The village did not greet them with smiles.
It greeted them with spears.
Not raised.
But present.
Two men stood beneath a timber arch reinforced with Albion’s modular iron joints — recent additions. The wood still carried fresh tool marks. The iron braces were clean.
Prepared.
A woman stepped forward from inside the gate.
Mid-forties. Weathered skin. Eyes that missed nothing.
“State your business,” she said evenly.
Kael blinked. “We just got here.”
“Yes,” she replied calmly. “And you will state your business.”
Yava stepped down from the wagon without irritation.
“Traveling merchants,” he said smoothly. “Licensed under Albion authority.”
He handed her a permit sealed in green wax.
She examined it carefully.
“Goods?”
“Architect joints. Verdant vine-rope coils. Preserved herbs. Solar lantern cores,” Yava replied without pause. “And minor spatial consultation.”
Her gaze sharpened slightly.
“Consultation.”
Before Yava answered, she continued.
“You are aware distortions have been occurring.”
“We are.”
“If they worsen after your arrival,” she said calmly, “this village will hold you accountable.”
Fair.
Merchant law.
Bring trouble, pay for it.
Yava inclined his head.
“Reasonable.”
She studied him for another breath.
Then:
“We need help.”
No pride swallowed. No dramatics.
Just necessity.
“Paths shift,” she said. “Livestock wander. A child nearly vanished yesterday.”
Her eyes flicked briefly toward Eryn.
“If you are consultants,” she finished, “consult.”
Yava turned slightly.
“Eryn.”
Eryn stepped forward.
He didn’t close his eyes immediately.
He observed.
Footprints near the threshold overlapped strangely. Dust drifted toward the arch instead of away from it. One iron joint was misaligned by less than a finger’s width.
Subtle.
He inhaled slowly.
Let stillness settle.
The lattice shimmered faintly across his irises.
Thin pale lines traced through the air — so subtle they could be mistaken for reflected sunlight. But Kael noticed.
“…There it is again,” Kael muttered.
Eryn saw it now.
A diagonal compression shear running beneath the gate threshold.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
Two overlapping layers of space grinding against one another.
Small.
Growing.
“Three tension nodes,” Eryn murmured. “Primary axis—”
“You see it?” the chief asked sharply.
He nodded once.
“It’s rotating.”
“Can you fix it?”
He hesitated.
That was enough.
The seam twitched.
A child darted beneath the gate arch—
And half his foot flickered into displaced ground.
The shear widened.
“Borgas — left anchor!”
Borgas surged forward without question. Titan Force thickened his arms as he planted his enlarged hands against empty air.
The air resisted.
He grunted.
“Kael — rotate the edge! Two degrees!”
Kael darted in, blade flat, tapping along lines only Eryn could see.
The seam twisted.
Not closed.
Tilted.
Wrong direction.
Eryn’s heart slammed.
He misread the axis.
It wasn’t vertical compression.
It was rotational shear.
The child slipped further.
Kael’s footing shifted unexpectedly.
Borgas’ planted stance began to slide.
“No— wait— stop!”
The fracture widened.
Space screamed without sound.
Eryn froze.
Not again.
“You hesitated.”
The memory struck hard.
If he miscalculated—
The seam stopped expanding.
Yava stood with one sleeve slightly lifted.
Space around him folded inward by the width of a breath.
He had not closed the fracture.
He had paused it.
Sweat traced faintly down his temple.
“You misread the axis,” Yava said calmly.
Eryn swallowed.
“I almost killed them.”
“You almost did.”
No anger.
No comfort.
Just truth.
Yava stepped closer.
“Look again.”
He did not fix it.
He did not finish it.
He held it steady.
“For a moment only.”
Eryn forced his breathing steady.
He stopped staring at the tear.
Instead, he followed the pressure.
The seam wasn’t pushing outward.
It was resisting inward tension.
The axis cut diagonally through the secondary node.
He exhaled.
“Borgas — shift two steps right! Don’t push. Just hold!”
Borgas obeyed instantly.
“Kael — no cutting. Tap along the inner line!”
Kael adjusted. Short, precise taps.
Yava withdrew his fold.
