Compared to how he had last seen it, the construction site surrounding the Sanctuary was all but abandoned when they arrived. Gone was the lively bustle of daeva swarming over the unfinished building, the bright promise of a future still under construction. The silence left behind in their absence lent the air a dismal overcast the cheerful spring weather did not account for.
True to his word, Remiel was waiting for them when they arrived alongside Saerim Umahel and his most trusted healers. It wasn’t a complete surprise to see they were also accompanied by Saerim Ciel, though it was a minor disappointment; Michael hadn’t entirely expected her to evacuate when ordered if it meant leaving behind her work, but he had hoped she would have been reasonable during a crisis. He ignored her for now, focused instead on trying to read Umahel’s expression as the healer took quick stock of their ailing guest.
“You weren’t exaggerating, my Aeon,” Umahel said, prodding at one of the golden lines crossing Aeon Raphael’s throat. “I’ve never seen a case like this before, and I would remember these markings if I’d heard of them. What can you tell me?”
“She manifested alongside the Path when it first appeared,” Michael said. He preemptively gestured for Remiel to hold his questions for later, which was rewarded with begrudging compliance. “Something went wrong before her body could fully form, however, but I don’t know what. There was a…” He cast for words to describe something that likely defied practical explanation. “There wasn’t an explosion, but it felt as though there was. When it had passed, she was on the ground, like that. She was talking then, after a fashion. She started to drift, but I was able to call her back.”
“I thought only daeva drifted,” Remiel said. He did not sound happy with the idea being proven otherwise.
“We have been blessed to never find ourselves in the position to verify whether that’s true,” Umahel muttered, distracted, as he tried to check Aeon Raphael’s vitals. His grim expression at what he found did nothing to ease Michael’s worries. “We’ll need a clean, controlled space to work.”
“The on-site infirmary,” Ciel offered. “We try to keep a relatively well-stocked infirmary for any project of this scale, particularly one outside of the city. It’s this way.”
“Umahel, a moment, please.” Michael stopped Umahel before he could follow Ciel alongside the other healers with a quick gesture to come closer. He leaned down so the shorter man could hear his murmur, concern creasing his brow. “It goes without saying to do everything in your power to help, but I urge you to do so with some semblance of caution. At least until we know what caused this condition and are confident it cannot spread.”
“You have reason to believe this is a contagious sickness, my Aeon?” Umahel asked, his round eyes narrowed critically.
‘Do not allow yourself to be exposed,’ Aeon Gabriel had warned him. Nothing for it now, but he intended to minimise damage where he could.
Michael crossed his arms over his chest with an uncomfortable sigh, hunching lower still as if that had ever made his agitation any less. “Not as such, no, and certainly I have no evidence. What I do have is a feeling, if you will indulge me, that things are not as they seem here. See what you can find, if anything, and we’ll go from there.”
Umahel scrunched up his nose, his disquiet plain on his face as he pieced together what had been said and what was left silent. Michael braced himself for a barrage of questions, but the chief healer merely nodded after a pause. It would seem he was unwilling to waste time while a patient required treatment. “All necessary precautions will be taken, my Aeon. Take care; I will deal with you as the situation permits,” he said, as much to Remiel as Michael, before he hurried off after the others.
As soon as they were gone, Michael sank to the ground with a heavy sigh and covered his face with his hands. It was only in the act of massaging his brow he realised his hands were shaking.
A soft scuffling sound prompted him to open his eyes. Remiel knelt on the ground opposite him to meet his level, his dark brows drawn heavily over his hazel eyes.
“I suppose you have questions,” Michael said with a tired grin.
Remiel spread his hands wide in a gesture that asked ‘what can you do?’ Instead, what he asked was, “Are you well, Michael?”
Michael let out a slow sigh. “I still haven’t eaten.”
Remiel nodded. “Ciel always keeps a stash of treats in her field offices to celebrate hallmark achievements. They’re too sweet by half to be proper, but better than nothing, I would imagine.”
