Chapter 13: The Grand Nexus
Pre-dawn darkness clung to the upper arches of the Grand Nexus chamber. A faint blue luminescence emanated from the machinery far below, painting flickering patterns on the six-storey stone walls. John stood on a grated iron platform halfway up the vast cylindrical space, gazing down into the heart of the Empire's ley-line nexus. Hum. The low thrum of arcane energy coursing through crystal conduits set the air itself vibrating – a gentle, ceaseless resonance that could be felt in the chest. It was like standing inside a giant sleeping beast, its heartbeat a steady pulse of power. In the dimness, runic inscriptions along support columns glowed soft turquoise and amber, casting web-like shadows. The scale of the Nexus always gave John pause; even after two weeks of supervising repairs, he still felt awe at this marriage of magic and engineering. High above, a circular oculus was just beginning to pale with approaching dawn, but the sun had not yet risen. In this twilight hour, the chamber belonged to half-light and whispers, to cautious hope and gnawing tension.
John flexed his fingers inside the thin leather glove on his right hand. Despite the early hour, his skin was warm under layers of a padded vest and a light mail shirt – a concession to safety he insisted on wearing even here. Droplets of sweat already gathered at his temples. Whether it was from the chamber's residual heat or his own nerves, he couldn't be sure. Stay calm. Breathe. He centered himself with a slow inhale, recalling combat breathing drills from another life. This wasn't a firefight in a desert, but his pulse raced all the same. Before him, embedded in the platform's railing, a broad slate of polished obsidian awaited his touch. This was the stabilizer plate, currently inert. Inscribing the final stabilizer rune onto its surface was the last critical step to fully repair the Nexus. He had volunteered – insisted, in fact – on doing this personally. Lead from the front, he told himself. If he asked his people to risk their lives on the Empire's magic, he would share that risk.
"Your Majesty, all preparations are complete," came a low voice from behind. Magister Salim stepped forward into the glimmering light. The court archmage's embroidered robes looked black in the gloom, his silver beard neatly combed for the occasion. He carried an array of tools in a silk-lined wooden case which he now opened on a nearby workbench. Inside, John could see rune-etching implements: fine-pointed chisels of varying sizes, a small hammer, a vial of quick-drying golden ink, measuring calipers, and a roll of crisp parchment scrawled with diagrams. The scent of lamp oil and ozone wafted up as Salim carefully lifted a slender engraving stylus.
John nodded in acknowledgement and gave a brief half-smile, meant to reassure. "Thank you, Magister." His voice sounded steady, which was more confidence than he actually felt. He turned to include the others present. Master Zafir was a few paces below on a metal stair, one grease-stained hand on the railing as he leaned forward eagerly. The grizzled guildmaster's leather apron was smeared with charcoal and copper dust, his goggles perched atop his bald head. He had overseen every physical repair in this colossal chamber – replacing cracked conduits, recalibrating pressure gates, realigning the giant gyro-like orrery that directed ley flow. Now only the magical keystone remained to be placed, and for that he deferred to Salim and the Emperor himself.
Flanking Zafir were half a dozen anxious ley engineers and flux-tenders, their brown apprentice robes looking like shadows against the glowing rune-lines underfoot. Some clutched notepads or toolkits, others simply fidgeted with nervous energy. They all watched their Emperor intently. In their eyes John saw a mix of hope and trepidation. He had earned their respect over the past weeks – not just by funding the Nexus repairs, but by rolling up his sleeves to help, by listening to Zafir's advice over the objections of certain ministers, and most of all by delaying the full reactivation until every safety measure was in place. John had made a promise: stabilize first, integrate later. That caution frustrated Minister Aru and a few courtiers eager to flaunt the restored power, but John held firm. Lives were more important than pride or politics. If this fails… He pushed the thought away firmly. It will not fail.
"Flux levels are holding steady at minimal," Zafir reported, squinting at a dangling brass gauge lit by a rune-lamp. The needle quivered in the safe zone. "We've isolated the central conduit so you'll be working with only a trickle of current, as planned." His tone was meant to be encouraging.
John exhaled. Good. They had essentially put the Nexus in idle mode – just enough flow to sustain the grid's baseline, but not enough to surge dangerously if something went wrong. Still, even a trickle of ley energy was powerful. He'd seen a faulty rune turn a trickle into an explosion once, back during the initial breakdown that half-destroyed this chamber months before he arrived in this world. Shattered crystal and scorched stone, several artisans dead… the memory of those reports weighed on everyone present.
