The wind carried a metallic tang, dancing across Blake's skin as his boots crushed debris underfoot. Mere seconds after allocating his points into Resonance, the world... shifted. The change hit like a wave, radiating outward from his core in pulses that made his teeth ache. Each heartbeat sent ripples of awareness through his body, as if his blood had been replaced with liquid static.

"That was... incautious," Chimera whispered in his mind, her voice taking on strange harmonics that hadn't been there before.

Blake stumbled, catching himself against a twisted sheet of hull plating. The metal sang beneath his palm—actually sang, a clear note that reverberated up his arm and settled somewhere behind his eyes. His vision swam, reality seeming to overlap itself like a double-exposed photograph.

The wreckage around him gained depth beyond simple physical space. Ghostly afterimages stretched into the air, each piece of debris trailing wisps of... something. Not quite energy, not quite matter, but unmistakably present. The alien sun overhead felt different too, its light carrying frequencies he'd never noticed before.

"This is what happens when you double an attribute you already had no familiarity with," Chimera chided, though her voice held more fascination than rebuke. "Your consciousness is adjusting to perceive an entirely new spectrum of reality."

Blake's knees buckled as another wave of sensation washed over him. He pressed his forehead against the cool metal, trying to ground himself. The plating thrummed against his skin, carrying impressions of its history—the void-cold of space, the searing heat of atmospheric entry, the violent impact that had torn it from its original frame.

"Make it stop," he growled through clenched teeth.

"I can't," Chimera replied. "This is your perception expanding. Fighting it will only make it worse. Let it flow through you."

Easy for her to say. Blake's enhanced awareness picked up traces of past events lingering in the air like smoke—echoes of footsteps, fragments of conversations, the residual energy of cultivation techniques. It was too much, too fast, overwhelming his senses with information he had no context for processing.

He focused on his breathing, falling back on meditation techniques learned years ago. In through the nose, out through the mouth. The simple rhythm helped, providing an anchor point as reality continued to kaleidoscope around him.

"Alright, Blake. Our core is stabilizing," Chimera noted. "Try opening your eyes."

Blake hadn't realized he'd squeezed them shut. Slowly, he lifted his eyelids.

Blake blinked, his eyes adjusting to the familiar wreckage of the scrapyard. The warped metal, scattered crystalline shards, and jagged hull fragments looked exactly as they had before. He frowned, his breath steadying as he scanned the area again, half-expecting some grand visual shift to accompany the sensory barrage he'd just endured.

But nothing had changed. The debris field stretched out around him in the same chaotic sprawl, a landscape of rust and ruin beneath an unrelenting sun. No spectral glow, no cascading lights—just wreckage. Blake ran a hand over his face, muttering under his breath.

"Still feels different," he said quietly to himself. There was no denying that much.

Chimera’s presence stirred faintly in the back of his mind. "Resonance doesn’t alter what you see," she offered dryly. "It deepens what you feel. You might try paying attention to that instead."

Blake exhaled through his nose and closed his eyes again. He still wasn’t entirely sure how he was able to turn his focus "inward," but he had learned the trick well enough already. Just as when he sought out his Perception to enhance his hearing, he reached tentatively towards the point in his core that felt like Resonance.

It came almost naturally this time—an intuitive tugging at the wellspring of energy within his core. A faint pulse answered as he willed it forward, allowing just a trickle to flow through him and into this... unfamiliar attribute. The response was immediate and subtle: a soft vibration that seemed to hum at the edges of his awareness.

The ease surprised him momentarily; until he remembered what Resonance was supposed to be: the Grace of his Spirit. Flowery as hell, he thought, but his spirit did feel more graceful.

As the mana empowered his Resonance, he felt a change. Invisible threads seemed to connect him to everything around him: the ground beneath his boots, the air brushing past his skin, even the shattered plating he'd touched moments ago. They were faint but unmistakable, like cobwebs trembling with unseen movement.

Blake lifted a hand experimentally and focused on that feeling—the barely-there strands vibrating against his consciousness. It wasn’t sight or sound or touch exactly; it was more like an awareness of presence, of connection. The longer he focused on it, the clearer it became: a delicate network of… Well, of Resonance, that was tying him to the scrapyard in ways he'd never considered before.