“Fine.” Michael hauled himself to his feet with an exaggerated groan and toddled in the general direction of the construction site’s head office, which just so happened to be near the on-site infirmary. He waited until Remiel tsked at his dramatics and fell in line beside him to correct his posture. “Ask your first question.”
“What did the Aeon of Yesod have to say of all this?” Remiel asked.
Michael inclined his head. “Very little specifically. She warned we were approaching an epoch, ‘the end of an era’ she called it. She could not say what awaited us, only that care must be taken in our reactions to whatever we face, which I believe we’ve already seen good reason to agree with. What of the evacuation? Do we yet have the initial figures on the damages?”
“Not that I’ve heard yet,” Remiel said. He retrieved his trusty information pad from a pocket to double-check, but shortly shook his head and returned it to its hiding place. “I expect the comms system will be in disarray until Ananel can resume her post; it might be closer to dayset before we have first estimates. These…” he fumbled for the word, scowling, “Paths, you called them, we’re certain they’re harmless?”
“We have the King’s word,” Michael said numbly. “What more can we need?”
“Not having a dying outsider dumped on our door would be a great start,” Remiel said.
“Don’t,” Michael warned, coming to a halt.
“Of course, I’m certain everything will be done to assist our guest so she will not die, and the King’s word carries every imaginable weight,” Remiel said carefully. He waited until they had walked a while in tense silence, chewing on his lip in agitation, before he cleared his throat. “If I may ask, Michael, regarding the Most High, before today, had you…?”
Michael ran his hands through his hair with a groan. “You know very well that I haven’t. I certainly meant to, of course, but there was always some reason or another to delay. There was an endless supply of issues closer to home to distract myself with, problems that needed solving or projects that needed a finishing touch before they could prove what we’ve built here is worthy.”
“It is worthy,” Remiel said, offence heavy in his voice.
“I know that,” said Michael. “Look, it’s… Mayhaps the worst part of this is the fact that I didn’t even realise how much time had passed until an ‘outsider’ pointed it out to me; I had no idea I couldn’t contact Highest Yetzirah even if I wanted to until Aeon Gabriel alerted me to it. What excuse could I offer for such negligence?”
Remiel perked with interest, frowning. “The Aeon of Yesod called to say that you couldn’t contact Highest Yetzirah?”
Michael shook his head, then shrugged. “Highest Yetzirah as well as Tiphareth. I tried myself from the communications centre before the Paths appeared. There was no connection to Kether and I was failing to get a proper answer from Tiphareth when the Paths happened.”
Remiel’s eyes narrowed. “And yet we all heard the voice of the King while the Aeon of Tiphareth appeared in poor shape from one of these Paths.”
“It’d be stating the obvious to say I expect they’re connected,” Michael said. “What remains to be seen is how.”
Ciel met them under one of the portable arched gateways she insisted on erecting around the command centre of any new construction. The arches were a holdover from the early days of Hod, back before Michael had known any better and relied on habits from the Before like a crutch; grand gateways such as these had fallen out of favour in newer structures, but Ciel had clung to the practice of lining unfinished sites with ward gates with an almost religious fervour. Michael had never been able to decide whether or not he wanted to dissuade her, so he said nothing.
“I was beginning to worry you’d forgotten where the offices were,” Ciel said by way of greeting. Her posture was friendly, but her tone was tired and her face was fraught with worry. “Though I could understand if you found yourself turned around; the state it’s in now, this place looks like something out of a different world when it’s empty,” she said, placing an affectionate hand on the gatepost as she glanced over the half-finished bones of the eventual Sanctuary. “Come inside, then; I’ve orders to keep you calm and comfortable until Umahel can have a go at you, my Aeon.”
Michael stood his ground, crossing his arms over his chest. “You had orders to evacuate.”
At once, Ciel dropped into a deep curtsy, low enough to hide her face from view. “And I did, my Aeon. I escorted the daeva to the capital and saw them integrated into the evacuation to the outer districts.”
“I watched them depart myself, my Aeon,” Remiel said.
“Meaning you immediately turned around and came back, then,” Michael inferred.
Ciel did not rise from her curtsy. “As you say, my Aeon.”