Salim stepped beside John at the obsidian stabilizer plate. Despite the archmage's outward calm, his dark eyes betrayed concern. "Your Majesty," he said quietly, for John's ear alone, "remember: a rune is a conduit of intent. Clear mind, clear lines. The shape guides the energy. If your hand hesitates… the flux may waver."
John managed a tight grin. "Steady hand, steady heart. I remember." Salim had drilled him on the theory for days, walking him through practice etchings on chalkboards and sand trays until the stabilizer sigil was etched into John's brain as surely as it soon would be into stone. Every line in one continuous motion, he recited internally. No breaks, no crooked angles. Each stroke in precise order. This particular rune complex – the Great Stabilizer – was a bind-rune, combining three intertwined glyphs. Its purpose: to regulate and buffer surges in the ley flow, preventing any sudden overloads. Without it, linking the Nexus fully to the rest of the city's grid was far too dangerous.
Salim dipped the engraving stylus in the golden ink. "We'll do this in ink first, as a guide. Then you will channel a touch of your will to set it, as we practiced." His voice was calm, professorial, and it steadied John's racing heart. The plan was to draw the rune with conductive ink – a special mixture of gold, ground quartz, and basilisk bile (John tried not to recall the ingredients too vividly) – then to empower it. In theory, once charged, the rune would sink into the obsidian plate and bond with it, glowing permanently. If he did it wrong, at best the rune would fizzle and evaporate; at worst… a mis-scribed stabilizer could turn into an unstabilizer, amplifying chaos. They'd triple-checked his design this very night in the library. It had to be right.
"Ready on your word, sire," Zafir called. He had descended to the chamber's ground floor to oversee the base mechanism. From there he could manually trip the emergency pressure gates if needed – massive valves to cut off ley flow from different branch lines. John saw him place a hand on a lever as a precaution. The crew around him exchanged anxious glances but stood at attention.
John swallowed, then squared his shoulders. He was Emperor Arslan Rûmî to them – and he would not show fear. "We proceed," he announced. The slight echo of his voice came back from the curved walls, lending him an authority he didn't quite feel. He glanced up briefly: high overhead, the ring of stained glass windows below the dome was still dark. The world outside still slept. Let's get this done before sunrise, he thought. Dawn would bring new responsibilities, but this had to come first.
Salim held out the stylus, its nib gleaming with golden ink. John accepted it carefully. It felt light and agile in his hand, like a calligrapher's pen. He removed his glove, wanting full dexterity and to feel the plate's surface. The obsidian was cool beneath his fingertips as he braced his left hand on its edge. His right hand hovered, stylus poised a hair's breadth above the pristine black sheen. He closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling slowly through his nose, exhaling through his mouth – the old sniper's trick before a trigger pull. The tension in his muscles drained away, leaving a taut readiness.
When he opened his eyes, they were locked on the blank space where the rune would live. "By the Eternal Light…" he murmured under his breath, an unconscious prayer. Then he began to draw.
The stylus met stone, and golden ink flowed in its wake. John's hand moved with deliberate grace, the muscle memory from countless practice sketches guiding him. Line by line, curve by curve, he inscribed the first glyph: Alem, the world glyph, shaped like an angular spiral. The obsidian seemed to drink in the ink thirstily. As he curved the final loop of Alem, a faint vibration tickled his palm on the stone. The line itself glowed brighter, sensing completion of its form. John's heart skipped – was it reacting already? Tiny motes of blue light skittered along the fresh golden spiral. He steadied his breathing and transitioned immediately to the next part.
Without lifting the stylus, he flowed into the second glyph: Tamit, the balance glyph. This one required absolute precision: two mirrored lines teetering around a central axis. His tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth in concentration as he traced the first stroke downward, then a second upward stroke, perfectly parallel. Halfway through, an unexpected tremor rattled the platform beneath his boots – some distant gear shifting the Nexus's weight, or perhaps just his imagination amplified by stress. The stylus nearly jerked, but John clenched his jaw and maintained the line's integrity. A single bead of sweat rolled down his brow, catching in his right eyebrow. He dared not blink it away. With a careful flourish, he completed Tamit, intersecting it seamlessly with Alem.
