thunder echoed. Footsteps. Screams.

Vera drew her sword.

Tommy grabbed Elisha's sleeve. "Don't die, okay?"

Elisha managed a crooked smile. "Not today."

The floor vibrated. The stained-glass cracked. Dust fell from the rafters.

Sequence 6 and 5 operatives moved past them—silent, armed, faces grim.

Even next to them, Elisha felt it again.

That weight.

That helpless, shrinking _distance._

---

Power is real. Sequence isn't just numbers. It's pressure. It's presence.

And he—just one level into the nightmare—was still barely touching the edges of what was possible.

But something deeper moved in him now.

Not fear.

Not yet fury.

But something like _ wakefulness._

---

Cornelius met his eyes.

"Whatever you are... it's breaking the cycle"

Elisha Confused just nodded

"I hope all this can be over as soon as possible."