The soft glow of restoration sigils lit the infirmary chamber. Floating runes hummed in rhythmic pulses, restoring neural flow and spell-circuit stability to Ari's strained body. He lay in silence, bandaged more by code than cloth, his eyes dimly open—yet his mind ablaze with questions.
He hadn't spoken since the battle.
Not to Cerys, who refused to leave his side.
Not to Eluin, who had slipped in and out, monitoring his vitals with quiet precision.
Not even to Lysira, who had brought his favorite tea and left it untouched.
But it wasn't silence that filled Ari—it was disorientation. The truth was becoming a sea, and he hadn't yet learned how to swim.
That changed when he walked in.
The Doctor Who Wasn't Just a Doctor
The man wore a simple dark coat—no Threadmark, no family crest, no academic band. His face was weathered, with streaks of gray at his temples and tired eyes that didn't match any known rank within Sanctum. His presence, however, caused the sigils in the room to dim slightly.
Ari blinked at him. "You're… not my attending."
The man smiled. "No. I'm not."
He pulled a chair beside the bed and sat down. His voice was low but carried weight, as if it had once been used to command armies or rewrite histories.
"I am Aven Kaelstrath. My title doesn't matter. But I belong to a group long forgotten by your System. We are called the Detractors."
The name meant nothing to Ari at first.
But then the term clicked somewhere in his Originis memory—a footnote, scribbled in the margins of a pre-System codex: "Those who silenced the roar to protect the song."
"You removed something from the System," Ari said, voice hoarse. "Something dangerous."
Aven nodded slowly.
"Not dangerous—too true. We are not enemies of magic, Ari. We are the ones who trimmed it so the world could survive. And we have a question only you can answer."
He leaned closer.
"What will you do… when you control the One True System?"
A Dangerous Question
Ari remained silent for a while, absorbing the weight of that question. The One True System—it wasn't a tool. It was the underlying fabric of reality. The precursor to Signum. The source of all known Threads. The thing that was deleted because it refused to be controlled.
And somehow, it recognized Ari.
He spoke slowly.
"I… I don't know if I want to control it. I want to understand it. To rewrite what was twisted. To restore what was stolen."
Aven gave a small smile. "That's exactly the answer we feared… and hoped for."
He rose, his shadow bending slightly in a way that hinted at code masking—not from Signum, but something older.
"Then you are invited, Ari Solen. The Detractors will hold session for the first time in thirty million years. You will meet those who silenced the Code. Those who remember what came before the Pillars. Those who still carry the prime syntax—even if they can no longer use it."
Ari struggled to sit up, his energy still frayed.
"And if I say no?"
Aven gave a quiet, weary look.
"Then the world burns without guidance. The Fragmentwalkers will rewrite it without resistance. You are not the only inheritor… but you are the only one left with access."
He turned to leave, pausing at the door.
"We will be watching. Come when you're ready."
And then he vanished—no sound, no glyph, no spatial ripple. As if the world had simply forgotten he was there.
Aftermath
Later, as the healing sigils faded and Cerys re-entered, Ari stared at the ceiling.
"I'm not a hero," he whispered to her. "I'm just a broken piece of something older."
Cerys touched his hand, firm and unflinching.
"Then let's put it back together. One truth at a time."