Michael let out an exasperated huff. “Ciel, why? I ordered the evacuation for a reason. We had no idea what could have happened!”
“As you say, my Aeon. That is precisely why I came back.” Ciel straightened, her blue eyes burning. “I could not in good conscience leave the Sephirah during such a crisis. All else we could rebuild, but the Sephirah is too vital.”
“It wasn’t exactly unguarded,” Remiel grumbled under his breath.
Ciel met his gaze, her chin held high in defiance. “And we leave no one behind to face the unknown alone.”
“Fine, enough!” Michael snapped, rubbing at his temples to ward off the headache threatening him. “Don’t think this is over, but we’ll talk about it later.”
Ciel’s eyes brightened in victory, but she was tactful enough to keep her expression neutral as she nodded and ushered them into the offices proper. “It’s too soon for news on the Aeon of Tiphareth, but Umahel said, at least at first glance, he doubts it’s a sickness. At least, not a contagious one, at any rate. He has promised to keep us updated should any changes occur, of course. Have you had the opportunity to check the Sephirah yet, my Aeon, to verify that its condition has not changed?”
Michael paused on the threshold, his attention drawn to the pillar of light radiating from the centre of the site that marked the location of the Sephirah Hod. It appeared the same as it had since the first dawn of the Sphere, an unchanging reminder of their eternal covenant with the Source. Hod itself lingered at the very edge of Michael’s awareness, thrumming with life and an excess of energy that bordered on manic, but it lacked the focused agitation that accompanied a crisis. If there had been a change, it was too subtle for him to notice at a glance. Michael nodded. “Everything seems fine.”
Both Saerim deflated in synchronised relief without making a sound.
“So the question now becomes: how do we proceed, my Aeon?” Remiel asked. He retrieved his information pad from his pocket while Ciel fetched some drinks.
“That is an excellent question and I am open to suggestions,” Michael said. Knowing that wasn’t good enough, he sighed once more. “Since none of us seem to know what to do, I suppose the first thing we ought to try is to contact someone who might. It could be prudent to return to the communications centre and check if we’re able to reach Highest Yetzirah now.”
Remiel fixed him with a look trapped somewhere between pride and concern, so it ended up meaning neither. “It would be wise to verify the meaning of Most High’s order. Surely Most High does not intend for you to leave Hod, my Aeon.”
A wave of dizziness prompted Michael to sit down before his sudden unsteadiness became obvious. What was there to verify? The King’s order was incredibly straightforward. What was less clear was how he was meant to obey. In all the history of the Spheres, the only person he had known to cross between them was Aeon Raphael just today, and, well. Her present condition hardly inspired confidence that the age-old belief it was impossible was now false. Michael didn’t say any of this, instead shaking his head in an obscure gesture somewhere between a nod and a shrug. “It would also be good to hear Most High’s thoughts on these Paths and the Aeon of Tiphareth.”
“Seeking council sounds like a solid plan,” Ciel said. She offered him a full glass of dark fruit wine with a reassuring, unfortunately concerned smile. “What would you have us do to assist you?”
The unspoken apology was blatant, and he accepted with a smile of his own. “For now, stay here and keep an eye on things. Let me know right away if Umahel has news. I’ll see what Ananel has to say about the local comms system so we can hear some more home-focused information. Any objections?”
They both shook their heads in the negative, and so his course was set. He hesitated near the entrance to the infirmary, but none of the healers were outside. Presumably, they were all indoors tending to Aeon Raphael. Michael turned away too quickly, not yet ready to brave the infirmary until it was necessary.
The flight back to the city was surreal and passed in a daze. He’d had every intention of using the time to sort his thoughts and plan his next moves, but his focus slipped away from him and without warning he was at his destination with no memory of his thoughts during the trip.
The inner district of the capital was still more evacuated than not; distant sounds of large groups of daeva at the edges of the district drifted between the empty buildings, unfocused and agitated with the disruption of their routine, but there was no one to be seen around the communications centre itself. It ought to have filled him with grim satisfaction that at least someone took the concept of ‘evacuation’ seriously, but in truth it made him shudder to see such a vital section of the city, his city, reduced to a ghost town. He’d need to find Ananel if he had any hope of checking the long-distance communications systems.
