Carson knelt on the cold stone floor, his wrists bound behind his back with ceremonial cords that hummed with an energy he couldn't identify. The chamber around him bore little resemblance to the Heran architecture he'd seen earlier. Roman had transformed it, overlaying Theist symbols atop the Heran designs, creating a hybrid space that served his purposes.

  Incense burned from ornate holders positioned at precise intervals around the circular chamber. The smoke carried a scent Carson couldn't place—something ancient, like dust and amber and forgotten things. It made his head swim, his thoughts slipping sideways when he tried to focus too hard.

  Theist attendants in crimson robes moved in synchronized patterns around the chamber's perimeter, their low chanting creating vibrations that seemed to resonate with the Stone itself. Carson felt each syllable like a physical touch against his skin.

  "The preparations are nearly complete," Roman said, adjusting a crystalline apparatus that stood before Carson. The prince wore ceremonial armor now, gold and silver plates etched with symbols that matched fragments from Carson's dreams—the same spiraling patterns that had haunted his sleep for years.

  Carson remained silent, letting his head hang forward as if defeated while his eyes tracked every movement, every adjustment. The chamber's floor featured inlaid patterns that radiated outward from where he knelt. Not random designs—precise mathematical arrangements that reminded him of circuit diagrams.

  "You don't understand what you carry," Roman continued, mixing powders in a shallow bowl. "The Light Stone is meant for greater purposes than hiding in the shadows. It must be united with its rightful companions."

  "And you're the one to decide that?" Carson asked, keeping his voice weak, measuring Roman's reactions.

  Roman smiled. "The prophecies decided long before either of us existed."

  The Stone lay dormant against Carson's chest, its familiar warmth absent after the energy he'd expended during the escape. Yet something was happening beneath its surface—a subtle vibration, almost imperceptible, building gradually like a distant storm.

  "The Stone chose me," Carson said, testing.

  "It responded to proximity, nothing more," Roman replied, dismissive. "A tool recognizing potential use. It lacks true consciousness."

  Carson knew better. He'd felt the Stone's awareness, its intentionality. The vibration intensified slightly, as if responding to his thoughts.

  Roman approached, the bowl of mixed substances in his hands. "This ceremony dates back to the first schism, when the Keys were scattered. It releases binding energies and allows transfer of connection."

  The chanting intensified, resonant frequencies building upon each other until Carson felt them in his teeth, his bones. The chamber's hidden systems were activating—lines of light appearing in the floor patterns, spreading outward from where he knelt.

  "I've studied the Stone's properties for years," Roman said, dipping his fingers into the mixture. "Observed its responses, its limitations." He drew symbols on Carson's forehead, the substance cold and tingling. "Its defenses are formidable but predictable."

  Carson remained still, feeling warmth spreading through his chest where the Stone rested. Not the explosive power he'd channeled before, but something different—more deliberate, more focused.

  Roman completed the markings and stepped back, raising his hands. "By ancient right and blood covenant, I claim the mantle of Keeper. I break the bonds of false guardianship and restore the Light to its true purpose."

  The chamber's systems pulsed in response, the floor illuminating in complex patterns that matched the Stone's internal geometry. Carson's skin tingled everywhere, tiny points of light gathering beneath his skin like stars.

  Roman approached again, reaching for the cord that held the Stone around Carson's neck. "The transition requires physical transfer. Your resistance is futile, but appreciated for its symbolic value."

  As Roman's fingers touched the cord, Carson felt the Stone's temperature spike. Energy gathered not in controlled channels as when he directed it, but in a defensive shell that encompassed his entire body.

  "I wouldn't—" Carson started to warn, but too late.

  Roman's hand closed around the Stone itself, and the world exploded into golden light.

  The energy release was instantaneous and overwhelming—not the directed beam Carson had learned to channel, but a spherical pulse that radiated outward with him at its center. Roman flew backward, slamming into the ceremonial apparatus with enough force to shatter it.

  The Theist attendants scattered, their chanting dissolved into cries of alarm. The chamber's systems surged in response, ancient technology recognizing the Stone's true signature and amplifying its protective field.

  Carson gasped as the binding cords disintegrated, the Stone's energy burning through them like paper. He staggered to his feet, staring at his hands where golden light still coursed beneath his skin. He hadn't consciously triggered this response—the Stone had acted autonomously, protecting itself and him.

  Roman struggled to rise, his ceremonial armor smoking where the energy had contacted it. His eyes were wide with shock and something else—fear, perhaps, or revelation.

  "Impossible," he whispered. "The Stone has never—"

  "Chosen?" Carson finished, equally surprised by the Stone's independent action. The warmth against his chest intensified, the Stone's light visible through his clothing now, pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat.

