The Silk Stalkers were still twitching on the floor, their porcelain masks cracked and leaking violet fluid, when the Head Weaver’s voice returned. It didn't boom this time; it was intimate, slithering through the "Static" like a snake in tall grass.

  "Impressive," the voice mused. "The Inquisitor’s cold pragmatism, the Old Guard’s weathered steel... I expected them to stand. But you three? You are the real treasures. I suppose it shouldn’t be a surprise, considering the blood you carry."

  The Weaver’s projection flickered in the center of the room, a ghostly image of robes and white eyes. He turned his gaze toward Elena and Kael.

  "The girl... a lineage of the Silent Archivists, trained to see the flaws in any lock. And the boy... a descendant of the Frost-Walkers, the anchors of the Northern wastes. Legacies. Pure and predictable."

  Then, the projection turned to Ren. The Weaver’s white eyes narrowed, and for the first time, the voice sounded genuinely unsettled.

  "But you... Ren. You are different. You aren't a legacy. You are an old tale—a myth that should have been smothered in the cradle of the Deep Veins. You are the echo of a catastrophe that—"

  "Alright, enough with the bullshit monologue," the Mayor interjected, his voice sharp and suddenly devoid of its theatrical warmth.

  Ren, despite his exhaustion, looked up and smirked. "Language, Mayor! There are kids here."

  Thaddeus P. Sterling threw a look of pure, unadulterated annoyance at Ren. "Oh, hush. I’m having a moment." He straightened his coat, his eyes locking onto the Weaver’s projection. "I believe you’ve distracted us quite enough with your 'Once Upon a Time' stories while your little God finishes his morning stretches."

  The Weaver sneered. "If you knew the danger, Sovereign, why haven't you struck? Your arrogance has cost you the window of opportunity."

  "Arrogance?" Thaddeus chuckled, and this time, the sound made the shadows in the corners of the room retreat. "No. I haven't done anything for two very specific reasons. First, as I mentioned, I’m a man of expensive tastes. I find a Dead God to be a fascinating subject of study, and it’s been far too long since I’ve had a fight that didn't involve paperwork. I wanted to see if your 'Lord' lived up to the hype."

  He stepped toward the basement stairs, his cane clicking heavily.

  "And second," the Mayor’s voice dropped into a register that made the Gilded Eye in Ren's chest throb with heat. "You are an amateur, Weaver. The coming of a God is a delicate ritual. You don't just interrupt a Ley-resurrection hastily when you're in the middle of an urban center full of my people. One wrong move, one 'hasty' interruption, and the backdraft would turn Oakhaven into a crater. I’ve been waiting for the anchor to set so I can kill your God without scratching my paint."

  Arthur let out a long, slow breath. He looked at the Detective, who was lowering her pistol, realizing the Mayor had been "calculating" the safety of the town's citizens while they were fighting for their lives.

  "The anchor is set, isn't it?" Arthur asked quietly.

  "Oh, it's set," the Mayor replied, his eyes glowing with a dark, terrifying green light that matched the ancient roots of the Sentinel. "The God is officially a resident of Oakhaven now. Which means he’s subject to my laws."

  Thaddeus cracked his knuckles, the sound like breaking branches. "Weaver, your Lord is about to learn about the 'Eviction Protocols' of this town. And Ren? Don't worry about the grades anymore. The midterm is over. This is the part where the Professor shows you how it’s done."

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  Ren’s eyes were practically sparkling when he heard the mayor He didn't look like a boy who had just survived a brush with death; he looked like a kid at the front row of a circus. He grabbed Kael and Elena by their collars, dragging them back toward Arthur’s side.

  "C'mon, move it! We’ve got front-row seats!" Ren shouted, waving his hand frantically at the Inquisitor. "Hey, lady! Get over here! You don't want to be in the 'splash zone' when the old man starts swinging!"

  The Inquisitor looked at Ren as if he had grown a second head. "Are you insane? Calling for a match? If a God has truly manifested, we need to evacuate the district! We need to signal the Federation High Command and get the heavy-ordnance units here immediately!"

  Arthur stepped forward, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. "Calm yourself, Inquisitor. Come to this side. It’s the only safe patch of ground left in this building."

  Dazed and confused, she allowed herself to be led toward the corner of the room. "How can you be so calm?" she hissed at Arthur. "This is an imminent extinction-level threat. Even for a Sovereign... it’s a God. He’s putting himself in mortal danger!"

  Arthur let out a low, dry chuckle. "Inquisitor... how much do you actually know about Thaddeus P. Sterling?"

  She blinked, taken aback. "I know his file. I know his rank. I’ve heard my parents talk about his 'eccentricities' at the dinner table. He’s a high-level Sovereign who took a retirement post."

  Arthur nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on the Mayor’s back. "Then you know absolutely nothing. Just relax. Look forward. You’re about to witness something that people in the Capital pay millions to see. If you pay attention, you might find the spark you need to push into Rank 4 yourself."

  The Inquisitor turned her gaze to the children. Ren was currently holding out a handful of crumpled copper coins.

  "Fifty credits says the Mayor loses his hat in the first ten seconds," Ren whispered to Kael.

  "I’ll take that," Kael replied, crossing his arms. "But I bet he wins without even taking his left hand out of his pocket. He's too vain to use both."

  "I think he'll accidentally break the floor and fall through," Elena added, though she was smiling.

  Arthur’s mouth twitched. A major metaphysical event was about to occur—a creature from the Void was crawling into their reality—and these children were discussing it like it was breakfast talk. He sighed, though there was a hint of pride in his eyes.

  "Kids, focus," Arthur commanded. "You are all standing at the threshold of Rank 1. This is the moment you decide which path your power will take. Watch the Mayor. Don't look at his hands—look at how the world bends around him."

  On the other hand The Inquisitor stood frozen as Arthur’s words sank in. She began to realize the discrepancy. The "Mayor" in her briefing—the man who complained about flower beds and tax forms—was a mask.

  She remembered the day she told her parents she was being deployed to Oakhaven.

  Her father, a high-ranking commander who had seen enough blood to stain a lifetime, had immediately let his brow furrow into a deep, heavy frown. He had set his glass down with a sharp clack against the table.

  "Oakhaven?" he had muttered, his voice dropping into a low, protective growl. "You need to be wary. Question everything there. Enjoy the peace, yes, but observe—truly observe. That place isn't a town; it’s a den of monsters. And the Mayor? He is the monster among monsters."

  In contrast, her mother had let out a sudden, amused laugh that rang through the dining room. She had leaned back, her eyes twinkling with a mix of nostalgia and dread.

  "Oh, it's a lovely place, dear," her mother had chuckled, shaking her head. "But careful. Despite all his shenanigans and the ridiculous ways he spends his time, remember that the world used to know him by a different name: the Waking Natural Disaster. He isn't 'dangerous' in the way a criminal is—he just... happens. You can only imagine his terror until you see it firsthand."

  Back in the present, the Inquisitor looked at the Mayor’s relaxed posture. He was currently dusting a speck of imaginary lint off his sleeve while a deity from the Void clawed its way into the mortal plane.

  "A walking natural disaster," she whispered, her voice trembling.

  In front of them, the floor finally gave way. A hand made of solidified darkness and weeping gold gripped the edge of the abyss. The air turned to lead. The Weaver’s God was rising.

  And the Mayor simply stood there, checking his pocket watch. "Three seconds late," Thaddeus muttered, his voice cutting through the divine pressure like a hot knife through butter. "I really must insist on punctuality, even from the heavens."