Michael was still fumbling with his comm as he shouldered open the front door of the communications centre and found Ananel engrossed in the main console behind the front desk. She was hunched over the counter, her hands a blur and her dark eyes manic as she navigated a dozen screens at once. She didn’t react to his entrance, so focused on her work.
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Michael dropped his comm in surprise. “Ananel!” he shrieked, pointing accusingly.
She squeaked in surprise and dropped behind the counter as if that would hide her. A moment later she peeked over the edge so only the top of her bushy hair and her wide eyes could be seen. “My Aeon! I didn’t expect… I was just…”
“You were supposed to evacuate! That means leave!”
“And I was just about to!” she protested.
“What good would that do now? You’re supposed to evacuate during an evacuation, not after it!” Michael wailed.
“I suppose I might have overestimated how much time I would need to finish this,” Ananel said sheepishly. She cautiously righted herself, her cheeks flush with embarrassment.
“We’re having a group talk about your priorities, all of you,” Michael groused as he stalked over to the counter.
“All due respect, my Aeon, but I believe my priorities are in the proper order,” Ananel said, straightening her shoulders. “I did as you ordered and coordinated the transfer of the Nursery children to the Archives with Ephriel straight away. It just so happens it was easiest to coordinate such from here.”
He joined her behind the counter and saw that half the screens were indeed complex maps of the city, heavily marked and annotated to show the most common routes and the thickest concentrations of people. “Right, of course. ‘It just so happens.’ And the rest of this?” He gestured to the other screens, the ones covered in incomprehensible readouts and datasets.
Ananel blushed, wringing her hands. “Ah. Well, you see. Once I realised I could assist best from here as a control centre, I cast the net wide, as it were. Much of this is observation of the progress of the evacuation attempt, some of it is monitoring the equipment, and other parts are trying to glean information about the… they’re called Paths? They shut down all of our long-range equipment, whatever they are, which cascaded into the local systems as well. I’ve been trying to reestablish some semblance of order.”
“That makes two of us,” Michael grumbled. He studied the screens with renewed interest. Most of the raw data screens were meaningless to him, but the overview of the evacuation told a grim story: most of the citizens meant to be relocating to the outer districts were bunched up in confused clusters at the boundary to the middle district, still within the ‘danger’ zone. He gestured to it with a grimace. “I’m assuming this isn’t a traffic jam caused by people rushing back to their workplaces.”
Ananel glanced at it and responded with a grimace of her own. “No, my Aeon. I’ll have the data sent to Remiel for study soon enough, but it’s clear we need a better response plan. Ephriel sealed the Archive safely with the children too young to fly, but that was nearly all that went smoothly. When the Paths disabled our local comms, we couldn’t issue direct orders beyond word-of-mouth. The wind was too great to risk flight, meaning the majority of travel needed to be done on foot and the ground routes are not marked. On top of that, no one wanted to leave the inner districts; as a result, we have scores of daeva clustered on rooftops and bridges waiting for a signal but not realising they were meant to go further, to say nothing of those indoors who claim to have not even known an evacuation was ongoing. Had this been a true disaster, or even another monsoon like our first, things would have not ended well for too many.”
“We were lucky,” Michael agreed, scowling. “I dislike luck; the moment you try to rely on it is the moment it’s gone for good.” He sighed, scratching at his neck. “You said the Paths shut down the comm equipment?”
Ananel brightened at the change in topic. “Well, yes and no. When they landed, they overloaded our long-range equipment, which we use for contacting the other Spheres, which ended up overloading the whole system. I still don’t understand why, but I was able to get the local system up again quickly enough and believe I’ve just about rebalanced the long-distance one as well.”
“So if I were to try and send a transmission to Kether now, what could we expect?”
