The Silt-Burrows Enclave Entrance and the Central Forum, a subterranean city.
Sera did not offer Kael a hand. She simply melted into the earth, forcing him to follow through a hidden crawlspace beneath a rock formation that smelled overwhelmingly of sulfur and stagnant water. They descended into the Silt-Burrows, a warren of cramped tunnels carved beneath the shifting sands of the Shattered Continent.
The Silt-Burrows were not the elegant, magical sanctums Kael had half-imagined. They were cramped, lit by flickering, salvaged lamps, and filled with the low hum of desperation. Everywhere Kael looked, he saw the consequences of the forbidden power: men and women with oddly colored skin patches, unnaturally large pupils, or hands that trembled constantly—all Weaver Scars, physical manifestations of failed Code-Fixes and identity bleed.
"Keep your eyes straight," Sera murmured, her voice tight. "The Burrows value secrecy, not sentiment. Especially yours."
"I see the Scars," Kael replied, the raw guilt burning in his throat. His own scar was invisible, etched into his mind, an eternal reminder of the indigo eyes.
"You don't see them. You don't know them," Sera shot back, her breath smelling of cheap fermented grain. "Those marks aren't badges of honor; they're the price paid for messing with God's work. The price you must now pay if you want anything from Terris."
They arrived at the Central Forum, a cavernous space where haggard Weavers bartered for scavenged food and rare metals. Standing on a platform made of fused obsidian, watching the crowd with the heavy patience of a predator, was the Enclave leader: Terris.
Terris was a man whose body seemed to be held together by sheer willpower and magical grafts. His left arm was a twisted relic of muscle and bone, permanently scarred by thick, glossy black lines that moved subtly beneath the skin—a legendary Rupture from a massive Code-Weave gone wrong decades ago.
Sera pushed Kael forward. "The fugitive. He claims his service is worth information."
Terris didn't look at Kael. He looked past him, at the distant, flickering light of a passage, radiating cynical indifference. "Your service is worth what I say it is, boy. If you have the Soul-Code talent to command my attention, then show it. If you're just another scared Code-Scamper trying to hide from the Edicts, the Burrows have no room."
Kael felt the scrutiny of the entire Forum on him. This was the moment. He had to convince the man who embodied the cost he feared most.
"I need to know the whereabouts of the Theocracy's special detention facility," Kael stated, forcing his voice to remain steady. "They're holding a girl. My sister. Her code is... unique."
Terris finally turned. His eyes, though dark, seemed to pierce Kael's defenses, searching for the spiritual pathways he knew Kael possessed. "Unique? Everyone's code is unique. What makes yours so special that you'd break an oath of silence and march into a den of 'Scars' you obviously despise?"
"I caused her Glitch," Kael confessed, the words tasting like copper. "It didn't just fix her illness; it gave her a psychic connection—unstable, uncontrolled. The Theocracy won't just hold her; they'll use her to hunt others. They'll use her to hunt you."
Terris scoffed, a dry, rattling sound. "A noble lie. But I don't deal in nobility. I deal in risk. Show me what you can do, Weaver. Show me the strength of your Will."
Terris pointed across the forum to a large, hulking man slumped against the wall—a massive, scarred brute who was weeping silently.
"That's Grond. Three weeks ago, he tried to Weave extra strength into his muscles for a raiding run. He failed. Now his code is knotted. His strength is gone, and the constant pain drives him to madness. Fix his code," Terris commanded, his voice cold. "And if you Glitch him, you'll be the one Grond turns to scrap."
Kael stared at Grond. Fixing a large, complex, already-corrupted code was suicidal for an out-of-practice Weaver. It required delicate internal manipulation and, worse, a profound, temporary grafting of Grond's pain and madness onto Kael's own mind to understand the fault. He would suffer the pain. He would risk identity drift.
But he saw Elara's indigo eyes in his mind.
Kael walked toward the weeping brute, his feet crunching on the dusty floor. He knew he had to accept the price of the Scars if he ever hoped to undo the price of his kindness.
I swear this oath now, Kael thought, flexing his fingers, preparing to reach out not just with his will, but with his very identity. Every thread I pull is for her.