The Eclipsera Codex

Aeloria wakes up singing. It always has. Even when Celadryn burned, even when Drakaira went dark, even when the Veins screamed— Aeloria held its pitch. Soundstone keeps resonance the way trees keep rings, and this city is nothing but soundstone— tiered spires, voice-cut windows, bridges tuned to carry vibration. Aeloria was built for Echo-Wardens. Most mornings—and there have been two years of quiet, unmilitarized mornings—I sit on my balcony with spiced kaf and let the city run scales. Low hum from the Spires. Higher line from market stalls opening. Bridge cadence—footsteps synced to civic rhythm. And beneath all of it— the Veins. This morning, they’re wrong. Not alarm-sirens wrong— off-key, like someone inserted a foreign pulse and hoped no one would hear it. Civilians don’t. Echo-Wardens do. I hold the kaf close without drinking. Heat smooths the scratch in my throat that always arrives after Codex dreams. Last night was the Tower one again—tones stacked too high, collapsing, glyphs shattering like mirrored glass. I don’t want to think about it. I want to pretend I’m just Nyra— woman on the eastern tier, teaches kids how to listen, takes archival translation jobs, does not plug herself into sentient relics. You can leave Aetherion. Your ears don’t. There— between markets and Spire pulse— a clipped vibration. Not Aelorian. Too layered for civilian nets. Aetherion. “Not today,” I mutter. Three quick knocks—two—one. Cadence from academy days. I school my face and open the door. Auren leans in the frame like he owns it—sun-browned, curls tied back, wearing local clothes instead of black. “Morning, songbird.” “Auren.” I lift a brow. “Obscenely early.” “Says the woman spying on civic resonance before breakfast.” “Some of us are responsible.” He scans the flat—habit, not intrusion. I let him. He’s one of the few I ever did. “Come in?” he asks while already entering. I huff. “That’s not how asking works.” He rubs his hands together, eyes flicking over my balcony and resonance slates. “Pretending to be retired again?” “I am retired.” He hums. “Retired people don’t keep decryption boards out.” “I didn’t say I stopped listening. I said I stopped taking orders.” He glances back, amused. “We’ll see.” I pour him kaf because Auren earned that before all of this. He takes it— Doesn’t drink. Official. I cross my arms. “Do it.” “You had it again.” “The dream,” he clarifies when I say nothing. “You sound Codex-touched.” “I hate that you coined that.” He doesn’t smile this time. “I didn’t report it.” “Yet.” “That depends on how honest you’re about to be.” “What did they send you with?” “A recall.” Of course. The off-key pulse. The timing. “I’m not active.” “You’re provisionally retired,” he corrects—politely cruel. “Everyone knew if Codex woke again, you’d be first.” “What is it?” “The Codex,” Auren says. “Full Lexicon sequence pinged all five realms. Command wants you at the Array.” Of course they do. He slides a copper-threaded slate across. The resonance in it prickles before I touch it. I don’t open it. I already know the header: PRIORITY SUMMONS — AETHERION DIVISION. “This is where you tell me it’s a consult.” “It’s not a consult.” “A summons.” “Yes.” “I walked, Auren.” “I know.” “After Tower, I was done.” “I know.” We hold eye contact. “They threw us into a breach we weren’t ready for, nearly broke all five of us, called it ‘contained,’ then split the unit before we could breathe.” “No one sane blamed you.” “Command did.” “Command blames gravity,” he says. “Ignore them.” “Easy for you to say.” “No,” he counters quiet, “just necessary.” “That’s worse.” He lets the silence sit. “You heard the pulse before they called,” he says. “I can see it.” “What makes you think that?” “Because you look like you haven’t slept in a week.” A beat. “I haven’t.” “Dream?” “Hum at first. Then last night—full Tower imagery. Glyphs falling.” “Which ones?” “Veyra. Skynor. Then two mirrored lines trying to bind.” “Ecliphane.” “I thought analysts said it wasn’t active.” “They said not yet.” “So the Codex is trying to finish the Lexicon.” He doesn’t deny it. “And Command thinks plugging me into Celadryn won’t accelerate that?” He gives me the look that means yes but they don’t care. “Who else?” “You know.” All four. Kaien’s unbreakable spine. Theron’s reckless grin. Eryndor’s quiet shadow. Cassian’s star-bright persistence. The unit that burned with me. “They’re insane.” “No,” he says softly. “They remember the one time it worked.” “That was Tower.” “And you survived Tower because of them.” “That’s exactly why I left.” He doesn’t argue—because he understands. “What now?” “You go,” he says. “Or the Codex escalates without you.” “Manipulative.” “True.” I stare at the slate. “I miss parts of it,” I admit. “Not Command. Not being monitored for detonation risk. But… the missions. The way the unit fit. The way it—made sense.” “There she is.” “Shut up.” He grins. “Thumbprint.” I drag mine across copper. Resonance flares— the slate recognizes me. PRIORITY SUMMONS — OPERATIVE AELORI, NYRA MISSION: CODEX-CLASS ANOMALY — ‘ECLIPHANE’ REPORT: CELESTIUM ARRAY // IMMEDIATE I roll my eyes. “Of course it’s immediate.” “You look fine,” he says, eyeing my sleep shirt. “I’m not reporting in something that says ‘I’d rather be sleeping.’” “Cassian would love it.” “Do not start.” “What? He’s chaos with pretty eyelashes.” “He’s a headache.” “You missed him.” “I missed all of them,” I say before I can stop it. “That’s the problem.” Auren softens. “Tower hurt. You didn’t.” I don’t answer. “Transport leaves in an hour.” “An hour?” “I did say ‘immediate.’” I mutter in Aelorian and grab my half-packed satchel—because I always keep it ready, whether I admit it or not. As we descend toward the docks, sunlight slices between spires, market music rising like heat. “You’ll be fine,” Auren says. “That’s what you said last time.” “At least it won’t be boring.” “That’s the problem.” He studies me—really studies. “You know what’s going to happen, right?” “What.” “You’ll walk into that Array and all four of them will look at you like someone finally set the last piece back on the board.” “That’s dramatic.” “That’s accurate.” I look away because I don’t like how true it feels. “They’re not exactly forgettable.” “So you are looking forward to seeing them.” “I am,” I admit. “And I’m also looking forward to yelling at them.” Auren’s laugh rings bright in the lift shaft. Outside, Aeloria keeps singing. Inside, the Codex hums back. And ready or not— I’m going to Celadryn.