Solomon’s chamber looked like the Spire remembered it was a lighthouse before it was a palace.
Curved glass framed the whole city in a slow arc - petals half-open, avenues like silver threads, banners drooping with the weight of an afternoon breeze. Luminite veins ran under the floor in neat capillaries, glowing the soft color of a quiet promise. The desk was too big for a kid and exactly the right size for a ruler. Behind it, the great seal of Neoshima sat like a coin pressed into the room.
Divisions Three and Four in a loose wedge. Kori with her clipboard like a weapon she’d beaten into paper. Alteea in a lab coat that thought it was couture. Obi leaning on a column he had no right to lean on. Saffi pretending not to be proud from the second row and failing, Esen vibrating at a frequency normally reserved for kettles.
Solomon didn’t sit. He braced his hands on the desk as if pushing the city back into place. When he spoke, his voice still had courtroom quiet in it - the power that had learned it didn’t need to shout.
"Marcus Valerius" he began. "There’s a story there. I won’t pretend I know the whole of it."
He let the name hang and lose heat.
"Noble-born," Solomon said. "Not our nobles. Not our city. Records dissapear when you go looking - on purpose. He lost a wife and a son a long time ago. Nobody knows how. The way a door sometimes disappears in a wall, people disappear in paperwork. Make of that what you will."
Silence arranged itself politely. Even Obi kept his mouth closed, which was its own miracle.
"In his years on the Council" Solomon continued, "Marcus learned where the seams in a city sit. That’s not a crime. It’s a job. But seams invite fingers."
He flicked his hand and the glass behind him turned into a quiet spread of numbers and graphs - budget lines thinned a hair too much, ledger entries that curled instead of sat flat, access logs to the Underworks that read like a man taking walks he wasn’t invited to. Highlighted differences.
"More trips below" Solomon said. "Holes that don’t balance. Luminite going missing..."
Raizen’s eyes found Obi’s for one quick, incriminating beat.
Obi blinked innocent so hard it was aggressive.
Kori’s pen did an audible click that meant "we will speak about that later" in a tone only pens have.
Solomon didn’t give them away. He didn’t need to. He pointed at the feed still suspended in the court of memory - the alley, brass glint, truth cutting back into the lie.
"When Marcus pushed today, I knew he was borrowing a story from someone else," Solomon said. "I saw a... Brass shine in a corner of a frame that didn’t belong to any of you. So I asked for a little help."
Alteea’s smile sparkled like expensive mischief. "He asked very nicely," she said.
Obi raised a hand. "For the record" he announced, to no one in particular, "I was performing an act of community service, retiring obsolete cameras from stressful positions."
"You were stealing them" Kori said.
"Retiring" Obi repeated. "Like I said."
Alteea cut in, delighted. "He was retiring them into his pockets. Good hands, I’ll grant him that. I let him finish, because I wanted to see if he’d cross-wire the power rail or make the smart jump and isolate ground first."
"I isolated ground first," Obi said.
"You did" Alteea said, fonder than was safe. "I didn’t arrest him because... Let’s just say that I was impressed. Not morally impressed, darling. More like... Aesthetically impressed."
A whisper drifted up from somewhere behind Raizen. Feris, perfectly deadpan: "I ship it."
Obi threw both hands into the air like a circus ringmaster who’d just seen fire learn new tricks. "WHOA. No. I have a girlfriend. Very real. Very sharp. Very possessive. She can hear and smell accusations through walls and also feelings, I think. She will end civilizations if she thinks I even-"
"Alright, Obi, we get it." Raizen said, trying not to laugh and failing a little.
"Yeah, yeah" Obi gave up eventually. ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ 𝓷𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓵⚑𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓮⚑𝓷𝓮𝓽
Alteea fluffed her hair, amused. "Relax. I like my men reprogrammable. You are very much not."
Solomon let the room breathe and then pressed it back into the shape he needed.
"Alteea found what we needed" he said. "She didn’t just pull files. She pulled scent. Metadata, overlays, the fingerprints men leave when they think their hands are clean."
"I compiled it on the walk up" Alteea laughed, breezy. "Truth in one pocket, receipts in the other. It is possible, by the way, to be both brilliant and punctual."
"Noted" Solomon said, with a tone that earned a small laugh.
He let the projections dissolve. The room got larger when the light left.
"We fixed today" Solomon said. "But we certainly did’t fix everything."
On the floor, a map unfurled: veins of Luminite shining - up into the mountains where the lines grew wild and thin. Small marks pulsed in places where the glow looked wrong.
"Some of our veins are purer than they’ve ever been" Solomon said. "Clean. Too clean. Perfect like a forgery. And others are... off. Almost... Corrupted. Instability that doesn’t track weather, depth, heat, or stress. The pattern refuses to be a pattern."
Saffi leaned forward, drawn by the engineering in the question. "What would even do that?"
"We don’t know" Alteea said, and even that sounded like a flirt. "I have three theories and I dislike all of them. Two are boring. One is rude."
"Rude how" Arashi asked, squinting.
"Rude in the sense of "what if something is whispering to the Luminite" and we know nothing about" Alteea said. "But don’t worry. It’s probably one of the boring ones."
