Rhen sat across from him. "He mentioned a wanderer who saw the light last month. That… was us, wasn't it?"

  "Most likely. Perhaps Starlight Bloom emitted light more strongly one night, or there was a small leak in our shroud." Kieran tapped the table with his fingers. "We must tighten the controls. [Ward Audit: Security Gap Inspection]." Tier 3.

  He shut his eyes, his willpower extending across the entire warehouse and surrounding area, checking every layer of ward, every sensor. It took ten minutes. "There are two weak points. Near the northeast window—natural ward fatigue from wind exposure. And at the roof—shrinking wood causing micro gaps. We fix those today."

  Mira nodded. "What else should we do about Cassian?"

  "We do what Rhen promised: we become scholars interested in legends, but only that." Kieran opened the thick notebook. "We will create supporting evidence. False field notes about 'the search for the Guiding Light'. Sketches of wrong locations in the forest. We can even 'discover' a small artifact—a stone with a blue moss fossil, for instance—that we can say is indirect evidence."

  Rhen smiled faintly. "We will deceive him with false research."

  "We will give him the story he wants." Kieran corrected. "So that he does not feel the need to search for the real story."

  They spent the rest of the day not only repairing the ward, but also building deeper layers of concealment. Kieran taught Mira how to make [Record Illusion: Temporary Ink Projection] Tier 2.5—a magic that allowed them to write notes in a book with ink that would fade naturally after a few months, appearing old and authentic. They filled several pages with fictional observations about "blue light phenomena," complete with dates going back a year.

  Rhen, with his manual skill, carved a flat stone with a faint spiral pattern, then Kieran applied the finishing touch with [Conceptual Aging: Weathering Simulation] Tier 3. The stone looked as though it had been buried for decades, with false blue moss growing in its grooves—a perfect "artifact" to support the legend.

  That afternoon, as the sun began to descend, Kieran called them for an evaluation.

  "Cassian is a sign," he said, while looking toward the village. "He is not a direct threat, but he is proof that information about magical anomalies is beginning to leak. If an independent scholar can hear rumors and come here, then other more organized parties can as well."

  Mira clasped her own hands. "Like who?"

  "The church, the kingdom, cults, or… other races that have been monitoring the human world from the beginning." Kieran turned. "We must accelerate the plan. Not recklessly, but with precision. We need more eyes and ears outside of here. Rhen, you already have connections in the village. Expand them. Listen to rumors. Recruit people who can be trusted—not for magic, but for observation. Forest wardens, merchants, even wanderers who often pass through."

  Rhen nodded, seriously. "I can do that. But it will take time."

  "We have time. But not much." Kieran moved toward Starlight Bloom, touching its soft petals. The flower pulsed warmly under his touch. "[Network Connection: Natural Sensor Expansion]." Tier 3. He channeled his willpower into the flower, not to project perception, but to strengthen its capacity as a hub. "We will create a broader passive observation network. Using the surrounding flora and fauna as natural sensors. Starlight Bloom will be the center of it."

  Mira watched, her wide eyes catching every movement of Kieran's hands, every pattern of light that formed in the air. "Could the silver butterflies help?"

  "They are already helping. They are an extension of this flower's calming field." Kieran withdrew his hands. "But we can do more. [Subtle Summons: Invitation to Small Life]." Tier 2.5. He emitted a gentle, friendly willpower vibration, like a soundless song that could only be detected by creatures with a certain sensitivity.

  Several minutes passed. Then, from the gaps in the walls and roof, small creatures began to appear: a field mouse with intelligent black eyes, a pair of sparrows that usually perched on the roof, even several nocturnal insects that usually hid during the day. They did not come closer, only sitting or standing at a distance, as if waiting.

  "They will not understand complex commands," whispered Kieran, his voice low and calm. "But they can become living alarms. If there is a foreign presence, human or otherwise, that is hostile, they will grow restless. And Starlight Bloom will capture that restlessness."

