The phantom touch of the unknown Echo Sense probe lingered long after Rhys had navigated the treacherous paths back from the Undermarket. It was a chilling reminder that his presence, his inquiries, and potentially the very artifact he carried, were drawing unwanted attention from shadows far more adept than the Crimson Hand's brutish enforcers. He didn't dare lead any potential tail back towards the cellar hideout. Instead, he took an deliberately erratic, time-consuming route, doubling back through confusing pipe networks, using noisy water outflows and collapsing debris sections to mask his movements, even briefly expending precious Aether to trigger a minor short-circuit in some old lighting conduits, plunging a key junction into momentary, disorienting darkness to cover his escape.
He eventually felt confident he had shaken any pursuit, but the effort left him rattled, his nerves frayed. The encounter with Sera had been fruitless, confirming only the impossible price of her knowledge and the danger of possessing the Weaver slate. The Undermarket felt compromised, hostile. His original cellar hideout, already suspect, now seemed suicidally risky.
Meeting Boulder at a pre-arranged rendezvous point deep in the sewer system, Rhys relayed the unsettling news. "We have to move. Now. I was followed, or at least scanned, leaving Sera's. Skillful, not Hand. The cellar isn't safe anymore."
Boulder listened impassively, but his knuckles whitened where he gripped his pry bar. There was no argument, no hesitation. Their long-time sanctuary was forfeit. "Where?" he asked simply.
"Only one place," Rhys replied grimly. "The sewer junction. Our practice spot. It's remote, defensible enough, and most importantly, it has the clean Aether source I need." He knew it was contested by Corbin's gang, but that felt like a manageable risk compared to the unseen watchers and the focused hunt of the Crimson Hand near their old haunts.
Under the deepest part of Meridian's artificial night cycle, when patrol activity usually dipped, they slipped out of the cellar for the last time. Rhys took a moment to scan the familiar damp space, the scene of so much hardship and incremental progress, before carefully wiping away the most obvious signs of their long occupancy – smoothing footprints in the dust, scattering debris over packed earth. It felt like severing another tie to his past, pushing him further into the uncertain future defined by Aetherium Weaving.
The journey back to the sewer junction was undertaken with maximum stealth. They moved like shadows through the dripping darkness, Rhys's Echo Sense constantly probing ahead, Boulder's quiet footsteps barely disturbing the grime. They reached the junction undetected. The clean, stable hum of the dripping stones and silvery algae felt like a beacon of fragile hope in the oppressive gloom. They didn't risk setting up camp near the Aether source itself, instead choosing a small, defensible side alcove higher up the tunnel wall, overlooking the junction. It offered clear lines of sight towards the main tunnel entrances and multiple potential escape routes into branching pipes. They quickly established a minimal, hidden camp, ensuring they left almost no trace.
Settled into their new, precarious sanctuary, the immediate pressure lessened slightly, replaced by the daunting weight of their overall situation. Rhys sat with Boulder, methodically reviewing the threats and challenges, speaking aloud to clarify his own thoughts.
"Alright. Hand wants us, wants the slate. Sera holds the keys but demands the Archives mission or the slate itself. Kaelen helps physically but guards his knowledge closely. Corbin's crew wants the junction. Unknown watchers are active. And the slate…" he pulled the cool, metallic object from his satchel, its surface dark and inert, "...remains locked." He ran a hand through his grimy hair. "Attacking any of these problems directly seems impossible right now. We lack the strength, the resources, the leverage."
Boulder nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on the datapad. "So? What now?"
Rhys looked at the dripping stones below, felt the clean Aether radiating from them, then looked back at the slate. "Now," he said, a new resolve hardening his voice, "we stop reacting. We stop running from problem to problem. The external threats aren't going away. Our only path forward is to get stronger, smarter, here." He tapped his temple, then gestured towards his dantian where the Aether Pool resided.
"While we lay low, while they think we're just hiding or dead, we focus inward. Kaelen spoke of tempering the energy, tempering the will. The Weaver diagrams showed efficient circulation. I need to master that. Make my Aether denser, more controlled, more efficient. Maybe that's the key to the slate, or at least, the key to surviving long enough to find the key."
He knew it was a gamble. Focusing inward while external threats circled felt counter-intuitive. But chasing solutions externally had led them into deeper trouble. Perhaps the answer lay in mastering the power he already possessed, however limited, and in unlocking the secrets held within the Weaver artifact itself.
He settled into a meditative posture, the shard placed carefully on the datapad which rested in his lap. He wouldn't try to force the lock now. Instead, he focused on the circulation pattern learned from the Weaver's Scrawl, drawing in the clean Aether from the junction below, circulating it, tempering it, feeling the subtle resonance between his own energy, the shard, and the dormant slate. He felt the familiar resistance, the strain of concentration, but also a growing sense of clarity, of control.
The external world – the Crimson Hand hunt, Sera's manipulations, the contested resources, the unseen watchers – hadn't vanished. They lurked just beyond the dripping stones and shadowed tunnels. But here, in this hidden alcove, with a source of clean power and a single-minded focus, Rhys felt a fragile sense of agency return. The stakes were higher than ever, the path shrouded in danger. But the fight for survival, and for the secrets of the Aetherium Weavers, had just entered a new, more introspective, and perhaps even more desperate, phase. The slow burn continued, but now, the heat was focused inward.
Okay, let's continue Rhys's journey, focusing on his inward turn, initial skill development, and the simmering threats in his new sanctuary.