The combined form now resembled a complex sigil, two-thirds done and glowing softly gold-blue on the obsidian. The air felt charged. John realized he had been holding his breath and let it out slowly. Only one part remained: the core rune that would bind the others – Halas, the warding seal. It was the simplest shape of the three, a small circlet with three rays, but its placement was critical. It must overlay the other two at their nexus point, locking them together. Too high or low, and the binding would fail.
He could sense Salim just behind his shoulder, silent as a statue, not wanting to distract him. Somewhere far below, a clink of metal echoed as one of the engineers shifted nervously. John tuned it all out. In that moment, only he and the rune existed. He imagined the pattern in full: world, balance, ward – the Empire's stability captured in one symbol. Do it.
With one smooth motion, John drew Halas at the very center of the intertwined lines. A small circle formed under his stylus, encircling a point of convergence, and then three short rays emanated outward to touch each of the larger glyphs in turn. As the final ray connected, the entire sigil flared bright, flooding the immediate area in golden light. John lifted the stylus, hand trembling now that it was done. The glow from the wet ink reflected in his gray eyes. For a heartbeat, the stabilizer rune simply shone, every line precise and unbroken.
Then the golden light began to modulate, shifting to a cool sapphire blue – the color of active ley energy. The change started at the outer edges and swept inward. John realized he was witnessing the rune come alive. "It's charging," Salim whispered, unable to hide the awe in his voice. The vibration under John's palm intensified as the rune drank in the latent energy from the Nexus's trickle flow.
"Pressure holding," Zafir barked from below, excitement and relief mingled. "No fluctuations beyond tolerance." A ripple of cautious smiles appeared on the crew's faces.
John stepped back as the last of the golden ink transmuted to glowing blue lines now embedded in the obsidian itself. The rune had sunk into the stabilizer plate, fusing with it. It was done. He felt a wave of dizzy relief crash over him. His knees were stiffer than he remembered – he hadn't realized how tensely he'd been standing. He quickly wiped his stylus tip clean on a cloth and handed it back to Salim with a nod of thanks.
Salim's shoulders relaxed visibly. "Excellently done, Your Majesty," he praised, surveying the rune. The archmage's earlier worry melted into a rare, broad smile. "The lines are flawless. Textbook execution." The pride in his tone was that of a teacher whose student had surpassed expectations.
John let himself breathe deeply. A grin broke out on his face before he could restrain it – not the measured smile of an emperor but the uninhibited grin of a man who just pulled off a difficult maneuver. He quickly tempered it into something more dignified and turned to look down over the railing. "How does it look from there?" he called to Zafir.
The guildmaster removed his goggles, revealing crinkled eyes filled with gratitude. "Like new life, sire!" he shouted back, giving a thumbs-up which he quickly exchanged for a more formal chest salute when he remembered whom he was addressing. "The Nexus is stabilizing as we speak. The readings are smoothing out… by the Light, we might just have a fully operational Nexus again."
A murmur of cautious cheer rustled through the engineers. A few exchanged handshakes and claps on the back. John felt a swell of pride – not in himself, but in this team and what it meant for the city. The City of Light would shine bright again, its great nexus of ley energy whole and safe. He imagined the street lamps at night all aglow, the hospital wards supplied with steady healing energy, the upcoming festival lanterns twinkling without a single outage. This success would improve countless lives. And politically, it would strengthen his standing too – an Emperor who delivered on his promise to rebuild and who literally set his own hand to the task.
He rested his hands on the cool railing and allowed himself a moment to simply absorb the scene. High above, the oculus began to glow with the faintest grey light – dawn was nearing. Down below, Zafir and his crew were moving swiftly now, adjusting valves and reconnecting secondary lines with newfound confidence. One by one, dormant portions of the great machine were being brought online, now that the stabilizer rune was in place to safeguard against surges. John heard the clank of metal as a giant spoked wheel began to turn – slowly, steadily – routing ley currents along their proper channels.
Salim cleared his throat gently. "Your Majesty, if I may?" He gestured toward a spiral staircase that wound around the inner wall, leading down. "Shall we rejoin the others below and begin the final calibration sequence?"