Ananel didn’t respond right away; she wiped a portion of her workspace clear with a flourish and ran her hands over the command console so quickly she didn’t appear to be doing anything intelligible. After a few highly focused moments of this, she relented with a satisfied if somewhat puzzled nod. “I’m getting an automated response from Kether’s equipment now. The signal appears stable. It would seem that whatever was stopping our transmissions from reaching Highest Yetzirah has cleared up.” She tapped her chin in thought. “These Paths… If they connect all the Spheres, would that mean they cross the Sea of Consciousness? Could that be what’s changed?”
‘I kept the Paths closed,’ Aeon Raphael had struggled to say. ‘I thought it would help.’
Michael shuddered, shaking his head briskly to clear it. “Remains to be seen, I suppose. But we can contact the other Spheres now, correct?”
“I’m sure you remember the way to theatre nine,” Ananel said. She did not look up from her furious engagement with the consoles as she waved one hand in his direction.
Michael doubted she noticed his farewell as he left her to her work. He had only taken a handful of steps before she proved him wrong.
“My Aeon, wait!” Ananel called. When he turned back to face her, she retrieved a familiar-looking bag from under the counter and tossed it to him. “Presuming the present crisis has calmed enough for you to spare a moment, of course.”
Inside the bag was the same set of clean clothes he had been denied earlier that day, minus the already-burnt jacket he was currently wearing. Suddenly all he could think of was how disgusting he felt. “Thank you, Ananel. I also remember the way to the washroom.”
She did not indicate that she heard him.
Theatre nine was the same as he had left it, untouched by the day’s events save for the section of curtains he had ripped from the window in his rush to look outside. The light from outside glared on the screen until he could barely make out the cheerful standby logo; Michael, freshly clean as he could be in his new clothes minus a jacket, did his best to encourage the remaining curtains to cover the gap with relative success.
Once seated at the desk, he took a moment to revel in the quiet stillness of the empty room. For a time, within the isolated confines of that room, there was no chaos, no screaming, no desperate urgency or looming crisis. All was as it ought to be.
It was all too quiet. Michael turned his attention to the console on the desk.
This was it. His hands hovered over the console as he breathed deeply. He knew what he had to do. He was going to call the King and get answers. He’d thought about what to say to his father countless times, and with everything that had happened, it was doubtful there would be much time to discuss anything personal. It would be fine. This was for the best. He had never for a moment forgotten the contact information for Kether.
Michael keyed in the sequence for Yesod instead. He needed to connect with Aeon Gabriel anyway, and it made sense to approach the Most High prepared with as much information as he could gather.
The transmission connected without issue and the screen signalled that it was waiting for the other party to answer. It was only after he had pressed the button that Michael realised how woefully unprepared he felt to be speaking to Aeon Gabriel once more. His mouth fell open and he gripped the edge of the table in a sudden panic. Just as quickly, he shook off his foolishness with a huff. This wasn’t a social call any more than his call to Kether would be.
That was what he kept repeating to himself while he waited for someone in Yesod to answer. All the while, the screen remained unchanged, unanswered. Michael’s fidgeting began to stem from a different sort of anxiety. He counted his breaths while he waited, willing himself to remain calm, but gave up after reaching the count of ten. Still, no one in Yesod answered the transmission. After a seemingly infinite moment of waiting, he ended the call.
Perhaps it was a sign. He certainly hoped it was merely that. Without giving himself time to think about his actions, Michael keyed in the sequence for Kether.
This time, the call was answered almost at once. The face of a sombre, dark-haired daeva greeted him through the thin haze of a translucent veil draped over her eyes. Even with the veil between them, her gaze lowered respectfully as she bowed before the screen.
“It is an honour, Aeon of Hod, the Word of Glory and son of the King,” the daeva said without lifting her head. “Is there something you require?”
Michael had not expected an answer at this point any more than the previous attempts. Surprise rendered him temporarily mute, and he nodded before it occurred to him that she was not watching his movements. “I seek the counsel of the Most High.”
The daeva did not rise from her bow. “Most High has called the Aeons to council at His Throne. An audience shall be granted in Kether tomorrow eve, Your Grace.”