  He extended his hand, and a silver butterfly—not one of those that usually circled the flower, but a larger one, with wing patterns like a star map—landed on his index finger. "[Trust Bond: Limited Consciousness Sharing]." Tier 3.8. This was heavier; Kieran felt pressure at his temples. But he held on. He formed a simple symbiotic connection with the butterfly—he would not control it, but he would feel what it felt, and in turn, the butterfly would be drawn to unusual magical presences.

  The butterfly flapped its wings, then flew out through the open window, disappearing into the dusk.

  "That… is beautiful," murmured Mira.

  "That is necessary," Kieran corrected, but his tone was slightly softer. "Beauty is a bonus. Function is the purpose."

  That night, after a simple dinner, Kieran sat alone in the main room, gazing at the fire in the hearth. His thoughts spun. Cassian was merely a symptom. The disease was the leakage of information, rumors, unwanted attention. In the original timeline, the pre-Tower period was an era of almost perfect magical ignorance. But here, with his presence, with their activities—even those that were shrouded—they had disturbed the collective awareness of the world. Mana reacted. Reality recorded. And sensitive beings, human and otherwise, were beginning to notice.

  We must build not only defenses, but a larger illusion, he thought. Not only hiding this warehouse, but creating an alternative narrative so compelling that the truth feels dull.

  Stolen story; please report.

  He took another notebook—the real one, containing the actual data about the symbols and temporal anomalies. He opened the page about the four-symbol pattern. The coordinates formed a tilted diamond. The center point remained a mystery, but he had restrained himself from investigating it directly. Patience. But with new threats emerging, was patience still a virtue?

  No. But recklessness is worse.

  He closed the book, securing it with [Dimensional Lock: Sub-Space Storage] Tier 4. A brief pressure on his vessel, but necessary. The book disappeared from the table, stored in a pocket of space that only he could access.

  The next day, life returned to its seemingly normal routine. Mira practiced Spatial Grammar disguised as "precision experiments in moving herbal seeds." Rhen went to the village to "deliver a tea order" and simultaneously spread the story about the "discovery of an inscribed stone" that supported the Guiding Light legend. Kieran himself spent the time strengthening the ward and refining the natural sensor network.

  In the afternoon, when Rhen returned, he brought unexpected news.

  "Cassian hasn't left," he said, his face creased. "He's still at the inn. And he's talking with someone—another stranger as well. They looked serious."

  Kieran raised an eyebrow. "[Far Sight: Focus Through Bird's Eyes]." Tier 3. He activated the link with one of the sparrows that had accepted his invitation. A blurry image formed: Cassian sitting in the corner of the inn with a woman. The woman was perhaps in her thirties, brown hair neatly braided, clothing simple but tidy—a scholar's robe. They were discussing a map spread across the table.

  "Who is she?" whispered Mira.

  "Don't know. But they are not an obvious enemy." Kieran observed their body language. Cassian spoke enthusiastically, pointing at the map. The woman listened, occasionally nodding, occasionally furrowing her brow. No tension, no hostility. Academic collaboration.

  He severed the link. "We will wait. See if this is related to us."

  They did not have to wait long. That afternoon, as the sun began to lengthen the shadows, a village child—the inn owner's son—ran to the warehouse breathlessly. "Mr. Rhen! There is a letter for the scholars here!"

  Rhen received a small roll of paper tied with thread. The child ran back after being given a small coin. Inside the warehouse, Rhen unrolled it. The contents were brief, written in neat handwriting.

  To the Ashvale Scholars,

  I have heard about your interest in the blue light phenomenon and local folklore. My colleague and I, a colleague from Frostpeak, are compiling an archive of optical and acoustic anomalies in this region. We would like to exchange information. No need for a direct meeting if you are not comfortable—correspondence is sufficient.

  As a gesture of trust, I offer something that may be of interest: In the Frostpeak scholar community, there is talk of "echoes without sound"—a phenomenon where people report hearing whispers, but there is no source of sound. Some associate it with minor spatial distortions. My colleague, Iris, is an expert in this matter. If you are interested, I can relay your questions.

  With respect, Cassian

  Kieran read the letter twice. Professional tone. An offer of information for information. And the mention of a name: Iris.