"Of course," John replied. His voice came out softer than usual, the adrenaline ebbing. He carefully flexed the fingers of his rune-drawing hand; they tingled slightly, either from the magical charge or just the strain of maintaining utter steadiness for so long. Stepping away from the stabilizer plate, he cast one last glance at his handiwork. The rune glowed steadily, a complex star-like emblem etched in blue fire. Something about it resonated with him deeply – in its form he sensed meaning: Balance upheld. A memory fluttered up of a younger John disarming an IED under a Humvee in Afghanistan, steadying his hand much like tonight. Back then he had defused bombs to protect his squad. Now he inscribed runes to protect a city. Different worlds, same instincts.
He followed Salim down the metal stairs, boots echoing on the steps. As they descended level by level, the machinery's hum grew louder. Gears meshed, arcane generators whirled with a rising whine, and thin plumes of steam hissed from pressure release vents. The Nexus wasn't fully powered yet, but it was certainly more alive than it had been moments ago. John exchanged nods with a pair of junior engineers they passed, both of whom looked at him with something like reverence. He found it faintly uncomfortable – he was used to respect as a commander, yes, but the almost religious awe that some of these people had for their Emperor was hard to get used to. If only they knew I'm just a man doing his best. He kept his face composed.
They reached the ground floor where Zafir waited. The guildmaster's rough face was split by a grin beneath his grey-shot mustache. He extended a hand as John stepped off the staircase. John clasped it firmly, a very un-imperial gesture perhaps, but genuine. Zafir's palm was calloused and warm. "Congratulations, sire," Zafir said. "You've given us back the Nexus. I— We cannot thank you enough."
John shook his head, releasing the man's hand. "It's I who should thank all of you. Your tireless work made this possible." He raised his voice slightly to address the assembled crew now gathering around in a respectful semi-circle. "Master Zafir, Magister Salim, and every one of you – you have my deepest gratitude. The City of Light will wake to a brighter day because of your efforts." It was a bit formal, but heartfelt. A few beamed with pride; one young flux-tender blushed furiously at the Emperor's direct praise.
Salim folded his arms, indulging in a satisfied sigh. "Truly, a team victory." He then gestured to a nearby console – a stone dais studded with small rune-inscribed dials and levers. "Now, to calibrate and test in full. We should begin a controlled increase of ley flow to ensure the stabilizer holds at higher loads."
Zafir was already moving toward the dais. "Aye. We'll bring it up to 25% output first. Abbas," – he nodded to the lead engineer – "monitor the amperage on all feeder lines. Any wobble, we hold." The man named Abbas dashed off to a wall where a cluster of glowing gauges were set.
John noted how swiftly everyone jumped back into work. Relief and joy were already transitioning into focused professionalism. These were well-trained folk. My kind of people. He decided to stay a while longer for the initial tests, just to be sure all was well, and frankly to satisfy his own curiosity. The hardest part might be over, but caution was in his nature.
As Zafir and Salim coordinated, John stepped aside, giving them space. He found himself standing by one of the thick columns that supported the chamber's upper galleries. The stone was engraved with dozens of older runes, some worn nearly smooth by time. He ran a finger over one – it looked like an ancient power ward, probably part of the original Nexus design centuries ago. He wondered at the artistry; someone long before his time had carved that with care, never knowing a foreign soul from another world might one day trace it in admiration.
His thoughts drifted briefly. Arslan Rûmî. That was the name of the man whose life he had stepped into. The life he was now leading, for better or worse. The weight of that truth pressed on him more at quiet moments like this, when he wasn't immediately occupied by crisis. Outwardly, he was Emperor Arslan – a warrior-scholar with a cunning mind and ruthless reputation. Inwardly, he remained John Sullivan – soldier, interloper, and imposter struggling to keep this realm from falling apart. So far he had managed to navigate threats to his rule: assassins, conspirators, even the supernatural dangers of a cult's blood magic. And he had done so while trying to change Arslan's legacy little by little – showing mercy where Arslan would not, forging bonds rather than ruling by fear. He wondered, not for the first time, what the real Arslan had been planning for this Nexus. Would the true Emperor have been as cautious, or would he have forced a full power integration weeks ago for the sake of projecting strength? Likely the latter, given Minister Aru's urgings. John felt a subtle pride that he had resisted that path. If he had given in to impatience, they might be facing disaster.