“I understand, however, there are some things I must confirm with the King before then,” Michael said. A calm settled over him like a familiar habit that had never truly gone away. “I beg only a moment of the King’s time.”
“An audience shall be granted in Kether tomorrow eve, Your Grace,” the daeva repeated. “Whatever you wish to confirm with Most High can wait until then.”
“And if I wish to confirm how we will travel to Kether for the King’s council?” Michael asked.
“The King announced the purpose of the Paths, Your Grace. They will bring you to Kether as designed.”
“The Aeon of Tiphareth has arrived in Hod badly injured alongside the Paths,” Michael said. “Too badly injured to tell us what caused her wounds. Even now as I have left her with my healers, her condition is uncertain. I would know how the King suggests she make the journey to Kether.”
There was a long pause. The daeva did not move. “I am not at liberty to speak on behalf of the King.”
“Which is why I request His counsel,” Michael said.
“That will not be possible,” said the daeva. Certainty rang true in her voice without ever affecting her tone, whatever fleeting confusion she may have had gone. “You will have your audience during the council tomorrow, Your Grace, not before. If the matter were pressing enough to require immediate attention, Most High would have instructed it be dealt with at once. Bring the Aeon of Tiphareth with you through the Paths. I am certain all will be illuminated by the Crown.”
“And if she cannot make the trip due to her injuries?” asked Michael. His brief calm spell was cracking, but he knew better than to raise his voice to anyone who spoke for the King’s court.
“That won’t do. Bring the Aeon of Tiphareth along with you during your journey and be ready for the King’s council,” the daeva said. “We await your arrival in Kether, Aeon of Hod, the Word of Glory and son of the King.”
The dismissal was plain. “Wait -”
The screen cut to its standby mode as the daeva ended the call.
Michael slammed his hands on the table with a hiss of fury but didn’t bother calling back. How foolish he had been to expect any different.
The console chimed a pleasant alert as a notification of an incoming transmission flashed across the screen, startling him from his sour mood. The identification code signified the caller was from Yesod. Michael hesitated only a moment, largely from surprise, before he accepted the transmission.
The Aeon of Yesod appeared on the screen. She was as resplendent as she had been during their first conversation, but there was no denying the darkness brewing behind her placid gaze.
“Aeon Michael, I apologise for failing to answer when you called for me,” Aeon Gabriel said with a respectful incline of her head. “I was on the line to Kether seeking the advice of the King.”
Michael hoped his face betrayed only the intended expression of polite curiosity. “You are able to contact Highest Yetzirah now, are you?”
“It would seem that whatever interference was preventing contact has vanished with the appearance of these Paths,” Aeon Gabriel said. “Contact with Highest Yetzirah is now as clear as the transmission between our Spheres.”
“And what was the advice of the King?” Michael asked.
Aeon Gabriel hesitated a tellingly long time. “I was not granted an audience with the King.”
This time Michael couldn’t suppress his dry smile. “They told me any concerns I may have could wait until the scheduled council tomorrow eve.”
“But you are the King’s son,” Aeon Gabriel said with a scandalised wrinkle of her brow.
“I told you before, did I not, that the King does not play favourites.” Michael shrugged. “All of us are equal in the eyes of the Most High.” He leaned forward, his brief mirth gone. “Tell me truly now: did you know of these Paths?”
“Not as such, no. If I had known of them, I would have planned my city accordingly,” Aeon Gabriel said. It was clear she was picking her words with care.
“But you knew something, however, even if the specifics eluded you,” Michael said. “If it’s not too much to ask for a little information, I would appreciate it.”
“I had reason to believe the Spheres would be connected, though I did not know how this would be made possible,” Aeon Gabriel said. “My vision showed us united against an outside threat before the end.”
“What threat?” Michael asked before she could say more.
She shook her head. “I cannot say now. Please understand. But I did not know these Paths would be such physical things, nor that they would activate today. The timing is most curious. Do you have any idea what might have triggered them?”
