Sanctuary of Oratorio

The seeds of peace lie within each soul, waiting to be sounded into the world. - The Republic Codex

The great wooden doors of the sanctuary boom shut behind us, muffling the distant alarm bells clanging outside. Within Oratorio’s walls, the air is cool and tinged with incense. We stand in a spacious courtyard paved in mosaic tile, ringed by cloistered walkways. In calmer times it must be a place of serene beauty - potted olive trees and lilies line the arcade - but now an undercurrent of tension permeates.

Monks bustle around us with urgent purpose. Some climb ladders to mount old metal shutters over stained - glass windows; others herd novices toward cellar doors, speaking in hushed reassurance. War has never touched this sanctuary until now, I realize, and they aren’t soldiers. Yet they move with resolve.

Master Keldan leads us toward an open hall to one side of the courtyard where a cluster of elders await. Prioris Cira, the top - knotted woman, walks at his side, and the hawk - faced man - “Warden Centris,” I’ve heard him called - follows close behind, shooting suspicious glances our way. Tarin, Zara and I stay just a step behind Keldan, not wanting to presume but needing to be part of whatever discussion is to come.

A semicircle of a half - dozen monks forms under the colonnade. The faces are a mix of ages and emotions - worry, curiosity, anger. I catch a slender older woman with ink - stained fingers watching me intently; beside her stands a burly middle - aged man gripping a smith’s hammer as if he dropped his usual tools to arm himself.

“Councilors,” Keldan addresses them, raising a hand for calm. “Aldren’s son has arrived, bearing his father’s work and grave news. Malkeos is on approach to Oratorio.”

A collective intake of breath; they knew, but hearing it stated plainly still draws dread. One monk curses under his breath; the scribe - like woman closes her eyes as if in prayer.

All eyes fall on me now - the sole newcomer, this youth at the center of monumental events. I feel heat in my cheeks but step forward, drawing strength from Zara and Tarin beside me. “Masters, my name is Jameus,” I say respectfully. “My father, Aldren, sent me here. He… he believed you would know what to do with what he protected - the Codex, the tokens, and the Uninstrument.” Saying the artifact’s name aloud in this sacred place feels both strange and natural.

At that, the council monks exchange looks. The smith - like man mutters, “If Malkeos comes for the Uninstrument, we should destroy it now and be done.”

“No,” snaps Warden Centris, eyes flashing. “We swore to protect it until Harmony could rise again. Not destroy our greatest relic out of fear.”

They start arguing - an old debate, I sense. Prioris Cira silences them by clearing her throat. “This is pointless now. Malkeos will be at our gates within the hour. We need a plan of action.”

Master Keldan nods gravely. “Indeed. Our defenses are minimal. We are not warriors. Arcadian Patrol reinforcements are days away at best, yes?” He glances to Tarin.

Tarin confirms with a grim nod. “Even if I could reach a command post, help wouldn’t arrive in time. We’re on our own.”

A tense silence. Finally, Librarian Soliana - the ink - fingered woman - steps forward. “Aldren often foresaw that Malkeos might force our hand. He told me, in confidence, that should the worst come, his son might be ‘the one to balance the chord.’” She looks at me with a gentle, searching expression. “I believe he meant for Jameus to undertake the Trials.”

Murmurs ripple through the council. My heart kicks in my chest. The Trials - Father did mention them in his journal, and in his final breaths he urged me to take up what he could not finish. Could it be this?

Centris looks doubtful. “With Malkeos at our door? The boy is untrained, unschooled in our ways.”

“He has Aldren’s blood,” Keldan muses, eyes distant. “And perhaps Aldren taught him more than we know during their exile. Time is short, but the Trials of the Triad may indeed be our only hope to justly empower him with the Uninstrument.”

I realize they are seriously considering initiating me - an outsider teen - into their most guarded rite, because circumstances demand it. A mix of fear and determination wells inside me. Part of me is daunted - could I possibly succeed in hours where others train for years? But another part feels a strange certainty: this is what all of Father’s teachings have quietly prepared me for.

Tarin steps forward, brow furrowed. “If Jameus does this… what then? Malkeos won’t politely wait outside while he undergoes spiritual trials.”

“He might, if we stall him,” Zara interjects thoughtfully. All eyes shift to her, and she lifts her chin, speaking firmly. “Malkeos craves the Uninstrument. We could feign negotiations to buy time. He’ll gloat and grandstand rather than blow everything to bits immediately. We use that against him.”