A faint metallic groan reverberated through the floor, shaking John from his reverie. It sounded like a heavy gate adjusting. He peered toward Zafir's console. They had begun the 25% power test. The humming rose in pitch and one could feel a new warmth in the chamber as ley currents flowed more vigorously. The stabilizer rune high above pulsed a steady blue, visible even from here as a bright pinpoint on the obsidian plate. Everything seemed normal. Zafir gave a thumbs-up across the room, and Salim scribbled a note on a parchment log. John allowed himself to exhale in relief. All good.
He noticed the first real light of day now sneaking in – the oculus high overhead had turned from grey to pale gold, and stray beams lanced down, catching motes of dust in lazy swirls. Dawn was arriving. Soon the call to prayer would echo over the city, and the Palace would stir to life. Officially, today would be marked as the triumphant completion of the Grand Nexus restoration. John's presence here at this hour would undoubtedly become a story whispered among the guilds – the Emperor who helped etch the rune himself. He smiled wryly; at least that tale should bolster loyalty and quell those who doubted his commitment.
One of the junior engineers jogged over, carrying a brass tray with a ewer and cups. "Some morning sherbet, Your Majesty? Master Zafir keeps a flask handy for long shifts." The young man's voice cracked slightly, as if he couldn't believe he was offering a refreshment to the Emperor in a workroom. On the tray, steam curled from a spiced fruit sherbet, warm and likely overly sweet, but John's throat was indeed parched.
"Thank you," John said, taking a cup. The first sip tasted of pomegranate and clove. He hadn't realized how thirsty he was; the tension had dried his mouth. As he drank, his gaze wandered upward once more, towards the stabilizer rune. The thought of responsibility returned to him. This single rune held the line between order and chaos for the entire city's energy grid. The weight of it pressed invisibly on his shoulders. If it failed… No, don't think that. If it failed, not only would all their work be undone, people could be hurt – possibly many, if a surge hit when they connected the full network. He closed his eyes briefly. The stabilizer was solid. I will trust in my work. But part of him itched to double-check every stroke, every calibration. That was the soldier in him – trust your gear, but verify if you can.
Salim's voice rose in a measured cadence behind him, addressing the team. "All readings nominal at quarter output. Preparing to advance to half output. Slowly now."
John placed the empty cup back on the tray and rolled his shoulders. His muscles had gone a bit tight from the fine control earlier. He rotated his neck until he felt a small pop of relief. Perhaps after this he could rest a couple of hours – sunrise to mid-morning – before attending to the day's other duties. Rashid, ever efficient, had probably left a scroll of appointments for him: likely a debrief with General Safid on last night's city patrols, a brief audience with some emissary, and he had promised Yvara a…
Yvara. The thought of the red-haired concubine brought an unexpected warmth. He had promised her a stroll in the gardens one of these mornings when he could steal time, a chance to hear her play that stringed oud of hers, or simply to talk. They had found a curious comfort in each other's company of late. She was one of the few who saw him – or at least glimpsed that he was different from the old Arslan – and accepted it quietly. In the candlelit privacy of the harem's music room a few nights ago, she had even dared to tease a genuine laugh out of him with a self-deprecating joke about her terrible embroidery skills. John couldn't remember the last time he had laughed freely since arriving in this world. The women of the harem called him "gentler" now, perhaps even whispered it with cautious hope. Yvara especially. To her, he wasn't the distant lion-emperor of legend, but a man who carried secret wounds behind his calm eyes – wounds she seemed to sense without him speaking a word. She had become something like an emotional refuge for him, as vital in her way as Salim was with magic or Safid with military counsel.
He found himself looking forward to seeing her today, even as he knew he must be careful. There was no formal romantic entanglement – he had been very proper, almost to the point of puzzling her and the others. Emperor Arslan's harem was meant for pleasure and dynastic heirs; John had indulged in neither. A part of him felt it would be taking advantage, given they had no choice. But more truthfully, he simply hadn't had the luxury to sort out his feelings or the consequences. Still, with Yvara, he sometimes allowed a tenderness to surface – a gentle word here, a shared silence there. It was all he could afford, but it was enough to sustain him emotionally in this masquerade of power.
"50% output reached," Zafir called, snapping John back to the present. The floor vibrated more noticeably now. A distant whir suggested that even the far-end arc lamps of the city might be flickering to life with the increased feed. The stabilizer rune pulsed brighter in response, dutifully compensating for the heavier flow.