“I have a suspicion.” Michael briefly retold what had happened since they had last spoken, his encounter with Aeon Raphael at the base of the Path and a summary of her condition. As he spoke, he saw something spark in the cool depths of Aeon Gabriel’s eyes, though her face revealed none of her thoughts. “You said not to expose myself to anything I did not recognise, but I couldn’t leave her like that. She came here for a reason and she needed help. I’ve tried to isolate her, but as you can see I have not quarantined myself and several of my Saerim have also been exposed. Do you have any advice on how we ought to proceed?”
“From what you describe, it sounds as if the threat lies with whatever wounded her, rather than her condition itself,” Aeon Gabriel said. “Be vigilant and sensible, as you have been thus far.”
Michael tried not to let his relief show. “I keep replaying what she said before she lost consciousness. She said, ‘I knew it was there.’ Do you know what could have done that to her before she had a body?”
“No, that is what I had hoped to learn from the King,” said Aeon Gabriel. “She said she kept the Paths closed, did she?”
“Yes. I couldn’t get her to elaborate on what that meant, but she said she thought it would help,” Michael said. He shook his head in agitation. “Whatever happened, she was terrified. I couldn’t get more out of her than that, and she’s been unconscious since.”
“I see,” Aeon Gabriel said. “I have many questions, same as you, and little chance at answers without more information. Perhaps I will be able to learn more when we meet in Kether.”
Michael let out a slow breath to ward off his frustration. “Do you think it is safe to move her, let alone travel through the Void?”
There was a long pause as Aeon Gabriel considered the question. After a lengthy silence, she murmured, “I doubt the King would order us to do that which would lead to our doom. We have been told the Paths are safe, and for now, I see no benefit in disagreeing. Whatever threat we face is presumably separate from the Paths themselves. Perhaps trust and unity are our best weapons in this new era.”
“A noble enough sentiment,” Michael said. “I don’t suppose the appearance of these Paths help narrow down which of the new eras you foresaw is the one facing us now?”
She shook her head. “There is yet too much that is unsure, and the stakes are too high to make blind guesses. For now, I remain convinced our best course of action is to rally under the King, and quickly. Unless you know a concrete reason we should not?”
He had nothing but generic discomfort and a bad feeling, so he shook his head. “Even if I did, it would not be wise to disobey Most High’s first order of the new era.” Michael tried to say it with a smile, but his tone was strained and likely betrayed him.
“I appreciate your understanding the delicacy of my position,” Aeon Gabriel said with a nod. “I know how difficult it can be to work without all the details, but for now that is the best we can do. Should anything change, I will contact you and hope you will do the same. You must answer that.” She looked pointedly at the console on his desk.
Michael followed her gaze. For a moment, nothing happened. Then a small light began to flash in the corner, an indication of an incoming local call. Michael sent a curious look at Aeon Gabriel, who nodded. Unable to ignore the mounting trepidation nagging at the back of his throat, he accepted the audio transmission.
“My Aeon, I apologise for the interruption,” Ananel’s voice said through the console. “Remiel is trying to reach you; you left your comm in the lobby. The Aeon of Tiphareth is having another fit, my Aeon. Remiel thinks you should be there, if at all possible.”
He looked once more to Aeon Gabriel for guidance. She nodded again, her expression guarded and blank. “I see. Thank you, Ananel; let him know I’ll be there shortly.”
“I will, my Aeon.”
Even after Ananel had disconnected the local call, Michael’s hand hovered over the console as if frozen in time.
“You should be there,” Aeon Gabriel said softly to break him from his trance.
He met her gaze and held it, aware of how desperate he must look and for once not caring. “But what do I do?”
She shook her head. “That I do not know. Good luck.”
Without dropping her gaze, Aeon Gabriel cut the transmission and the room was still and silent.
He couldn’t just stand here. Michael knew that, but it was a struggle to force himself back into motion, to leave the pocket of theatre nine and give himself over to whatever was waiting outside. He didn’t remember leaving the room, nor picking up his comm from Ananel, nor leaving the capital to return to the Sanctuary site once again. He only became aware that he had done those things in retrospect when he found himself back where he had started as if he had never left.