Session 11 - Chapter 5: Blackout pt. III

The two Avariel, Ildris and Kiiellien, were absent from the safehouse but were located outside on the downstairs porch sharing hot drinks and cheerful laughs. Echo, who had gone searching for the missing Keeper to inquire about his runic magic, specifically how such ancient and ethereal power might be adapted to the communication devices the cyborg contained found himself returning not only with the Keeper but with a surprise. The Bard Kiiellien now bore a wing pattern uncannily identical to the Keeper’s own. The symmetry of feather and hue was uncanny and though it was clear to all eyes that this sudden, inexplicable transformation had occurred, Kiiellien gave no voice to the matter but walked with pride behind Echo into the safehouse, dressed comfortable in reindeer pajamas.   Ildris was immediately summoned into the workshop, accompanied by Gidget, to oversee and assist in the delicate and invasive process of deconstructing part of the cyborg. Their purpose was to remove and modify Echo’s communication module, enhancing it with the new erasure magic that had been devised by Z3r0. While Echo’s frame was pried apart with specialized tools revealing humming coils of etheric energy, another modification was undertaken: his face itself was altered, reshaped, and completed in a way it had never been before. A mouth, jaw, and lips were crafted for him; artificial, yet painstakingly sculpted. Each feature was modeled against the shifting visage of the changeling Lux Silvers, who tirelessly provided form after form until the exact, perfect match was located. When at last the many clocks within the safehouse chimed the late hours of 1 Frostbreak, the cyborg emerged bearing a new look his visage noticeably more human. He wasted little time in mastering the intricate, unfamiliar speech movements now required to form words, testing the newly granted lips and jaw until the rhythm of communication felt almost natural.   During the hours-long reconstruction of Echo, Kiiellien retreated inward, falling into silent prayer. Her still body occasionally flickered with her figure shuddering with abrupt distortions, the way a projection glitches when caught between signals. To those observing, it seemed mechanical as though some digital error was overtaking her. But in truth these were the signs of her first communion with the Aspect Blink since her arrival in this world. No movements betrayed her inner dialogue, no sound marked the moment, yet when she emerged she carried a different weight than before. Though Kiiellien never disclosed the full scope of her Goddess’ words, the transformation within her was undeniable: the voyager Princess had spoken with Time Herself and heeded Her every word.   The Bard came to understand that her Goddess had not intended to wipe all life from Komana’s surface. Instead, She allowed those who survived to thrive, even the souls society had deemed less-than-desirable. Time Herself had looked ahead peering through the ages and saw Beaumont not as a wasteland but as the blossoming marvel it had become; still riddled with fractures and still scarred by relics of Her own ancient age. The Sculptors, in their flawed vision had ushered cycles of mass extinction which the clever Beaus not only recognized but morphed into unexpected prophecies. These too would need mending.   Kiiellien was granted a thread of time, both delicate and immeasurable but something to hold, protect, and cherish with all her being. She promised, as Princess and protector of Blink that she would do so dutifully. When Lux, ever observant, questioned Kiiellien’s glitching behavior, the Avariel reluctantly divulged fragments of what had been revealed ultimately coming to the realization that she needed to lead Beaus through the hardest year in their history. But Lux met her with fierce and unflinching truth: people were going to die, likely in the millions. Could the Princess truly bear that weight? Could she shoulder the blame when all eyes turned to her, when the world demanded accountability from her leadership?   Meanwhile throughout the evening the ever-droning telecaster poured its endless stream of grim detail into the background. Reports continued to surface as crippled communication networks struggled to spread the news of devastation across the globe. Dust had a moment to settle enough for the true scale to be assessed: destruction radiated hundreds of miles beyond each ground zero, swallowing even distant outskirt towns and rural cities. Entire communities suddenly cut off from communication were left broken and desperate, their people fleeing by the thousands. Worse still were the haunting images of aftermath: massive tsunamis born from the blasts, surging across oceans and swallowing coastal cities whole. The merciless seas devoured not only property but lives without number. The most chilling silence of all came from the maritime channels: not a single ship at sea had reported in since the detonations. All were presumed lost, dragged down into Denna's abyss by waves of impossible size.   From these reports arose the conversation of communication itself. Jaxion, recalling his travels, reminded the group that perhaps hundreds of towers still remained standing between the route of Alcyon and Ellisbeth suggesting thousands more still existed outside of the bomb sites. For now, communication might remain possible in less populated regions though anything near the fallen metropolises was beyond hope until the Beaumont Royal Navy re-established lines with their own secure channels. The Deremitru, however, had already proven they could access these same towers. Their worldwide broadcast had required no less, which meant they either possessed or had stolen access to io.na’s immense infrastructure. Such reach was proof of an enemy that had embedded itself deep into the arteries of global communication.   