John moved toward the console where Salim and Zafir stood monitoring. "Everything still looks good?" he asked.
Salim gave a pleased nod. "Textbook performance, as I hoped. The stabilizer's absorbing the expected load without issue. We should maintain at half output for a minute or two before any further increase, just to be thorough."
Zafir stroked his mustache, eyes on a jittering needle. "Yes, and perhaps run a localized surge test – release a quick burst from one of the capacitor tanks to see how the rune handles a spike." Noticing John's slight frown, he hastened to add, "A small, contained spike, sire – entirely safe, with the new stabilizer. We want to ensure it truly does its job."
John couldn't fault the logic. Better to test a spike intentionally now than to have one hit unexpectedly later. He nodded. "Proceed. Within safe limits."
Zafir motioned to an engineer, who began adjusting a dial that controlled an auxiliary reservoir of ley energy – essentially a battery that could discharge its contents rapidly when needed, to smooth grid fluctuations. The idea was to let a tiny surge out and see if the stabilizer rune dampened it as intended.
John watched intently, arms crossed over his chest. He felt a familiar sensation in his gut: the mix of anticipation and wariness he used to feel waiting for the verdict on an explosives disposal – the moment after you cut the wire, making sure nothing blows. All signs were positive so far, but he remained on alert.
"Releasing pulse… now," announced the engineer at the reservoir control.
There was a sharp click and then a whooomph – a low thud of energy discharge. Immediately, one of the gauges spiked into the red. John's heart lurched, but before anyone could gasp, the stabilizer rune above flared brilliant blue-white. The spike gauge shuddered, its needle quivering, then swiftly fell back into safe range. Overhead, the rune's brilliance dimmed back to normal as it soaked the surge harmlessly.
A collective sigh of relief and a few triumphant laughs broke the tension. "Ha! Flawless!" Zafir exclaimed, slapping Salim on the back. The archmage let out a quiet chuckle of his own.
John realized he had instinctively stepped in front of Salim at the sound – as if to shield him from an explosion. He chuckled at himself and eased back. Some habits die hard.
"Well caught, Your Majesty," Salim noted with a sly look, having noticed John's protective movement. "Though I suspect I was in less danger than I might appear."
John rubbed the back of his neck, feigning nonchalance. "Reflex, Magister. I trust your arcane craftsmanship more than my instincts, it seems." His light tone drew a smile from Salim.
As the crew chattered excitedly over the success, John's attention drifted upward one final time. Morning light was flooding the oculus now, and through it he caught a sliver of pink sky. Dawn had arrived for certain. It struck him that they had done it. The Grand Nexus was stable. A major crisis averted, a major goal achieved.
He allowed himself a rare moment to soak in accomplishment – a feeling as warm as the sunlight now touching his face. But with the light of dawn also came the awareness of what next? The Nexus might be fixed, but the day's burdens would only multiply: integrating the network to outlying provinces (with all the political wrangling that entailed), ensuring Minister Aru didn't twist this victory into something self-serving, concealing Prince Darius's identity as the boy recovered in the palace… and now, in the quiet corners of his heart, the personal vow forming to address what he increasingly saw as another broken system: the harem's fate.
But those were matters for later hours. In this prelude to sunrise, deep underground amid the hum of arcane machinery, John Sullivan – Emperor Arslan – permitted himself a small, contented breath. Duty was heavy, but just for now, success tasted sweet.
He stepped back to the center of the chamber. "Gentlemen," he announced, raising a hand. The crew's conversations hushed immediately, all eyes on him. John continued, voice echoing in the vaulted space: "At daybreak, the City of Light will have its light restored. You have all done your empire proud." He took a moment to meet as many eyes as possible, ensuring each felt the recognition. "But our work is not finished. Over the next few days, we will carefully bring the Nexus to full capacity and then decide on integration timing for the regional grids." He glanced at Zafir and Salim, who nodded in agreement. "For now, I suggest we hold at half output and let the system settle while we all take a much-deserved break." A few grins appeared. "I'll expect each of you to get some rest and something to eat at sunrise – you've earned it many times over."
One of the older engineers, a wiry man with a singed beard, spoke up hesitantly, "If – if I may, Your Majesty?"
John tilted his head graciously. "Go on."
The man bowed his head slightly. "On behalf of the guild workers, I want to thank you. Not just for the kind words, but for trusting us and… well, for being here. It means more than you know to see an Emperor in the Nexus at our side." A couple of others murmured assent.
