For sixty slow, measured breaths after the sky-slit closed above the northern ridge, none of the eight defenders sheathed a weapon or turned their backs on the center of the court. They had learned too much over the past four watches about how institutional machinery clings to its routines to take silence on faith before the renewal clock ran out.
In the Aperture Court’s emergency protocols—the cold contingencies Commander Keth Or had learned by heart years ago and explained to the group before the fourth watch—whenever a main control valve hub lost its local seat, the deep mountain array would wait sixty breaths and then try a backup phase-jump. If any physical test channel remained intact in the rock, or if a Listening Crown fighter on the ridge held a receptive anchor stance, the leftover underground pressure would try to leap across the mountain veins and lock onto the nearest marked tester. Whether that was Nara Soth on the ridge, Seyun with his three places, or young Halin down at the lower hospice.
He stood by the southern boulder with his left hand on the handle of his sheathed recovery sword. Keth Or counted the breaths aloud in a low, steady voice. Meanwhile, Vaska Ren kept his right palm pressed flat against the dark rock floor to monitor the deep rock veins.