Centris gives a grudging nod. “I can meet him at the outer gate, pretend surrender talks while the Initiation Chamber work is done.”

“I’ll join that effort,” Tarin says. “He knows me, and I’d like to look that scum in the face to distract him.”

Keldan’s lips curve in a sad smile at our resolve. “Very well. Let it be so.” He turns to me, coming closer. “Jameus, you are young, but you carry your father’s legacy. Will you undergo the Triadic Trials of Desire, Courage, and Wisdom to prove your heart’s balance and earn the right to wield the Uninstrument?”

My mouth is dry, but I answer without hesitation. “I will.”

He places his hands on my shoulders and presses his forehead briefly to mine - a surprisingly tender, parental gesture that makes my throat tighten. “Be sure, child. The trials are perilous in their way. They test the soul. But I see Aldren’s fire in your eyes. I believe you are ready, as he believed.”

“I’m sure,” I whisper, steady.

Prioris Cira steps forward. “Then we must proceed at once. Brother Jovin, prepare the Chamber.” A lean monk bows and rushes off down a corridor.

Keldan addresses the council. “Elders, to your duties. Warden Centris, coordinate defenses with Lieutenant Tarin and Sister Zara.” He looks to Soliana. “Bring the keystones and any guidance texts you think may aid Jameus in the antechamber - quickly.”

The council disperses, each galvanized by purpose. Soliana gives me a reassuring smile before hurrying off - likely to fetch some scrolls. Centris clasps Tarin’s arm in a warrior’s greeting; I see in Tarin’s eyes that he respects the gruff monk’s resolve.

Zara catches my hand. “I’ll help hold him off out there,” she says softly. “Give ’em hell in there, Jameus.”

I surprise us both by pulling her into a brief hug. “Take care,” I murmur. “And… thank you.” We release each other with nods of mutual trust.

Tarin rests a hand on my shoulder. “I have faith in you. We’ll keep Malkeos busy till you’re ready.” His eyes flicker with pride and concern - almost an older brotherly look, or how Father might have looked sending me into a challenge.

“I won’t let you down,” I promise.

He and Zara depart hastily with Centris, heading to marshal whatever defense they can at the gates. The courtyard empties except for Keldan, Cira, and two elder monks waiting to escort me. A distant boom reverberates through the mountain - likely a perimeter charge or shield being tested. We don’t have much time.

“This way,” Master Keldan says, guiding me into a torchlit passage descending beneath the sanctuary. My heart thuds faster with each step, but an uncanny calm settles over me too. I think of Father’s voice, of the Codex verses he taught me, of the trust Zara and Tarin placed in me. I can do this.

At the end of the hall stands an imposing bronze - banded door engraved with interlocking circles. Keeper Jovin is already there, chanting something under his breath as he opens it. A wash of cool air greets us as we step through.

The Initiation Chamber is a circular stone room lit by the warm glow of braziers. The floor bears a triskele pattern of three overlapping rings. Equidistant around the wall are three heavy doors, each marked with one of the Triad symbols: a Flame, a Sword, an Eye.

“This is the Trial Chamber,” Cira explains quietly. “Behind each door lies the trial of that virtue. You will face illusions, dilemmas - whatever the sanctuary deems necessary to test your heart.” She touches my arm gently. “No physical harm will come to you in these trials, but the spiritual and emotional rigors are real. Trust yourself and the lessons your father gave you.”

Soliana hurries in, slightly out of breath, carrying a small chest. She opens it to reveal a few tattered scrolls - copies of Codex verses - and a shallow bowl of water. Perhaps tools for reflection. She sets it aside, then hands me something I wasn’t expecting: a familiar small velvet pouch containing two stone tokens.

“My father’s keystones,” I breathe. Malkeos stole the pouch with all three, but… I reach in and pull them out - two are inside: the Courage sword and the Wisdom sun - eye. Zara and Tarin must have recovered these from Malkeos’s men in the chaos. Only the Flame was left with me, which I still have. Gently, I retrieve it from my jacket pocket. Now all three tokens rest in my palm.

A lump forms in my throat at this second miracle. Father’s tokens back together, just when I need them most. Soliana smiles. “It appears fate returns what is rightfully yours.”

Master Keldan nods to Keeper Jovin. The ascetic monk steps to the side of the chamber and begins striking a low iron chime rhythmically - perhaps a ritual signal that trials are underway. The sound vibrates through my bones, solemn and calming.

