The Mayor’s mention of the "Strongest" had left a ringing silence in the hall, a name that carried enough weight to make even a cult of god-worshippers hesitate. But while the adults were locked in a battle of wills and philosophies, Ren was doing what he did best: he was looking.

  His golden eyes were darting frantically, moving with a twitchy, predatory speed. To everyone else, the walls were just white marble and oak. To Ren, the room was screaming.

  "Wait, wait, wait," Ren interjected, his voice high-pitched and urgent, cutting right through the Mayor’s dramatic pause. He stepped away from the group, his boots clicking on the floor as he paced a tight circle. "Stop moving. Everyone just... stop."

  Valerius frowned, her Truth-Lenses whirring as she looked at him. "Ren? What is it?"

  "These," Ren said, pointing a trembling finger at the crown molding where the wall met the ceiling. "And there, under the lip of the reception desk. And definitely those three over by the elevator."

  He lunged toward a decorative floral carving on a pillar, his fingers hovering just an inch from the wood. "What are these? They look like scratches, but they aren't. They’re breathing. Every time the Weaver speaks, they pulse."

  To the naked eye, they were nearly invisible—microscopic, jagged runes etched into the grain of the building. But through the Gilded Eye, they glowed with a sickly, iridescent slime. They weren't just decorations; they were anchors.

  "They're 'Eater-Runes,'" Elara whispered, her sightless eyes widening as she felt the vibration Ren was describing. "They aren't just siphoning the Sentinel roots. They’re siphoning us."

  Ren spun around to face the empty air where the Weaver’s voice had come from. "You aren't just talking to us to be dramatic, are you? You’re using the sound of your voice to trigger these things. Every word the Mayor says, every time the Detective threatens you, these runes soak up the resonance. You’re using our own energy to prime the pump for your God!"

  The Mayor’s relaxed smile didn't disappear, but his eyes sharpened as he looked at the carvings Ren had pointed out. He leaned in, sniffing the air near one of the runes. "Ah. 'Void-Parasites.' Clever. It’s a feedback loop. The more we resist, the more we feed the ritual."

  The Weaver’s laughter returned, but this time it was jagged, less confident. "The boy sees too much. It is a pity; such an eye would have been a marvelous gift for our Lord."

  "Yeah, well, my eye isn't for sale," Ren snapped, his golden gaze locking onto a specific rune behind a painting of a former Mayor. "Kael! The one behind the portrait of the guy with the bad mustache! Freeze it! If we can’t stop them from talking, we can at least break the 'ears' of this room."

  Kael didn't hesitate. A blast of localized, absolute-zero frost slammed into the pillar, shattering the wood and the rune along with it. The entire Town Hall groaned, a sound of physical pain that vibrated through the floorboards.

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  "Arthur! Detective!" Ren shouted, his eyes glowing with an intensity that made him look less like a child and more like an ancient spirit. "There are forty-two of them in this room alone. If we don't smash them now, we won't even make it to the basement—we'll be empty husks before we hit the first step!"

  Ren’s frantic shouting acted like a spark in a room full of gas. Arthur and Valerius didn't need a second explanation; they were professionals of two very different, very violent worlds.

  "Forty-two, you said?" Valerius barked. She adjusted her Truth-Lenses with a sharp click, the gears whirring into a high-pitched whine. "Ren, keep your eyes on the move. Don't let a single one blink."

  "On it!" Ren shouted, his head whipping around like a bird's, his golden pupils dilated to catch every shimmer of iridescent slime. "Left corner! Behind the clock! Under the Mayor's chair!"

  Detective Valerius moved first. She didn't use a blade or a spell; she used the Law. She reached into her trench coat and pulled out a heavy, iron-bound ledger—the Registry of Grayshadow.

  "By the authority of the High Watch," she thundered, her voice dropping an octave into a resonant, supernatural boom. "I declare these geometries Illicit! I find this architecture Guilty of treason against the living!"

  As she spoke, golden chains of pure light erupted from the pages of her book. They didn't strike the walls; they sought out the 'guilt' Ren had pointed out. The chains lashed around the runes behind the reception desk and the elevator, constricting with the force of a closing prison cell.

  Simultaneously, Arthur stepped into the center of the hall. He didn't look at the walls. He closed his eyes, his hand resting on the pommel of his weathered longsword.

  "Arthur, now!" Ren screamed. "The one in the chandelier is glowing red—it's gonna pop!"

  Arthur’s eyes snapped open. They were no longer the weary eyes of a traveler, but the cold, steel-gray eyes of a King’s Executioner. He didn't draw his sword fully; he merely shifted it an inch from its scabbard.

  Calamity Style: First Form—Severance of the Unseen.

  He moved so fast he seemed to blur into three places at once. He wasn't cutting wood or stone; he was cutting the concept of the connection. Every time his blade hissed through the air, a shockwave of silver light followed, guided precisely by Ren’s pointing finger.

  The chandelier rune was sliced in half before it could detonate. The runes under the floorboards were severed from their 'roots' in the basement.

  Together, the Detective’s chains held the runes still, and Arthur’s blade ended them. It was a symphony of law and lethality.

  "Twenty! Thirty! Thirty-five!" Ren counted down, his voice cracking with the strain of tracking so much moving magic. "Only seven left! They're moving! They're crawling toward the Mayor!"

  The Mayor, still standing casually with his hands in his pockets, looked down as the last seven runes scurried across the marble floor like panicked spiders, trying to find refuge in his shadow.

  "Oh dear," the Mayor mused, looking at Arthur and Valerius. "You've made quite a mess of the decor. I suppose the Weaver will be quite cross with you now."

  The building gave a final, agonizing shudder. The iridescent light of the runes died out, replaced by a heavy, sulfurous smoke that began to rise from the floorboards. The "ears" of the room were gone, but the silence that followed was far more terrifying.

  "We're clear," Arthur panted, thumbing his sword back into its sheath with a final clack. He looked at Ren. "Good eye, kid. We'd have been bled dry in another five minutes."

  "Don't get comfortable," Valerius warned, her ledger still glowing. "They know we can see them now. The 'polite' part of this evening is officially over."