Yet before this thread could unravel further, the telecaster abruptly shifted, interrupting all talk with a breaking broadcast from Helixhold. A bomb, it was reported, had been discovered buried deep within the subway systems. A maintenance worker, during his daily inspection of a repair-line, had stumbled upon it by sheer chance. Governor Geldmar Iberson appeared onscreen visibly relieved but grave, cautioning citizens to remain vigilant of anything suspicious. Behind him, filling the broadcast, loomed the discovered device. Its frame was massive, complex, bristling with strange appendages. It looked too intimidating and technological for what it claimed to be: a weapon of mass destruction.   Sanctuary Inc. gathered close, scrutinizing the footage. They rewound, froze frames, studied the broadcast with painstaking care until at last they saw it: the Deremitru lotus. Something was undeniably wrong. The device bore countless additional pieces, convoluted mechanisms whose purposes seemed utterly useless. Both Echo and Gidget agreed: it looked as though someone had deliberately over-engineered the device. Moreover, the entire casing was powder-coated, the thick finish masking the origin beneath. But beneath the false surface, faintly betraying itself at the edges they spied the reddish-hued metal only found within Scorpion Pointe and embedded within, the mark of the Deremitru. Why disguise it? Why display it publicly adorned with needless additions if not to cover its true nature? The questions were damning and Sanctuary Inc. knew they had no choice but to act immediately.   And so, with Z3r0’s encrypted code serving as backdrop and wearing a simple mask gilded in blue and gold, Kiiellien made her debut as the face of Sanctuary Inc. Her wings, radiant and unmistakable, spread wide behind her. A Keeper’s wings, visible with proof of intent. With solemn grace she pleaded her case to the world: the Sculptor did not seek their destruction; the true enemy was the Deremitru, who could be identified by the lotus symbol; and the governments were complicit, hiding truth by covering the lotus on the bomb. Through Ildris’ magic -poured out at great cost to his strength - the broadcast was transmitted across every channel, every screen, every voice line in the world. The lotus was laid bare for all to see. The effect was immediate. Anchors blinked, enthralled, relief softening their features. Analysts and commentators erupted in frantic speculation, replaying the image of the lotus, reiterating again and again the message: the Keepers were alive, no longer omens of death, but prayers of life itself.   In the shadow of monumental tragedy, amid the immeasurable loss still too great to process, Sanctuary Inc. at last found a semblance of rest as night surrendered to morning.   Dawn came with a surprising measure of hope. By sunrise, Sanctuary Inc.’s account had gathered millions of followers. Their broadcast video had already climbed into the hundreds of millions of views, flooding the networks. Across nations Vox responded, uniting their own people behind the stolen message of an anonymous group turned saviors. Even through catastrophic devastation, the people of Beaumont would not bow to terror. The Deremitru had become the enemy of all, and for now, the world’s gaze turned toward the Vox Ultima, its most powerful leaders, to guide them forward.   The safehouse itself, too, was restored. Its upgrades had been completed and its wards reinstated. To the rest of the world, 147 Copperwing Crescent did not exist at all, it was simply a skipped number on the street, a phantom void between houses. Inside however, life carried on. B-YU, ever domestic seemed overjoyed to return and as dawn brightened he delighted his housemates with steaming plates of homemade waffles. But peace was short-lived. A knock -sharp, unyielding- echoed against the non-existent door. Panic spread like lightning. How could anyone possibly know this place existed? Z3r0 had erased it from memory, the magic confirmed beyond question. Even Gidget herself, just yesterday, had been unable to locate the hidden driveway without a direct guide. Yet the knock came again. Echo, with measured courage stepped forward to answer.   On the doorstep stood a boy no older than ten, clutching a box and reciting nervously. His voice quivered as he asked the man-of-the-house if he might contribute funds to send him to summer camp. In exchange, the boy offered not coin, not trinket, but a single tomato. Echo, bemused and delighted, gave him a bill and gladly accepted the fruit. A moment later, charmed by the oddity of the exchange, he decided to purchase the boy’s entire box. The child lit up with joy, clutching his payment and skipping down the walkway, vanishing the moment he reached the edge of the property. Questions rang out. Was the boy real? How had he found them? The answer, though unspoken, was clear: this was Z3r0’s doing.   Almost instantly, Silas’ sharp instincts carried him to the tomato. He snatched it, tore it open, and within discovered a gleaming upgrade: a holodisk newly forged, embedded with functioning runes and open communication lines to HQ. The remaining fruits peeled back like a curtain, revealing a hidden chamber beneath. Within lay priceless treasures: passports, four for each of them, tailored to false identities complete with authentic credentials across every major faction; a cache of 1150 gold in emergency funds; sleek BAC gas masks; and brand-new blastcans, each brimming with 75 charges spread across cantrips and 1st through 4th level slots. Folded among these items were instructions: travel to Wendalee, the ash site. Etched across the page was a hawk-like insignia.   With their supplies gathered and their destination marked, Sanctuary Inc. began to plan their next move. But travel was two weeks of arduous foot travel ahead and the roads by car were deemed impossible. Their saving grace was none other than the Cindercleft Xpress.   As they studied the papers again, young Xhoya’s keen eyes spotted something odd. The note’s signature, bearing Z3r0’s name, was not digital, not etched nor printed. It was written in ink. For the first time, the cryptic overlord of the BAC had left a mark that was unmistakably human.