Prioris Cira takes my hands, turning them palm - up, and upon each she traces a quick symbol in chalk - a flame on my left, a sword on my right. “Symbols of illumination and courage,” she explains softly. “A small blessing.”

Master Keldan stands before me now. I realize the moment is here. He looks both grave and hopeful. “Jameus, son of Aldren,” he intones formally, “you stand on the threshold of the Triadic Trials. Are you prepared to face your innermost self with honesty and courage, to measure desire with wisdom and temper courage with compassion?”

My pulse is rapid, but I answer clearly: “I am.”

He places his hands over mine, feeling the tokens I hold. “Trust in Harmony, child. Trust in yourself. You carry your father’s light within you.”

I bite the inside of my cheek, fighting a swell of emotion. “I will make him - and you all - proud.”

He steps back. The other monks retreat toward the door. “Once you begin, we cannot intervene,” Keldan says. “Complete the three trials, and the sanctum will open to you.”

Soliana gives me a last encouraging nod. Keeper Jovin’s steady chime rings in my ears like a heartbeat. Prioris Cira draws the heavy outer door closed, enclosing me alone in the Trial Chamber.

I inhale deeply, turning to face the three sealed trial doors. The token stones in my hand pulse with gentle warmth. I realize then - they’re not just symbolic keys, but literal ones. Each stone likely must be used to activate its corresponding trial.

Approaching the door engraved with the swirling Flame of Desire, I find a triangular receptacle in the stone - token - shaped. With a trembling hand, I set the flame - carved stone into the slot.

At once, the engraving of the flame glows red and the door slides open with a rumble, revealing a darkness beyond. Clutching the remaining two tokens to my chest, I step through.

The chamber inside is pitch black save for a faint rosy light at its center. As I walk forward, the door seals behind me, leaving me in darkness and silence. I realize I’m holding my breath and exhale.

The dim light resolves into an image suspended in the air - a shimmering mirage forming like mist. I step closer, and my heart skips: I see a familiar small infirmary, lit in soft amber. My father lies on a cot, breathing easily, not labored and sick but healthy. I see myself as well - older by a few years, in an Arcadian uniform, smiling and chatting with him. He’s alive. I’m beaming. We look… happy.

I reach out in disbelief. The scene is vividly real yet translucent. Father laughs in this vision, clapping a strong hand on the shoulder of the other Jameus - who I realize is an illusion of who I wanted to become, if life had been normal. An Academy graduate, a bright future, father at my side.

It’s so beautiful I can hardly breathe. This is my heart’s deepest desire. To have him alive and proud, and my life my own, not burdened by dire missions.

My eyes burn with tears. The phantom Aldren turns toward me and steps forward, as though aware of my presence. His kind eyes meet mine. “Stay,” he says in that warm familiar voice. “Stay here with me, son. We can be happy. Let duty pass to others.”

I choke out a sob. Everything in me yearns to run into that illusionary embrace, to say yes and remain in that comforting lie forever.

But some small rational part of me whispers: Trial of Desire. This is a test, Jameus. An illusion crafted to tempt me away from my mission.

My father’s image smiles gently. “You’ve done enough. Let go of this burden. Why must it fall on you? Stay, and we’ll be together.”

“I - I can’t,” I stammer, tears on my cheeks. “I want to… you don’t know how badly I want to. But it’s not real.”

The image flickers. Father’s face grows sad. “Does that matter? If you could live in this dream, wouldn’t it be real to you? You could be safe. Loved.”

Fresh tears spill. “I am loved,” I whisper. “You loved me enough to trust me with your life’s work. I won’t betray that by hiding in a fantasy, no matter how sweet.”

The false future begins to crumble, flakes of light peeling away. I force myself to step back. “I have to let you go,” I say, voice shaking. “I’ll carry your love, but I won’t live in a mirage of you while the real world needs me.”

The glowing vision dissipates like ash on the wind. In the darkness, a single spark of warm light remains, drifting toward me. It settles on the flame token now reappeared in my hand. The stone feels warmer than before, as if affirming my choice.

I find myself back in the main chamber - the Flame door is open behind me. Somehow I passed back through without notice. My cheeks are wet and my limbs trembling, but a weight has lifted from my heart. Desire did not master me - I mastered it.

There’s no time to waste. I stride unsteadily to the next door bearing the Sword of Courage. I fit the sword - etched token into its slot.