  Carson sprang to his feet as Roman collapsed against the shattered ceremonial apparatus. The Light Stone pulsed against his chest, its energy flowing through his veins like liquid sunlight. Each heartbeat pushed golden traces visibly beneath his skin, illuminating the network of veins in his forearms and hands.

  He didn't question the Stone's autonomous response—there wasn't time. The chamber's security systems wailed in protest, ancient technology recognizing the disruption of sacred ritual. Theist attendants scrambled for weapons while others helped their fallen prince.

  Carson bolted for the nearest exit, his legs unexpectedly strong despite the hours of kneeling. The Stone's energy acted like a stimulant, overriding fatigue and sharpening his senses. Sounds separated into distinct layers—the high-pitched wail of Heran biological alarms, the lower rumble of security forces mobilizing, and somewhere distant, the distinctive whine of the Poseidon's engines warming.

  His friends hadn't abandoned him.

  The corridor outside the chamber branched in three directions, all unfamiliar. Carson hesitated, but the Stone pulsed against his sternum, its warmth intensifying toward the leftmost passage. He followed without questioning, trusting its guidance through the labyrinthine Heran complex.

  The walls themselves seemed alive with activity—bioluminescent warning patterns rippling through the living architecture as defense systems activated. The air filled with a sweet, acrid scent as the building released defensive compounds. Carson pulled his shirt over his nose, filtering the worst of it.

  "Carson!" Link's voice cut through the chaos.

  His friend appeared at an intersection ahead, Wind and Bowie close behind. They'd acquired Heran security uniforms somehow, the living fabric shifting to match their movements.

  "This way!" Link grabbed Carson's arm, pulling him down a maintenance tunnel where the biological architecture gave way to more conventional service corridors. "Roman's people are fighting Chancellor Eris's guards. Whole place is in chaos."

  "Mira?" Carson asked, chest heaving as they ran.

  "Already aboard," Wind answered, her voice clipped. "She helped coordinate this mess."

  The Stone's energy surged at Wind's words, as if responding to Carson's conflicted emotions. Golden light spilled from beneath his collar, illuminating the dark corridor.

  "They're deploying biological countermeasures throughout the complex," Bowie warned, checking a stolen communicator. "We've got minutes before this section goes into full lockdown."

  Carson nodded, mentally mapping their position based on the architectural shifts. "The landing platform is two levels down, east quadrant?"

  "You remember," Wind said, surprised.

  "The Stone..." Carson tapped his chest. "It's like I can see the building's systems, the energy flows."

  They reached a security checkpoint where two factions—Theist infiltrators and Heran guards—had neutralized each other. Bodies lay sprawled amid flashing emergency lights. Carson felt a pang of guilt for the violence his presence had triggered, but the Stone pulsed reassuringly, its warmth steady against his skin.

  A massive blast door blocked their path to the lower levels. Bowie approached the control panel, fingers dancing across unfamiliar Heran interfaces.

  "Can't bypass it," he muttered. "Security override's locked tight."

  Carson stepped forward, the Stone's light intensifying. He placed his palm against the panel, feeling the connection between the Stone's energy and the Heran systems. The golden light spread from his hand into the panel's crystalline structure, overriding protocols and establishing new pathways.

  The door rumbled open.

  "How did you—" Bowie began.

  "Later," Carson cut him off, already moving through the opening.

  The descent to the landing platform became a blur of tactical decisions guided by the Stone's subtle nudges. When security drones appeared, Carson instinctively directed his companions toward maintenance shafts the Stone revealed. When biological barriers formed, sealing corridors with living membrane, the Stone's energy provided passage, the membranes retracting from its light.

  They emerged onto the landing platform amid swirling winds and chaos. Three different factions converged—Theist royal guards, Heran security forces, and a splinter group Carson recognized as the Bridgekeeper faction Wind had mentioned. All fighting for control of the platform and the ships docked there.

  The Poseidon waited at the platform's edge, its entrance hatch open, ramp extended. Mira stood in the doorway, waving frantically as security forces closed in from multiple directions.

  "Go!" Carson shouted, pushing his friends ahead as he turned to face their pursuers.

  The Stone responded to his need, energy gathering in his outstretched hands. He didn't direct a destructive blast but instead created a barrier—a wall of golden light that separated them from their pursuers. It wouldn't hold long, but it didn't need to.

  Carson sprinted up the ramp, the Stone's energy finally beginning to wane. His legs felt leaden, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Link grabbed his arm, pulling him the final steps into the ship as the ramp began to retract.

  "Got him!" Link shouted toward the cockpit.