  Iris.

  Kieran's heart, for a moment, beat with a rhythm that did not match his young body. An echo from a distant future, from a collapsed tower, from a woman with gray eyes that were always filled with exhaustion and a resolve that never dimmed. Iris Valmont. Head Researcher of Arcanum. The person who designed the shield that saved the remnants of humanity on Floor 89. The person who died defending it.

  In this timeline, she was still alive. Still a young scholar. In Frostpeak.

  "Iris," murmured Mira, reading the name. "She sounds important."

  "She is…" Kieran stopped, swallowing the words that had nearly escaped. She is one of the pillars of our coming civilization. And she must not become involved too early. "She is a talented scholar, according to rumors. But we must be careful. The scholar community can become a complex web. One wrong step, and unwanted attention will come."

  Rhen looked at him. "So we reply? Offer false information about the Guiding Light?"

  Kieran nodded, slowly. "Yes. But we must also give something real—something not dangerous but interesting enough to sustain communication. Perhaps… a report about a variation of bioluminescent moss that we 'discovered' in a small cave. That could explain the blue light." He walked to the herbal shelf, his mind working quickly. "We will create a scholarly correspondence that is slow and careful. Building credibility as researchers who are reserved but cooperative."

  Mira appeared uncertain. "But if Iris truly is an expert in spatial distortion… wouldn't she be able to suspect the truth about us?"

  "That is a risk. But if we do not engage at all, Cassian may become more curious. Giving a little controlled information is safer than giving a vacuum." Kieran picked up paper and pen. "We will write a reply. Rhen, you will deliver it tomorrow."

  He began to write, in the formal and academic style he remembered from the era before the Tower. He mentioned the "discovery" of the inscribed stone and blue moss, inquired about the "echoes without sound" and whether it had any connection to specific geological conditions. He closed with hopes for further information exchange, but asserted that their team was currently unable to receive visits due to "intensive research on seasonal plant cycles."

  The letter was finished. They sealed it with ordinary wax, without magic.

  "This will open a door," said Rhen, holding the letter.

  "Only a crack," corrected Kieran. "And we are the ones who control how wide it opens."

  That night, Kieran could not sleep. The name Iris continued to echo in his mind. In the original timeline, he had recruited her after the Tower appeared, when she had already become a desperate scholar whose theories had been rejected by the elven academy. She was one of his best students, and later, one of his closest friends. Seeing her name appear now, in such an ordinary context, so early… it felt like violating a law of nature.

  She must not know about us. Not yet. His mind wrestled with the urge to contact her, to bring her under his wing earlier, to save her from the years of loneliness and rejection she experienced. But that would change too many things. The great Iris was born from her academic suffering and isolation. Taking that from her could rob her of her sharpness, her perseverance.

  He had to let her grow. As he let Mira and Rhen grow. As he had to let human civilization grow at its own pace, even though every instinct of his screamed to accelerate, to control, to optimize.

  That was the paradox of his knowledge: knowing the future was a curse. Every decision not to intervene felt like a betrayal of the memories of those he loved.

  He stood, walked to the window, gazing at the moonlit forest. In the distance, a faint blue light pulsed once—Starlight Bloom at the window, or perhaps his silver butterfly on patrol. This world was still calm. Still pure. Still had time.

  But that time was not unlimited.

  Cassian and his letter were another sign: the world was beginning to wake. The web of information was beginning to form. And somewhere in Frostpeak, a woman named Iris was studying spatial distortions, unaware that she held the key to understanding one of the most complex schools of magic that the last Archmage of humanity would ever teach.

  Kieran drew a deep breath, the cold night air filling his lungs. He had to be patient. He had to trust the process. He had to let that potential develop in its own way.

  But in the corner of his mind, a plan began to form. Not to contact Iris, but to monitor her development. To ensure that when the time came, she would be ready. And that no one would rob her of her brilliant future.

  He closed the window, returned to his bed. His sleep, when it finally came, was filled with dreams of towers and light, of the sound of a woman laughing and then screaming, and of one name that echoed across time:

  Iris.