The seam trembled—
Aligned—
And with a soft, almost offended click—
Reality settled.
The child collapsed safely into Borgas’ arms.
Silence followed.
Eryn’s hands trembled.
“I miscalculated.”
“Yes.”
The word landed steady.
Yava looked at him.
“Prepare as if I won’t be here.”
The wind moved faintly beneath the gate.
“There will be fractures I cannot pause.”
“There will be days you stand alone.”
Eryn met his gaze.
“So grow,” Yava said quietly,
“until I don’t need to.”
No praise.
No softness.
Measured expectation.
The chief watched the exchange carefully.
Then she nodded once.
“You may continue your consultation.”
Respect.
Earned.
They dispersed to reassure the villagers.
Borgas knelt beside the shaken child.
Kael pretended nothing had nearly gone wrong.
Yava spoke quietly with the chief about reinforcing high-traffic paths.
Eryn stood near the well.
And felt it again.
Smaller.
Thinner.
A micro-shear forming beside the water trough.
No screams.
No chaos.
He inhaled.
Did not panic.
Did not calculate.
Stillness settled.
The lattice shimmered faintly across his irises.
He saw the tension immediately this time.
One anchor.
Minimal rotational drift.
He stepped forward.
Pressed his palm lightly against empty air.
Redirected pressure.
“Kael.”
Kael glanced over. “Yeah?”
“Tap here.”
A single precise flick of the blade.
The seam clicked closed.
So quietly no one else noticed.
Except Yava.
Their eyes met briefly.
Yava gave a single nod.
Acknowledgment.
Eryn felt the strain hit him all at once.
His knees nearly buckled.
He caught himself.
Vision blurred at the edges.
Borgas jogged over.
“You good?”
“…Yes.”
His voice was steady.
Even if his hands still trembled.
By dusk, the gate threshold was reinforced.
The chief stood beside Yava once more.
“You stabilized the primary shear,” she said. “And two minor ones.”
“Three,” Eryn corrected quietly.
She glanced at him.
“…Three.”
She signaled one of the guards.
A small pouch was brought forward.
Coin.
Modest.
Honest.
“For consultation,” she said.
Yava accepted it without flourish.
“Fair trade.”
The chief studied him.
“These distortions,” she asked evenly, “will they worsen?”
Yava did not answer immediately.
“They will appear where tension accumulates,” he said. “High traffic. Repeated stress. Emotional volatility.”
She nodded.
“We will rotate paths.”
Practical.
No fear.
No superstition.
Just adaptation.
As the caravan prepared to move, Borgas lingered near the well.
He watched villagers returning cautiously to normal movement.
Then, loudly, with full sincerity, he said:
“…Didn’t we kind of cause this in the first place?”
Silence.
Kael’s eyes widened.
The chief’s brow lifted slightly.
Eryn froze.
Yava did not react.
Borgas continued, gesturing vaguely at space.
“I mean — not like on purpose — but the big Divine fight and all that space folding and storm smashing—”
Kael lunged and wrapped an arm around Borgas’ neck, covering his mouth.
“We are consultants,” Kael hissed through a tight smile.
“Mmmph—!”
Borgas struggled lightly.
The chief looked between them.
Then back at Yava.
“You did not cause this here,” she said evenly.
Yava met her gaze.
“Not directly.”
That answer was deliberate.
Careful.
Truthful enough.
The chief held his stare a moment longer.
Then:
“Then we will solve what appears here,” she said.
“And you will solve what appears elsewhere.”
Agreement.
Not accusation.
She extended her hand.
Yava shook it.
Transaction complete.
As they departed, Eryn glanced back at the village gate.
The lattice was stable.
For now.
Yava walked beside him.
“You heard him,” Eryn said quietly.
“Yes.”
“He’s not wrong.”
“No.”
A pause.
“Clearing these fractures reduces strain,” Yava continued. “Each correction lowers future instability.”
Eryn absorbed that.
“So we’re not… making it worse.”
Yava’s gaze remained forward.
“We are preventing worse.”
Then, softer:
“But prevention requires precision.”
The road stretched ahead.
The next village waited somewhere beyond the treeline.
And this time—
Eryn did not wait to be called forward.
End of Chapter 23
