Eventually, even cosmic paranoia gives way to exhaustion.
And after an hour of arguing, pacing, shouting (mostly Snarksteel), and Blaze trying to set something on fire out of stress, Ren finally collapsed onto the bed.
They all fell silent.
The Aetherium Core dimmed its internal hum.
Frost's voice faded to a whisper in his right eye.
Blaze curled into an ember-dream somewhere behind the left.
Time and Space drifted off like orbiting thoughts.
Even Gravity, forever watching, said nothing more.
Ren (before sleep took him):
"Just once… I'd like a vision that comes with a user manual."
No answer.
Only the quiet hum of the room.
And the sense that tomorrow was going to be worse.
Morning came.
Which was rude, frankly.
The sun barely filtered through the cracked window, golden and indifferent. Ren groaned and buried half his face in the pillow.
Ren (muffled):
"If anyone says the word 'cycle' before I drink something, I'm jumping out the window."
A knock came.
Not timid. Not loud. Just… purposeful.
He sat up slowly.
Ren:
"Unless that's breakfast or death, go away."
The door opened anyway.
Because she didn't wait for permission.
Marra, the Mistress Weaver, stepped in like she owned the floorboards — dressed in a battle-stained coat with stitched glyphs and calm fury in her eyes.
Marra:
"Good. You're awake."
Ren (squinting):
"Debatable."
She didn't smile.
Marra:
"There's been destruction. Across multiple wards. Not just in Emberstone — it's spreading into the western reaches.
Crestflare pulses are growing unstable."
Ren rubbed his face.
"Please tell me you didn't come here just to deliver bad news before coffee."
Marra (flat):
"I came because we need help. Your help."
That got him quiet.
She stepped aside.
Behind her stood a girl — maybe early twenties, small-framed, dark curls half-hidden under a rune-woven hood. Soft leather armor, light on her feet. Her eyes shimmered a quiet gold, and the faint scent of healing salve clung to her like a second skin.
She looked nervous. But her hands? Steady.
Marra (gesturing):
"This is Nessa. A combat-field healer. Recently crest-awakened."
Ren (tilting his head):
"She always look like she's trying not to run away or is that just because I look like this?"
Nessa (softly):
"Both."
Ren blinked. Then grinned.
"Okay. I like her."
Marra:
"Veyrix has returned to the Crimson Veins. The Deliverer is with him.
I want you to go. Meet them. Bring Nessa.
We'll need every thread stitched tight if this gets worse."
Ren sighed and ran a hand through his hair.
Ren:
"Back to vampire central. Great. Just what I needed.
Fangs. Politics. And now I've got a walking medical kit to keep alive."
Nessa (clearly hearing that):
"I'm not just a healer. I can kill things too. Small things. Bleeding ones."
Ren (grinning again):
"Still like her."
Marra:
"Get ready. You leave by dusk.
The Crimson Veins have started whispering.
And if Ashrunner's next move is there… we don't want to be late."
She turned on her heel and left — just like that.
Ren looked over at Nessa.
She met his gaze with a little more strength this time.
Ren:
"You ever see a man stitched together by sarcasm and trauma try to survive a vampire city?"
Nessa:
"Not yet."
Ren:
"Well. Lucky you."
They started packing.
And outside the window, far above Emberstone, a low pulse echoed in the sky.
Something was waking again.