  The Poseidon's systems hummed to life around them, the ship recognizing its Keeper's return. The hatch sealed with a pneumatic hiss just as weapons fire began peppering the hull.

  Carson collapsed against the bulkhead, the Stone's light fading to a gentle glow as the ship lifted off. Through the viewport, he watched Hera's bio-architectural spires recede, the golden barrier he'd created finally dissipating as they gained altitude.

  "Welcome back," Wind said softly, kneeling beside him. Her eyes held concern, but also something new—respect, perhaps, or recognition.

  Carson nodded, too exhausted for words. The Stone pulsed once more against his chest, a sensation like satisfaction flowing through their connection.

  They were away. They were together. And for the moment, that was enough.

  Carson collapsed into the command chair, his muscles quivering like overtaxed engine coils. The Poseidon's acceleration pressed him deeper into the seat as Hera shrank to a glittering sphere through the viewports. His chest heaved with each breath, the Stone's warmth pulsing against his skin in an erratic rhythm that matched his heartbeat.

  "They're launching pursuit craft," Link called from the tactical station, his voice tight. "Three... no, four vessels. Heran bio-ships."

  Carson tried to form a response, but exhaustion claimed his voice. The Stone had never demanded so much from him before. Creating that barrier, interfacing with Heran systems—it had drained him beyond anything he'd experienced.

  "Carson?" Wind's voice came from somewhere nearby, concern threading through his name.

  He managed a weak nod, then closed his eyes against the spinning sensation in his head. The moment his eyelids shut, something shifted. The darkness behind his eyes wasn't empty anymore. Patterns of light formed—schematics, energy flows, system diagnostics. Carson's eyes snapped open in confusion.

  The Stone flared suddenly, a pulse of golden energy that spread from his chest and raced along his arms. Before he could react, tendrils of light leapt from his fingertips where they rested on the command chair's interface panels. The golden energy sank into the ship's systems, spreading through circuits and crystalline matrices like water finding channels in parched earth.

  "What the—" Bowie's exclamation cut short as every display in the command center illuminated simultaneously, interfaces Carson had never seen before materializing around them.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  The ship... Carson could feel it. Not just the vibration of the engines or the subtle shifts in gravity as they accelerated, but something deeper. He sensed the Poseidon's systems as clearly as his own limbs—power distribution networks, propulsion arrays, sensor suites. Information flooded his consciousness without overwhelming it, somehow ordered and accessible.

  "Carson, what are you doing?" Mira asked, her voice distant through the new awareness flooding his mind.

  He didn't answer immediately. Couldn't. The connection was too new, too vast. Through this unexpected link, he felt the pursuit ships closing—predatory shapes of living technology designed to hunt and capture. Their weapons were powering up, targeting systems locking onto the Poseidon's energy signature.

  Without conscious thought, Carson's fingers spread across the interface. The Stone's light pulsed again, and he felt rather than saw new propulsion configurations opening in the ship's systems. Pathways Dr. Craft had designed but never revealed.

  "Hold on," he managed to whisper, voice raw.

  The Poseidon responded instantly—not to verbal commands or manual inputs, but directly to Carson's intention. The ship banked sharply, acceleration forces shifting as hidden propulsion nodes activated along the hull. Golden light traced patterns through the command center interfaces, systems Carson had never seen before coming online.

  "What's happening?" Link shouted, gripping his station as the artificial gravity compensated for their sudden maneuver.

  Carson couldn't explain the sensation—like discovering new muscles he never knew existed. Through the Stone's connection, he sensed dimensional boundaries thinning around the ship. Not a full portal, but something between normal space and the void—a slipstream where conventional physics bent.

  "They're still on us," Wind reported, studying a tactical display. "Closing to weapons range in thirty seconds."

  Carson felt the truth of her words through the ship itself. The Heran vessels were impressive—evolved technology guided by skilled pilots. But they weren't connected to their ships the way he suddenly was to the Poseidon.

  "I can lose them," Carson said, his voice stronger now as the Stone's energy stabilized, flowing between him and the ship in a balanced circuit.

  He closed his eyes again, surrendering to the connection. The Poseidon's schematics bloomed in his mind—not as technical drawings but as living systems he could feel and direct. With a thought, he redirected power from non-essential systems to the dimensional displacement nodes.

  The ship shuddered, then surged forward with impossible acceleration. The command center viewports showed space itself seeming to compress ahead of them, stars smearing into lines of light. Behind them, the Heran pursuit craft dwindled rapidly, their weapons fire dissipating harmlessly in their wake.

  "They can't match this," Carson said, opening his eyes to find his companions staring at him. The Stone's light had settled into a steady glow that extended through his hands into the ship's interfaces, creating a golden web of energy throughout the command center.