"Not too comforting" Hikari murmured.
"It was not meant to be" Alteea said, and actually winked.
Solomon folded his hands, and for a heartbeat he was young enough to look tired. Then he remembered the city and the his posture straightened almost instantly.
"Marcus was siphoning our reserves" he said. "Not alone, I think. Someone opened doors for him. We need to refill stock and figure out where the sickness sits. So."
He turned the map - the eastern ridges swung closer. Valleys like knife marks, faces of rock that remembered ice. The routes cut like hesitant signatures.
"In two days" Solomon said, "you’ll depart. An expedition up the north ranges. Support and protection for the miners. Confirm purity where it’s too perfect, diagnose instability where nothing makes sense. The Nyx activity is heavy. You won’t go to fight them - you’ll go to keep the veins alive long enough to harvest. Consider it... Your first mission, and a small form of punishment..."
Kori had already begun arranging bodies into geometry. "Divisions Three and Four, yeah? I’ll just stay at the Academy. Bring only what you can carry at a sprint. What can I say, disasters?"
"Good luck, i guess?" Esen asked, theatrically.
"Naah, you won’t need it" came the response.
"Who’s the poor soul whose idea of heaven is rocks and shiny ore?" Esen asked, already resigned to being the soul in question.
"You" Kori and Ichiro said at once.
"Hey, now. Democracy, please" Esen sighed.
"And" Solomon added, "Obi goes, too."
Obi put a hand on his chest like an actor accepting a tragic role. "As a guest, a consultant, a beloved civic treasure?"
"As punishment, quite literally. Besides, some work wouldn’t hurt" Solomon said, without moving his face. "Think about it like... Community service."
Obi considered, weighing the drama of refusal against the pleasure of usefulness. "pay?"
"Can I name the rocks?"
Obi kicked the ground, sulked for exactly two seconds, then brightened."Fine. I accept my sentence. I will protect your miners, flirt with death, and be extremely photogenic in cold weather."
"Also, you’ll carry spares." Kori said. "And if you wander off down a tunnel after a shiny thing, I will personally wire you to the nearest anchor point and leave you there until your hair turns into moss."
"Possessive girlfriend, terrifying associate" Obi muttered. "I am besieged."
Alteea tilted her head at him, predatory and amused. "Before you do anything noble, consider a counter-offer. Come to my Lighthouse. Work with real equipment. Luminite, phase stabilizers, live grids. I could do astonishing things with your hands."
Half the room inhaled. The other half forgot how to.
Obi’s eyebrows tried to climb off his face. "That is the most romantic sentence anyone has ever said to me."
"I meant in the lab, darling" Alteea said sweetly.
Obi thought about it long enough for everyone to assume he’d say yes. And then he made a little theater of sighing and shook his head. "I don’t leave the Underworks. The walls there still owe me rent."
Alteea blinked, genuinely surprised. Solomon’s eyebrow did an elegant question.
"I’ll work your Luminite" Obi added quickly. "Gladly. Send me anything you want cut, tuned, bullied... But I don’t move upstairs."
"Why?" Hikari asked, curious without judgment. "Anyone would accept..."
Obi stared out at the city, at the petals that looked thinner today. "Because up here the air lies. Down there, it’s rude and harsh. But at least it’s honest."
Alteea made a note on the air. "Fine. As you wish. But try not to lick the samples. You’ll fall in love and then die."
"I only fall in love with weapons" Obi said. "And Cinderette. In that order."
Before Feris could make a mean comment, Kori clapped her hands once. "Two days, then" she said. Eat, sleep, boil your socks, memorize your routes, and if anyone touches a prototype without telling me, I will redecorate the infirmary with your regrets and apologies. Yes, Raizen?"
Saffi sidled closer to Raizen, eyes bright with the problem she wanted to solve. "I can trim two hundred grams from your harness without losing structural integrity" she said. "And I found a brace shape that hates wind just a little less."
Raizen’s grin was quick and grateful. "Wil Kori let you live?"
"Not sure, but i don’t really care. I hope she’ll supervise..."
Kori didn’t look up. "I heard that. You are right. We’re doing it."
They began to break apart, bodies becoming people again. The lines left their shoulders. The room lightened by degrees.
"Raizen" Solomon said quietly, catching him before the door. "You stood well today."
Raizen didn’t know where to put that, so he put it in a pocket without a hole. "You as well."
Solomon’s smile flashed - small, true, tired. "Be careful when the light looks too clean" he said. "It’s either a gift or a lie."
Raizen nodded. "I’ll learn which."
Obi was last at the door, because he had to touch the window and see the city touch his face in return. His reflection looked like a man half in love with trouble and half already married to it.
"If the city’s bleeding light" he said softly to the glass "somebody’s still twisting the knife."
Alteea, already typing three messages to three different parts of the Lighthouse, didn’t look up. "Then let’s go break their wrist."
They filed out into the Spire’s corridor - white, clean, telling the truth in a careful voice — and the Luminite under the floor hummed to itself like a heart remembering its job.
Outside, in the east, the mountains kept their own counsel.