"It's... hard to explain," Blake said aloud after a moment. "Feels like everything's strung together somehow. Like... I can sense where things are because they're tied back to me." He rubbed at his temple, struggling for better words. "Not literally tied—just... connected? It's subtle."

"Functional enough for a first attempt," Chimera replied with mild approval. "The sensation will refine itself as you continue practicing. I will remind you that your Resonance started in the dumpster and you've only just brought it up to an acceptable level for cultivation."

"Yeah, yeah. Okay. I think I'm done with that particular acid trip. Let's get back to the ship."

----------------------------------------

Blake wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, careful not to get any of the conductive lubricant on his face. His upper body was wedged into a maintenance shaft while his legs dangled out the access panel. Eland's massive form crouched nearby, directing Blake's work on the power coupling.

"Rotate the secondary node fifteen degrees counterclockwise," Eland instructed, his cetacean features highlighted by the blue glow from below. "The resonance pattern should align with the primary assembly."

Blake grunted, straining against the coupling's resistance. The metal creaked as he applied pressure.

[ Experience Gained: Mechanical Repair ]

"You think we're lucky and this is related to that salvage site?" Blake asked, redirecting the conversation back to the impending scenario announcement. His enhanced Resonance picked up subtle vibrations from the coupling—discordant frequencies that gradually harmonized as he adjusted its position.

"Unlikely," Eland replied. "This golden notification suggests something... exceptional."

Blake twisted the coupling one last time, feeling the vibrations finally align in a steady hum. He leaned back, wiping his hands on his pants and glancing at Eland, who was now cross-referencing diagrams on a cracked data tablet.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

[ A girl could get jealous watching her pilot repairing another vessel, Blake ]

Chimera's avatar winked at him from the corner of his vision. Blake sighed and ignored her. At least she hadn't actually whispered it into his head or anything.

"Alright, that should do it. If you still think this thing will explode, I’d appreciate a heads-up," Blake declared.

Eland chuckled softly. "Unlikely. You’ve got a knack for this, Blake." His tone shifted to something more serious as he set the tablet aside. "Though I wonder if our host has the same attention to detail."

Blake exhaled sharply, leaning against the paneling. "You think this is all part of his little... live-stream?"

Eland’s nostrils flared briefly in thought. "It wouldn’t be surprising. The patterns are too deliberate—unexpected escalation from an 'antagonist', a big system announcement, it tracks."

"Yeah, an announcement for an announcement. What a crock," Blake rubbed his temple, his mind replaying Aureon’s cryptic words from their encounter. "What’s the endgame here? He didn’t exactly lay out his five-year plan when he showed up uninvited."

Eland tilted his head slightly, a habitual gesture Blake had learned meant he was processing multiple ideas at once. "If I were to speculate, it aligns with an overarching framework of control through chaos. The man—if we can call him that—is probably leveraging conflict and resolution cycles."

Blake frowned. "You’re saying this is staged? All of it? Every patrol we’ve dodged, every piece of salvage we’ve risked our necks for?"

"Not staged," Eland clarified gently. "Facilitated. Opportunities arise naturally in chaotic systems like this scrapyard, but Aureon—or others like him—manipulate the flow." He gestured to the partially assembled components around them. "Take these repairs, for instance. Would you have had the means to gather these specific materials without someone... steering events?"

Blake sighed. Eland had him there. It wasn't like he had actually been forced to agree to Aureon's bargain. But they had needed parts.

"Still feel like he's a toddler playing god," Blake said bitterly. "And we're the toys in his sandbox."

"He left something of an impression on you, didn't he?" Eland smiled faintly, though there was no humor in it. "Keep in mind that he's just the show-runner of something like this. The one's pulling all the actual strings are the Aeons watching."

Blake crossed his arms and stared at the dim lights flickering overhead. The idea that the alarmingly powerful space-elf jerk was just an intermediary did not actually make him feel any better.

"So what’s our move? Play along until we figure out how to break free of this?"

Eland’s large hands rested on his knees as he leaned forward slightly, meeting Blake's gaze with calm determination. "For now, we use what’s offered while preparing for what isn’t."