  "How are you doing this?" Mira asked, wonder replacing her usual guarded expression.

  Carson shook his head slightly. "The Stone... it's connecting me to the ship. Like they were made for each other." The realization struck him fully then—they had been made for each other. Dr. Craft had designed the Poseidon to respond to the Stone, to its Keeper.

  For a lifetime, Carson had avoided standing out, had deliberately sabotaged his own potential to remain invisible. Now, connected to the Poseidon through the Stone, there was no hiding what he could do. No pretending to be average. The thought should have terrified him.

  Instead, as the pursuit ships fell away behind them and the Poseidon carried them safely into the depths of space, Carson felt something unexpected—relief. The connection hummed through him, Stone to ship to self, a circuit of purpose he'd been missing his entire life.

  Carson slumped against the curved wall of the recovery chamber, his body a battlefield of exhaustion and fading adrenaline. The Poseidon hummed around him, a gentle vibration that traveled through the wall into his spine—steady, unlike the chaotic pounding of his heart. The ship's systems had automatically dimmed the lighting to a soft amber glow that didn't aggravate his throbbing headache.

  He flexed his fingers, still feeling phantom traces of the Stone's energy crackling beneath his skin. The connection remained, a whisper rather than the roar it had been during their escape, but he sensed the ship's systems responding to his presence nonetheless. Medical displays hovered at the edge of his vision, monitoring vitals he didn't need to see to feel—elevated heart rate, cortisol levels spiking, muscle fatigue approaching critical.

  "A sister," he muttered to the empty room, the words bitter on his tongue. "I wanted it to be true so badly I couldn't see what was right in front of me."

  The Stone lay quiet against his chest, warm but dormant, recharging just as he was. Or trying to. His mind refused to settle, replaying Mira's face as her deception unraveled. Princess Mira. Not just any Theist, but royalty. The sister of the man who'd tried to take the Stone by force.

  The betrayal cut deeper than he wanted to admit. For a lifetime, Carson had kept people at arm's length, Link being the sole exception. Then Mira had appeared with tales of family—the one thing he'd never had, the one weakness he couldn't protect.

  The door whispered open, and Wind stepped through. She carried something steaming in a metal cup, her movements careful as she approached. Her usual confidence was tempered with something else—concern, perhaps, or caution.

  "Ship says your temperature's still low," she said, offering the cup. "Some kind of herbal thing the medical system synthesized."

  Carson accepted it without meeting her eyes, the warmth seeping into his palms. "Thanks."

  Wind settled beside him on the recovery platform, close but not touching, respecting the invisible barrier he maintained with everyone. The silence stretched between them, not uncomfortable but heavy with unspoken thoughts.

  "You don't have to say it," Carson finally broke the silence. "I know how stupid I was."

  "Is that what you think I came here to do? Say 'I told you so'?" Wind's voice held no judgment, only a quiet intensity.

  "Didn't you?" He took a sip from the cup, surprised by the pleasant earthy taste with hints of something like honey.

  "No." She drew her knees up, mirroring his posture. "I came to make sure you're alright."

  Carson felt something crack inside him—a hairline fracture in the walls he'd built over a lifetime. "She knew exactly what to say. Family. The one thing I've never had. The one thing I..." He couldn't finish, his throat constricting around words he'd never spoken aloud.

  "The one thing you've always wanted," Wind finished for him. "There's no shame in that, Carson."

  He finally looked at her, expecting to find pity but finding understanding instead. Her eyes, usually sharp and assessing, had softened.

  "On Hera," she said, "family is everything. Not just blood, but the bonds we choose. When I left, I lost all of it. My mothers, my sisters, my place." She looked down at her hands. "I know what it's like to ache for that connection."

  The admission surprised him. Wind always seemed so self-contained, so complete in herself.

  "Why did you leave?" he asked.

  "Because staying meant accepting limitations I couldn't live with." A sad smile touched her lips. "Sometimes the hardest choices are between what we want and what we need."

  Carson felt the weight of her words settle alongside his own pain. They sat in silence for a moment, the ship's ambient sounds filling the space between them.

  "I should have listened to you," he finally said.

  "And I should have found a better way to warn you." She hesitated, then placed her hand beside his on the platform—not quite touching, but close enough that he could feel her warmth. "We all have blind spots, Carson. Even me."

  Something in her gesture, in the careful way she offered connection without demanding it, broke through his remaining defenses. Carson didn't move his hand to meet hers, not yet, but he didn't pull away either.

  "What happens now?" he asked, the question encompassing everything—the mission, the Stone, the path ahead.