The door grinds open to reveal another shadowy space. Taking a bracing breath, I step through. The door crashes shut.

This chamber brightens to a dim twilight. I stand at one end of a narrow stone bridge spanning a seemingly bottomless pit. On the far side of the bridge glints something like a shield or crest with the sword symbol at its center.

I realize I likely need to cross to claim it. But the bridge is hardly a foot wide, no railing, just a thin path over oblivion. I inch forward and peer down - only blackness. A wave of dizzying fear washes over me.

From the abyss below echoes a sinister whisper: “You will fall. You will fail.” I know it comes from within - my own doubts given voice.

I gingerly step onto the bridge. Immediately a phantom gust of wind buffets me. My arms flail for balance. Fear clutches my chest. Heights…I’ve never felt such terror of falling.

The whispering intensifies, swirling around: “You’re not brave enough. Turn back. Better to cower than drop into the dark.”

My heart thunders. I shut my eyes, body trembling. Courage is not the absence of fear, I remind myself, only the mastery of it. I have to move.

Forcing my eyes open, I fix them on the glowing crest at the far end. One step, then another. The ledge seems to pitch under me, though it might be my vertigo.

Halfway across, spectral shapes flicker in the void - scenes of my deepest fears. I see Tarin bleeding out on the monastery floor, Zara captured and screaming, Malkeos laughing over their bodies. I freeze, paralyzed by horror.

“No…” I whimper. The voice around me presses: “Yes. This is what awaits. You will get them killed. You will die afraid and alone.”

Tears of fright blur my vision. I sway, and one foot slips off the ledge. Pebbles skitter into the abyss. A jolt of panic surges - I drop to a crouch, clutching the narrow path. My entire body shakes; I can’t catch my breath.

It would be so easy to crawl back, to hide, to not risk everything. Isn’t that what the fear wants? For me to yield?

A memory surfaces: Father’s hand squeezing mine when I was small and frightened of a station blackout. “Face the dark, Jameus,” he’d said. “Courage isn’t never being afraid. It’s being afraid and doing what’s right anyway.”

“I am afraid,” I whisper into the abyss. “But I won’t let that stop me.”

Mustering every ounce of will, I rise on unsteady legs. The harrowing visions persist at the edges of my sight, but I focus straight ahead and start moving again. One step. Another.

The phantom wind roars ferociously now, as if enraged at my defiance. It pushes, claws at me. I grit my teeth and lean forward, practically running the last few steps.

Suddenly solid ground meets my feet. I stumble off the bridge onto the far platform, collapsing to my knees - but I made it. A triumphant sob escapes me.

Behind, the ghostly wind dies to nothing. The terrifying illusions fade like smoke.

I reach trembling hands to lift the shining crest from the pedestal. As I touch it, the metal crest evaporates, coalescing into the sword token now returned to me. The fear in my gut ebbs, replaced by a surge of fierce confidence.

The next thing I know, I’m back in the central chamber again. I don’t even recall crossing back, but the Sword door stands open and I’m clutching that token to my chest. My breath comes fast, but I’m smiling shakily. Fear did not defeat me.

Two trials down, one to go - and likely the most subtle: Wisdom.

I approach the final door bearing the sun - eye of Wisdom. My two earned tokens are warm in my hand; I slide the wisdom token from my pocket and into the slot.

The door slides aside. Beyond is a small circular study, like a scholar’s cell. A single oil lamp burns on a wooden desk, illuminating scrolls and a quill pen atop blank parchment.

I step inside, and the door closes, enveloping me in a pool of golden lamplight and deep stillness. There is no obvious threat here - no illusions or abysses. Just… a question, perhaps.

Sure enough, the quill floats up and begins writing on the parchment with no hand to guide it. I move closer to read the words forming in neat script:

“A beggar, a wounded enemy soldier, and a wealthy patron in need all cross your path at once, but you have time to help only one. Whom do you help?”

Ah. A classic ethical dilemma. I furrow my brow. The wealthy patron offers reward but doesn’t truly need as direly as the others. Between a beggar and an enemy soldier - the beggar is innocent and starving, the soldier is an enemy who will die without aid.

My knee - jerk desire is to help the beggar - charity to the innocent. But wisdom asks me to consider the broader consequences: saving an enemy who might then change or cease hostilities could save many more lives in the long run. Also, an enemy is still a human soul deserving mercy.