* * *

It took another hour for the announcement to arrive. Blake and Eland were eating dinner when it happened. Blake froze mid-bite as golden text flickered across his vision, accompanied by a voice that slithered uninvited into his thoughts.

"Welcome, one and all, to our newest regional scenario!" Aureon's tone carried an irritating lilt, each word steeped in a smugness that set Blake's teeth on edge.

Blake grimaced, setting his fork down with a sharp clink. One sentence was all it took to remind Blake of how much he disliked the guy.

"This is Chronicler Aureon, your host and moderator for this event. If you're interested in participating in this scenario, I recommend reading these messages very carefully! If you're not, I'd recommend leaving. Let the brave and the foolish show the Aeons their worth!"

Blake's picked up his fork and mechanically shoveled food into his mouth as the golden text continued to scroll across his vision. It was an old reflex: whatever the crisis, stay fed.

"Bannerlords," Aureon's voice resonated with the polished charm of a seasoned late-night host, each syllable dripping with practiced confidence. "I decided on the name personally."

"Of course you did, jackass," Blake groused.

"This scenario was decades in the making," Aureon's announcement continued. He kept on that way, using his supernaturally appealing salesman voice to try and convince anyone listening that this was a good idea.

Blake did his best to tune the bastard out and focus on the information presented via text. According to Aureon, various factions had been working behind the scenes on this particular depository world, each with their own vision for its future. Now those shadowy powers had pooled their resources into what Aureon called "an acceleration of destiny."

"What would take centuries of careful manipulation," the archon continued, "we shall accomplish in mere weeks."

Blake glanced at Eland, who sat perfectly still, head tilted slightly as he absorbed the information.

"The goal is beautifully simple," Aureon's announcement declared with theatrical flair. "Unite the scavenger clans by any means necessary. Through conquest, diplomacy, or whatever methods you deem fit—forge these scattered peoples into a single power."

The golden text dissolved from Blake’s vision, replaced by an ornate map that unfurled as though it had been tucked into the pages of an old tome. The edges were uneven, curling slightly as if worn by time, and the entire thing appeared to shimmer faintly, caught between digital precision and the artistry of a hand-drawn sketch. At first glance, the map was vague, an indistinct blur of shapes and shading barely hinting at the terrain he now trudged through daily.

But then, it began to shift.

Blake blinked as black ink bled into view, forming rivers of detail that swirled and pooled before resolving into distinct shapes. Roads appeared first—thin, spidery veins cutting across the expanse of wreckage and dunes. Dots soon followed, marked by names written in elegant script that seemed to ripple as though alive. The process was mesmerizing in its precision, yet Blake felt a deep irritation brewing beneath his curiosity.

"These," Aureon's voice returned with all its grating pomp, "are the locations of the major scavenger settlements."

Blake’s eyes narrowed. The dots grew more pronounced on the map, their names burning into place with sharp contrast against muted terrain. Each settlement was marked with a small flourish—some shaped like crude shields or banners—clearly designed to catch attention. They were scattered across a sprawling region, most further out than he’d anticipated. As he stared at them, more information surfaced beside each marker: estimated population sizes, trade resources, even notes about potential leadership structures.

And then it happened. A new icon—a bold blue dot surrounded by concentric circles—flashed onto the map and pulsed faintly. A text overlay popped up next to it.

[ Current location. ]

Blake ground his teeth as his irritation crested into outright annoyance. The glowing icon sat smugly over their makeshift base at Eland's ship.

The nearest major settlement on Aureon’s beautifully rendered masterpiece was far enough away to feel inconvenient... and it wasn’t Rax’s domain. That absence was impossible to miss.

"Are you kidding me?" Blake muttered under his breath.

Rax’s stronghold—the same clan he'd spent the week undermining, sabotaging, and preparing to dismantle—was conspicuously absent from this list of "major" settlements. Despite everything he'd seen of Rax's operation—the control over scavenger traffic, the weapon caches—it apparently wasn’t significant enough for Aureon's damn map.

A muscle twitched in Blake’s jaw as he glared at the flickering UI before him.

"I'm officially sick of this fucking planet."