The Undermarket felt like a different beast this time. The usual chaotic energy was still present, but overlaid with a palpable tension, a heightened sense of scrutiny. Rhys moved through the crowds like smoke, hood pulled low, senses fully extended. He detected more Crimson Hand operatives than ever before, attempting to blend in with the throng of scavengers and traders, their predatory energy signatures clumsy but numerous. More unnerving were the other watchers – subtle, hard-to-read presences lurking in shadowed alcoves or observing from upper tiers, their energies deliberately muffled or shielded. Factions? Syndicate rivals? Information brokers like Sera herself? The air hummed with secrets and surveillance.
Reaching the familiar alcove housing Sera Bellweather's stall required every ounce of Rhys's street craft and Echo Sense navigation. He slipped past Hand patrols, avoided suspicious loiterers, and used the market's natural ebb and flow as cover. The simple act of getting here felt like running a gauntlet.
Pushing through the heavy curtain into Sera's sanctuary brought the usual abrupt transition to silence and order. The air smelled of ozone, old parchment, and faint, exotic spices. Sera was at her counter, not examining maps this time, but manipulating a complex, interlocking series of spinning brass rings that emitted faint pulses of light – some kind of astrolabe or orrery designed for tracking energetic flows, perhaps.
She looked up as the curtain fell shut behind him, her storm-grey eyes sharp and instantly assessing. Rhys felt her gaze sweep over him, cataloging the subtle changes since his last visit weeks ago. She would note the fading bruises overlaid by new ones, the slight increase in his physical resilience, the way he carried himself with a harder edge born of enduring Kaelen's training and surviving the Weaver ruin. More importantly, her senses, undoubtedly far more refined than his own, would perceive the subtle shift in his Aether Pool – not just marginally larger, but denser, more 'tempered' as Kaelen would put it. And she would surely sense the lingering, faint-but-distinct resonance of Weaver technology clinging to his aura, despite his best efforts to suppress it.
A small, knowing smile touched her lips. "The little rat returns from the deep," she murmured, her voice smooth and cool. "Looking rather more battered, but decidedly less… fragile. Did you enjoy your vacation exploring Meridian's forgotten plumbing?"
Rhys ignored the jibe, approaching the counter cautiously. He wouldn't make the same mistake of showing desperation. He needed information, but he also needed leverage, however slight. He decided to probe indirectly first, referencing their previous conversation.
"Your insights on Weavers and Aetherium Echoes were… pertinent," he began, keeping his tone carefully neutral. "My recent explorations raised further questions." He paused, framing the questions carefully, based on his experiences with the force field, the datapad, and the nexus crystal. "Weaver devices… you mentioned energetic locks. Are these typically passive, or do they require active Aether manipulation attuned to a specific frequency or signature to bypass?"
Sera stopped adjusting her device, her fingers resting lightly on the brass rings. "Depends on the device's function and era, Rhys. Simple mechanisms might use resonant frequency keys. More complex systems, especially those related to data storage or core controls, often incorporated bio-energetic authentication – keyed to specific Aetheric signatures, bloodline resonances, even specific thought patterns. Attempts at bypassing such locks without the correct key usually trigger defenses, data wipes, or… energetic backlash." Her gaze sharpened. "Why the sudden interest in ancient security protocols? Did you find a locked door you couldn't shoulder open?"
He pressed on, ignoring her pointed question. "And the power sources? Are they self-contained, or do they draw ambient Aether? Could interacting with a primary node potentially grant temporary access to linked subsystems?" This referenced his experience with the nexus crystal.
Sera's smile widened slightly, confirming she understood exactly what he was dancing around. "Some Weaver installations utilized localized crystal matrices, drawing and refining ambient Echoes over centuries. Others tapped directly into geothermal or deeper telluric currents. Core nodes, if accessed correctly," she emphasized the last words, "could theoretically grant system-wide overrides. Assuming one possessed the correct access protocols and the mental fortitude to handle the raw data stream without having their consciousness fragmented." Her eyes held a challenging gleam. "You seem to have encountered something quite… educational. Perhaps a small, stubborn puzzle box humming with secrets just beyond your grasp?"