Is forgiveness the wiser course? Perhaps in Harmony’s eyes, yes. The Codex did teach uncommon courage in forgiving enemies.

“I would aid the wounded enemy,” I say aloud after a moment. My voice sounds confident. “The beggar’s plight pains me, but saving an enemy’s life could sow the seed of peace where there was hate.”

The quill glows and scribbles again quickly:

“A ruler decrees an unjust law that the people accept blindly. Speaking out will bring turmoil and personal peril, staying silent keeps order but harms the innocent. What do you do?”

My lips twitch - the answer comes easily this time. “I would speak out against the injustice, despite the cost. Harmony cannot be built on silent complicity in wrong. The truth must be voiced.”

The lamp flickers and the pages of a nearby book flutter, as if a breeze passed. The quill writes one final line:

“Why do you seek the Uninstrument?”

I start at the directness. For a moment, I don’t answer. Why do I seek it? Because Father told me to? To stop Malkeos? For glory or duty?

I close my eyes, hand resting over my heart. The answer, when I look inward, is clear and simple.

“Because it’s not about power,” I murmur. “It’s about Harmony. My father believed the Uninstrument could help restore balance and peace. I don’t fully understand it yet - but I trust his hopes. I want to use it to protect, to heal, not to rule or destroy.”

When I open my eyes, the lamplight intensifies to a brilliant white. I blink, and find I’m no longer in the little study but standing once more in the Triad chamber - this time in front of the Wisdom door as it slides open. The third token is back in my hand, humming softly.

A sense of quiet, resolute clarity fills me. Desire tempered. Fear mastered. Judgment proven. I have passed the Trials.

Before me, a hidden panel in the far wall of the central chamber cracks open. I catch my breath - the panel slides aside to reveal a narrow passage leading further down. At its end, faint bluish light glimmers.

The sanctum of the Uninstrument.

I clutch all three tokens and step forward, almost in a trance of fulfillment. As I emerge from the passage, I find myself in a cavernous domed chamber deep within the mountain. Torches around the periphery ignite spontaneously, illuminating murals of starfields and musical notes across the curved ceiling. And atop a raised dais in the center, on a pedestal of white marble, rests a long object wrapped in silk cloth and bound with three metal rings.

The air in here is cool and thin. Each breath feels momentous. With reverent steps I approach the dais. My heart knows what lies before me - the artifact that cost my father everything to keep safe.

Carefully, I touch the silk covering. It’s embroidered with the triad circle symbol. The three metal rings securing it correspond to the tokens in my palm, each ring engraved with flame, sword, or eye. Of course - the tokens are literally keys to unlock it.

My hands remarkably steady, I slot each carved stone into its matching ring. The rings click loose, one by one, and fall away.

I gently unwrap the silk.

A rod of dark, lustrous metal is revealed - about a meter long, slender and elegant, with intricately etched geometric patterns along its length. A halo of faint blue luminescence outlines it in the dimness. The Uninstrument.

It’s beautiful in a stark way - no jewels or gaudy elements, just a finely crafted piece of unknown metal that seems to drink in the torchlight. I reach out with trembling fingers and lift it. It’s surprisingly light and balanced, humming faintly at my touch.

As my skin contacts the etched patterns, a wave of warmth travels up my arms. A note - a single pure musical note - rings softly in my mind. The same note I heard fleetingly when I touched the broken resonance stone back on D’cairn. This time it resonates harmonically, filling me with calm.

Tears slip down my face unchecked. I feel… I feel my father’s presence here with me, or perhaps the presence of all those from Harmony who poured their hope into this instrument. It’s as if the virtues of the trials - desire for good, courage to act, wisdom to guide - are singing together through this relic now that I hold it with a balanced heart.

I don’t know how long I stand there lost in that soundless music. But the spell is shattered by a distant BOOM that rattles the ground dust from the cavern ceiling. Malkeos. The siege has begun.

Clutching the Uninstrument, I hurry back up the passage. I return to the initiation chamber to find Master Keldan and Prioris Cira just rushing in. Both look flushed and sweaty from exertion and stress, but their faces light up seeing me holding the relic, alive and seemingly well.

“You did it,” Keldan breathes, eyes shining. He and Cira bow their heads briefly in respect or relief. “The Trials are complete… you have proven worthy, Jameus.”

The Uninstrument pulses in my grip. “Malkeos?” I ask urgently.

