The weight of Cypher's responsibility suddenly seemed more tangible. This wasn't just about reclaiming a crown or rebuilding a legacy. It was about saving what remained of an entire people.
"Why didn't he tell me about the settlements?" I wondered aloud.
Vic shrugged, placing the message in a drawer filled with similar scrolls. "Security, primarily. The fewer people who know their locations, the safer they are. The Assembly still considers Nytherians a threat."
I knew that, even though it sounded insane. "Even refugees? Even children?"
"Especially them." Vic's voice hardened. "The Assembly fears what they can't control. Nytherians possess knowledge about void travel and realm creation that could undermine Assembly authority. Even their children inherit certain... aptitudes."
I thought of Cypher, of the way he navigated the Gallery with such confidence, of his innate understanding of portal mechanics. Were all his people so naturally attuned to the void?
"Will we visit these settlements? Once we've established the new realm?"
"That's the plan. Gather the refugees, bring them home." Vic smiled wistfully. "Some of them have never seen Nytheris, and were born in hiding. Imagine what it would mean to them, having a place where they don't have to look over their shoulders."
I could only dream of such a world.
I found myself perched high on the observation platform near the sails, legs dangling over the edge as I balanced the codex on my lap. The ship rested silently on the dusty ground below, a strange sight without water or dark Gallery to support it. From this height, I could see for miles across the dead landscape, the mountains rising in the distance like ancient sentinels.
The leather binding of the codex felt warm beneath my fingers as I carefully turned another page. Most of the text remained unintelligible to me, flowing Nytherian script that looked more like art than language. But Cypher and Vic had spent hours translating sections, writing notes in the margins.
I traced my finger along one such passage, squinting to make out Vic's cramped script:
"The Genesis Engine exists beyond conventional space, anchored within the First Dark itself. Not a device as we understand machines, but a nexus point where the raw creative force of the void can be harnessed and directed."
Below it, Cypher had added:"Requires a powerful rift to activate—someone who can commune directly with the First Dark."
Someone like me. The thought made my stomach twist with anxiety. I turned to another page, finding a sketch of what appeared to be a rough cut crystal with lines of energy connecting them like a web. More notes crowded the margins:
"The Engine responds to intent. The stronger the will, the more precise the creation. Caution: unfocused desires produce unpredictable results."
I closed the book with a sigh, suddenly overwhelmed by the responsibility looming before me. Click chirped softly from his perch on my knee, his large eyes fixed on my face with that unnerving knowing.
"What am I supposed to do with all this?" I asked, scratching gently behind his ear holes. "Everyone's counting on me to build an entire realm." I leaned back on my hands, staring at the colorless sky. "What if I can't do it? What if I try and fail? Or worse, what if I try and something goes terribly wrong?"
I looked back down as Click tilted his head, his expression somehow both sympathetic and completely neutral at the same time.
"The First Dark already reached for me once," I continued, voicing fears I hadn't shared with anyone else. "What if it's not done with me? What if connecting to it changes me somehow? Makes me something... not human anymore?"
Click chittered softly, placing one tiny clawed hand on my finger.
I smiled. "You know what? You're the best listener I've ever met. No judgment, no unsolicited advice." I stroked his soft scales. "Though I suppose that's easy when you can't talk back."
Vic emergedfrom his workshop two weeks later, his face flushed with excitement. I was helping Tor inventory our supplies when he burst into the galley, waving a parchment.
"It's happened!" he shouted, eyeglasses askew and his flopping hair in clear distress. "Juno, your father—he's free!"
I dropped the inventory slate, my heart stopping then racing double-time. "What?"
Vic thrust the parchment into my hands. "Marcellus just sent word. The tribunal ruled in his favor on all counts. Your father was released from the Dredge this morning."
I scanned the message, hardly daring to believe it. The words blurred as tears filled my eyes. "He's really out? He's free?"
"Completely exonerated," Vic confirmed, beaming. "He'll be monitored for a while—standard procedure—but he's home with your mother now."
The relief crashed over me like a wave, leaving me light-headed. I'd been carrying the weight of my father's imprisonment for so long that its sudden absence made me dizzy. "I need to go to him?—"
"Not yet," Vic cautioned, his expression sobering. "Gideon still has people watching your family's shop. Marcellus advises waiting until the heat dies down."