Evasion was clearly futile. She knew, or had guessed with pinpoint accuracy. He decided on a partial, calculated revelation, leveraging the potential without showing the prize. "My explorations led me to acquire… an artifact," Rhys admitted carefully. "A metallic slate, Weaver-era judging by the resonance and construction. Seamless, dark material, covered in shifting energy patterns that react strongly to Aether, particularly when…" he subtly indicated the hidden shard, "...attuned through a specific resonant medium. It seems functional, but locked. Inaccessible."
Sera leaned forward, genuine, avid interest replacing her detached amusement. The casual air dropped away, replaced by the sharp focus of a predator scenting rare prey. "A Weaver datapad? Functional? Intact?" she breathed, her voice losing some of its careful modulation. "Rhys, artifacts like that are museum pieces, legends whispered about by collectors. Most are fragments, corrupted shells. An intact one…" Her eyes narrowed, glittering with calculation. "Its value is almost incalculable. Holding knowledge, schematics, perhaps even lost Weaving techniques…"
She straightened up, regaining her composure, the mask of the cool information broker snapping back into place. "And you want me to help you unlock this priceless artifact?" She tapped the polished counter decisively. "My offer remains unchanged. Prove your capability. Prove your worth. Retrieve my chronometer from the Sunken Archives." She gestured towards the ominous annotations on her ever-present map. "Survive that cesspit, bring me what I need, and perhaps I will lend my expertise to diagnosing your… slate problem. Consider it a test of your ability to handle hazardous environments linked to the deep past."
She paused, letting the weight of the demand sink in. Then, she offered the alternative, her voice turning silky smooth. "Or… there's the simpler path. Trade the slate to me now. I would offer you a truly generous sum – enough credits to vanish from Meridian, start fresh somewhere far away. Protection from the Crimson Hand included. Clean break. Far safer for a young man in over his head." The choice was stark: undertake a suicidal mission for a chance at her help, or give up the potentially life-altering artifact for immediate safety.
Rhys felt the trap closing. The Sunken Archives felt just as impossible now as it had weeks ago. His Aether Pool was larger, his body tougher, but his weaving skills were rudimentary, and Sera's description of the Archives' dangers still chilled him. Trading the slate felt like cutting out his own heart – it represented his only tangible link to understanding the Weaver's legacy, his only hope for a significant breakthrough beyond Kaelen's slow, painful methods.
"Retrieving your chronometer… is not feasible for me at this time," Rhys stated tightly, keeping his expression neutral, hiding the desperation churning inside.
Sera smiled thinly, a predator's smile that didn't reach her eyes. "A pity. Such potential, locked away." She made a dismissive gesture. "The offer stands, should your circumstances, or your courage, change. But be warned, Rhys," her voice dropped, losing its pleasantness, taking on a hard edge, "artifacts of that significance attract attention. Dangerous attention. Besides the Hand, there are others in this city, collectors and seekers far more subtle and ruthless. Holding onto something you cannot understand or defend is… unwise. It paints a target." The unspoken threat was clear: try to unlock it elsewhere, try to sell it to a rival, and there would be consequences. Sera didn't just deal in information; she guarded her potential acquisitions jealously.
Rhys gave a curt nod, refusing to show fear or frustration. "I will consider your offer."
He turned and slipped back through the heavy curtain, melting into the Undermarket's chaotic flow. The encounter had yielded nothing but confirmation of his predicament. Sera held the keys, but demanded an impossible price. As he navigated the crowded tunnels, heading back towards the perceived safety of the sewer routes, he felt it again – more distinct this time. A brief, targeted probe from an unfamiliar Echo Sense, brushing against his awareness like a phantom touch before retracting instantly. It wasn't Sera's deep, shielded signature, nor the crude aggression of the Hand. It was skilled, controlled, and utterly unidentifiable.
Was it the tail from before? Had they followed him again, despite his precautions? Was it someone alerted by Sera? Or was it another player entirely, drawn by the metaphorical scent of Weaver blood in the water? The paranoia intensified, prickling at the back of his neck. The Undermarket no longer felt like a neutral ground for illicit trade. It felt like the center of a tightening web, and he was the fly caught struggling within it.