Cira grimaces. “He has breached the outer gate. We must move to the mountain sanctum now. Brother Centris and the others are delaying him, but - ”

A crash and shouts echo from the corridor, nearer than I’d like. Tarin’s voice rings out, issuing orders; Zara’s fierce cry follows - a skirmish underway in the halls.

Tarin suddenly staggers into the chamber doorway, bleeding from a cut on his forehead but with wild triumph in his eyes. Zara is right behind him, supporting a limping Brother Centris. “Jameus!” Tarin gasps, breaking into a grin at the sight of me with the Uninstrument. “Thank the stars.”

Zara flashes me a proud smile despite a gash on her arm. “I knew you’d do it.”

No time for celebration - the thunder of boots approaches. Malkeos’s voice booms down the corridor: “Find the boy! Find the relic!”

“They’re coming,” Brother Centris snarls unnecessarily, hefting a bloody quarterstaff.

“Go, go!” Keldan urges us onward. We sprint together through a back route toward the high - domed sanctuary hall - the innermost heart of Oratorio. I find myself at the front of our group, Tarin and Zara flanking me, Keldan and Cira just behind, Centris and a few monks taking rearguard stance.

We burst into the vast sanctum - a circular chamber with a high vaulted ceiling. The floor is a mosaic depicting the Republic’s emblem, with a raised resonant stone disc at its center. I skid to a stop at that center, chest heaving. This is where it’s meant to be used: the resonant stone set into the floor waits like an anvil for the Uninstrument’s strike.

We barely form up when the sanctuary doors explode open. Malkeos strides in through smoke, armor scuffed and face contorted with rage. At least a dozen of his men flood in behind him, some dragging captured, bound monks as hostages.

“There you are,” Malkeos hisses, icy eyes locking onto me and the relic in my hands. He looks every inch the mad tyrant - dust - caked, bleeding from a cut on his cheek, yet towering and furious.

I lift the Uninstrument defiantly, heart pounding. Tarin and Zara close ranks at my sides, Tarin leveling a pistol he must have retrieved, Zara raising a dagger. But they’re outnumbered and we all know it.

Malkeos raises a hand, and his mercenaries halt, weapons trained. An awful silence falls - a tableau of finality.

Keldan steps forward, palms outward. “Malkeos,” he calls, voice still steady, “End this. You cannot win. Shed no more blood - ”

“Silence, old fool,” Malkeos snaps. In a flash, he draws a sidearm and fires. The blast strikes the ground at Keldan’s feet, knocking the master back. Two monks cry out and rush to Keldan, pulling him to cover.

Malkeos fixes his hungry gaze on me. “Drop the relic, boy. Now. Or I will execute every single soul here, starting with your friends.”

My stomach clenches. From the corner of my eye I see two mercs restraining Zara, who spat curses as they wrenched her dagger away. Tarin is on his knees, disarmed again with rifles pressed to his head. Centris and Cira have been captured as well, forced to their knees with the other monks. The last stand fizzled out in a heartbeat - we never had a chance at a protracted fight in this hall.

I’m the only one still free, at the center of the mosaic, encircled by Malkeos’s guns. And I hold the one thing he wants above all. My mind races. Perhaps I can use it - perhaps one pure note could disarm them or stun them. Father wrote that in times of crisis the Uninstrument can project harmony outward to quell strife. But I have no training in how to “play” it except -

I recall the trial chamber’s resonant disc and the notation in the Codex: the ritual calls for the Uninstrument to be struck upon a resonant stone to produce the Philosopher’s Echo.

Maybe I don’t need finesse. Maybe I just need to strike it, here and now. It’s a desperate gamble - I have no idea what exactly will happen. But doing nothing will mean we’re all lost.

Malkeos steps closer, confidence returning now that he believes victory is within grasp. I tighten both hands on the Uninstrument’s hilt. The artifact seems to hum louder, sensing my resolve.

He smirks darkly. “I won’t ask again, child. Give. It. To. Me.”

In that moment, I catch Zara’s eyes across the hall. Bruised and held at gunpoint, she still manages the tiniest nod of encouragement. Tarin, even on his knees with a rifle to his temple, meets my gaze and mouths, Do it.

I’m out of time.

“Take it then!” I shout suddenly, lifting the Uninstrument high. Malkeos’s eyes widen in triumph - then confusion - as I whirl and bring the rod crashing down onto the resonant stone disc embedded in the mosaic floor at my feet.