John felt a pang of humility. "It's where I needed to be," he answered simply. "We stand or fall together." With a final nod, he signaled that the informal gathering was over. "Master Zafir, I leave the Nexus in your capable hands. I'll return shortly after sunrise to review the data with you and Magister Salim. For now, maintain at 50% and keep an eye on that stabilizer's harmony."
"Yes, Your Majesty," Zafir said smartly. "We'll watch it like hawks. I'll have a full report ready when you return." Even as he spoke, he was already directing a few apprentices to set up monitoring scripts – long strips of enchanted paper that would record fluctuations in ink.
Salim stepped forward. "I can escort you out, sire," he offered. The archmage, ever mindful of protocol, likely assumed John would want to head back to the palace proper for morning court or perhaps to retire briefly.
John gave a polite wave of his hand. "Thank you, Magister. But I'm fine to find my way. Please, stay and assist Zafir. I'll take a guard with me." He appreciated Salim's thoughtfulness, but truthfully he wouldn't mind a solitary moment after all this, even if only during the walk back upstairs.
Salim hesitated, then bowed. "As you wish. And again… well done." There was real respect in his eyes. John clapped the older man's shoulder once, informally – another small departure from stiff etiquette that no one seemed to mind from this "new" Emperor – and turned toward the main exit corridor.
The heavy oak and brass door to the Nexus chamber creaked open as two guards in palace livery pulled it for him. Outside lay a broad hallway of stone lit by flickering wall sconces. These were not runic lamps, but actual torches – a redundancy in case the Nexus was offline. They would likely be extinguished and replaced by magical light later today now that power was returning. The two guards, members of the palace Janissaries, bowed as John emerged. They looked slightly bleary-eyed; likely they had been posted all night at this isolated post. John gave them a cordial nod and stepped into the hall.
He paused a moment, inhaling the comparatively cool and fresh air of the corridor. It was significantly quieter out here – the Nexus's hum muffled by the thick door. In the silence, he noticed his own heartbeat still thrumming in his ears. It's done, he reminded himself, savoring the relief anew. The faintest of smiles tugged at his lips as he pictured Minister Aru's face when told that the Nexus was stabilized without his meddling. No leverage for you today, old vulture.
John took a few strides down the hall, the sound of his boots solid and grounding. The corridor led back toward the main palace complex – in one direction a series of gradually ascending ramps and stairs would take him up to the administrative wing near the throne room. In another, a side passage sloped toward the private royal quarters and the harem's domain beyond. He considered his options. Normally, after such an all-nighter, the Emperor would retire for a short rest in chambers or at least clean up. But John felt too awake, despite fatigue nibbling at the edges of his mind. The adrenaline still coursed. Perhaps a quiet walk in the morning air would help him come down from the night's intensity.
He made a decision: the gardens. Dawn would be breaking any minute in the eastern sky, and he suddenly yearned to see it. Not from a balcony or through a lattice, but to stand under the open sky for a moment. The closest open-air refuge at this time would be the Courtyard of the Harem Gardens, which lay not far through the side passages – an enclosed garden, technically part of the inner palace and adjacent to the women's quarters. Usually it was the preserve of the harem's residents, but at this early hour they would likely still be in their chambers preparing for the day. And who would gainsay the Emperor a stroll there, in any case? Perhaps he might even spot Yvara practicing her dawn stretches or music; she had mentioned sometimes greeting the sunrise with a song when allowed.
Resolved, John turned down the side passage leading toward the harem. One of the two guards at his heels cleared his throat gently. "Your Majesty, shall we accompany—?"
John half-turned, giving a reassuring wave. "I'll be quite all right on my own from here, Sergeant. I'm only going a short ways to get some air." He didn't want a clanking retinue disturbing the peace of dawn. The guard looked conflicted – leaving the Emperor unescorted, even within palace walls, went against training. But John fixed him with a kind but firm look. "Stand easy. You both deserve a rest as well – the Nexus door is secure now. Report to the barracks and rotate out."
They hesitated, then saluted. "As you command, Majesty." Reluctantly, they turned back. John gave them a grateful nod. He knew they'd likely be admonished by Rashid later for letting him wander off alone, but he would cover for them. Sometimes an Emperor needed to breathe without an audience.