Imitation Is Faster Than Wisdom
Ashthorne did not wait.
That was the mistake.
By morning, the academy had already begun trying to reproduce what they had witnessed the night before. Not quietly. Not patiently. But urgently—driven by fear disguised as innovation.
Committees formed before breakfast.
Doctrine drafts circulated before noon.
Instructors argued over phrasing instead of principles.
And deep in the Dominion Tower, someone gave an order that should never have been given:
Attempt replication.
Caelum knew the moment it happened.
He felt it like a false note in a familiar melody—threads being pulled with the wrong intent, at the wrong angle, by hands that did not understand what they were touching.
He stopped mid-step in the Strategy corridor.
Lira, walking beside him, felt the bond tighten instantly.
"Someone's doing something reckless," she said.
"Yes," he replied. "They believe they are being careful."
That, historically, was worse.
The Demonstration
They called it a controlled trial.
A minor spatial anomaly was isolated in an abandoned training hall—low instability, predictable oscillation, no students nearby. On paper, it was safe.
On paper.
Observers crowded the upper balconies: Dominion officials, instructors, sealed scribes recording every movement. At the center of the hall stood three senior instructors and one Dominion operator.
No Caelum.
That was intentional.
"We don't need him present to validate the method," Halven said stiffly from the gallery. "We observed the technique. We know the steps."
Lira's hands clenched.
"That's not how it works," she whispered.
Caelum didn't answer.
His attention was entirely on the anomaly.
It pulsed weakly in the center of the hall—a shimmering distortion that bent the floor slightly out of alignment. It was old. Frayed. Defensive rather than hostile.
It did not want to escalate.
Which made what followed unforgivable.
Mistake #1 — They Spoke Without Listening
The Dominion operator stepped forward and raised their hand.
"I will address the anomaly," they announced.
Caelum's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
They did not address it.
They spoke at it.
"You are no longer required to persist," the operator said. "Your original parameters are obsolete. You will release stored distortion and enter dormancy."
The anomaly pulsed.
Uncertain.
Not resistant.
Confused.
Lira's breath caught.
"They're commanding it," she said. "That's not what you did."
"No," Caelum replied. "I acknowledged it."
Mistake #2 — They Assumed Neutrality
The instructors began weaving sigils—soft, flexible constructs meant to guide rather than contain.
In theory.
But the constructs were still external frameworks imposed on a problem that was internal.
The anomaly reacted.
Its oscillation increased.
The air warmed.
One instructor frowned. "It's destabilizing. Increase dampening."
"No," Caelum said quietly.
No one heard him.
The dampening sigils intensified.
The anomaly surged.
Mistake #3 — They Forgot the Anchor
There was no anchor.
No human reference point.
No emotional constant.
No aligned presence.
Only systems trying to out-think something that did not operate on logic alone.
The anomaly twisted sharply inward.
Space folded.
One instructor screamed as their arm elongated unnaturally, bones stretching like melted wax.
Containment sigils flared too late.
The gallery erupted.
"Abort!"
"Shut it down!"
"Seal the hall!"
The anomaly didn't explode.
It snapped.
Failure Is Loud
The shockwave threw observers back from the railings.
The ceiling cracked.
A hole tore open in the floor as reality buckled, swallowing part of the anomaly and one of the containment pylons whole.
Screams echoed.
Healing sigils activated.
Emergency seals slammed down, barely holding.
When the distortion finally collapsed, it left behind:
• One critically injured instructor
• Two unconscious operators
• A training hall permanently warped
• And a scar that would never fully stabilize
Silence fell heavy and choking.
Lira stared in horror.
"They hurt it," she whispered. "They didn't mean to—but they did."
"They treated it as a mechanism," Caelum said. "Not a process."
The Dominion observers looked shaken.
Halven's face was ashen.
"…End the trial," he croaked.
Too late.
The lesson had already been taught.
After — The Part They Missed
As med-units rushed in and seals were reinforced, Caelum turned away.
Lira followed him into the corridor, heart pounding.
"They thought copying the steps was enough," she said. "They didn't understand why it worked."
"Understanding cannot be proceduralized," Caelum replied. "Only approximated."
She hugged herself.
"Is this what keeps happening?" she asked. "People seeing something work and breaking it by trying to own it?"
"Yes."
"That's… awful."
"It's also predictable," he said.
They stopped at a high window overlooking the damaged hall.
Workers were already moving in, trying to stabilize the scar.
Caelum's eyes darkened.
"They will blame execution," he said. "Not ideology."
Lira swallowed.
"And try again."
"Yes."
The Dominion Faces Itself
That evening, the Dominion Council convened without ceremony.
No posturing.
No threats.
Just fatigue.
Voss stood at the center, arms crossed.
"It failed," she said.
Halven rubbed his face with both hands.
"Spectacularly."
"The boy warned us," someone muttered.
Voss closed her eyes briefly.
"He didn't warn us," she said. "He explained us."
The room fell quiet.
The Warden spoke reluctantly. "…We cannot reproduce this without him."
"And even with him," Voss added, "we may not be able to reproduce it at scale."
Halven looked up, eyes hollow.
"Then what are we supposed to do?"
Voss opened her eyes.
"We stop trying to turn him into a tool," she said.
"And start admitting that he is a change in framework."
No one argued.
Because no one could.
Lira Understands the Cost
Later, in the quiet of the balcony, Lira leaned against the stone railing.
"They're going to resent you for this," she said. "Not because you're wrong—but because you showed them they are."
"Yes," Caelum agreed.
"They'll try to isolate you again."
"Yes."
"They'll try to separate us."
He paused.
Then shook his head.
"Not yet."
She looked at him.
"…Because of me?"
"Because of what you represent," he corrected. "You are proof that alignment is not exclusive to me."
She exhaled shakily.
"That's a lot of pressure for someone who just learned she could talk to anomalies."
He looked at her.
"You didn't just talk to them," he said. "You made them feel seen."
She blinked.
"That matters?"
"It changes everything."
Below — Satisfaction Has Teeth
Deep beneath the academy, the entity stirred—slow, thoughtful, amused.
They tried to imitate, it whispered.
They failed.
Good.
Failure teaches more honestly than success.
Its awareness brushed Caelum's like a shadow passing over moonlight.
They will come to you, it murmured.
Not for permission.
For necessity.
Caelum did not respond.
He already knew.
The Consequence No One Anticipates
As the academy slept uneasily, something far beyond Ashthorne reacted.
Not an anomaly.
Not yet.
A signal carried through ancient ruins and sealed vaults—resonance recognizing resonance.
Far away, in a place no map named anymore, a dormant construct shifted.
Awakened not by force.
But by understanding being attempted and failing.
The board expanded again.
And next time—
The anomaly would not wait to be resolved.