  "Now we keep going," Wind said simply. "Wiser than before."

  Carson stood at the observation deck of the Poseidon, hands pressed against the transparent viewport. The ship hummed beneath his fingertips, a subtle vibration he'd never noticed before. They were traveling between systems, the void of space stretching before them in what should have been familiar darkness punctuated by distant stars.

  But something was different.

  The stars weren't just pinpricks of light anymore. They pulsed with coronas of color that stretched beyond their boundaries—colors he had no names for, existing somewhere beyond purple and beneath infrared. Carson blinked hard, expecting the phenomenon to vanish, but the colors remained, expanding with each heartbeat.

  "What the hell?" he whispered, his voice sounding strange in his own ears, as if it carried harmonic overtones.

  The viewport's display indicators blurred, then sharpened into crystalline clarity. Information streamed across his vision without him accessing any controls—radiation levels, gravitational fluctuations, particle densities. The ship was responding to his thoughts before he could form them into conscious requests.

  Carson's pulse quickened as he noticed the stars weren't fixed points anymore. Their positions seemed to trail slightly, showing where they had been and where they would be, time itself becoming visible at the edges of his perception. The Stone warmed against his chest, not with the urgent heat of danger but with a steady pulse that matched the new rhythm he sensed in everything around him.

  "Carson?" Wind's voice came from behind him, but he couldn't turn away from the view. "Your pupils are dilating. What are you seeing?"

  "Everything," he breathed, fingers splaying against the viewport. "The stars... they're singing. Not with sound, but with..." He struggled to find words. "With radiation patterns? That doesn't make sense."

  Wind moved beside him, her presence somehow both physical and something more—a pattern of energy that was uniquely her. "It doesn't have to make sense to human language," she said quietly. "What you're experiencing goes beyond what we have words for."

  Carson's vision tunneled momentarily as a passing nebula revealed itself not just as gas and dust but as currents of possibility, probability waves collapsing and reforming with each nanosecond. His breathing shallowed.

  "I'm losing myself," he whispered, panic edging into his voice. "Wind, I can't—the boundaries are dissolving."

  She took his hand firmly, the physical contact sending a shock of normalcy through his system. "Focus on my touch," she instructed. "This is real. You are real. You're not losing yourself; you're expanding."

  Carson gripped her hand like a lifeline, trying to anchor himself as perceptions cascaded through him. The ship's systems appeared as overlapping fields of intention and function rather than mechanical components.

  "On Hera," Wind continued, her voice steady, "we train for perception shifts. The Stone is changing how you process reality, but you're still you." She guided his other hand to the viewport frame. "Feel the metal. Cold, solid. That hasn't changed."

  Carson focused on the sensations—the cool metal beneath one hand, Wind's warm palm against the other. Gradually, the overwhelming flood of information began to organize itself into layers he could navigate.

  "The Stone," he managed, "it's not just showing me things. It's changing me."

  Wind nodded. "The old texts called it 'awakening.' The Keys don't just grant abilities; they transform the Keeper to perceive what was always there but hidden from human senses."

  Carson watched as a distant solar flare erupted in slow motion, its electromagnetic pulse rippling outward like concentric rings in water. Beautiful and terrifying in its raw power.

  "How do I stay... me?" he asked, voice steadier now though the expanded perceptions remained.

  "By remembering what matters," Wind said. "What makes you human isn't limited to human perception." She squeezed his hand. "Breathe with me. Find the center of yourself that remains unchanged."

  Carson closed his eyes, focusing on his breath as Wind had taught him. With each inhale, he felt the expanded awareness; with each exhale, he reconnected with his core self. The two states began to coexist rather than conflict.

  When he opened his eyes again, the expanded perception remained, but it no longer threatened to overwhelm him. The stars still sang their strange songs, time still rippled at the edges of his vision, but he could choose how deeply to engage with these perceptions.

  "Better?" Wind asked, studying his face.

  Carson nodded, a tentative smile forming. "It's like... learning to swim in an ocean after only knowing puddles." He looked at her with new eyes, seeing faint traces of energy that seemed uniquely hers. "How did you know what to do?"

  "Hera trains its daughters to perceive beyond physical limitations," she said. "Though none of us achieved what you're experiencing now." She released his hand slowly. "Can you navigate it on your own?"

  Carson turned back to the stars, allowing himself to drift into the expanded perception, then pulling back to his center. Like adjusting the focus on a telescope.

  "I think so," he said, surprised by the steadiness in his voice. "It's not going away, is it? This is permanent."

  "The Stone has changed you," Wind confirmed. "But you're still choosing how to use what it's given you."

  Carson watched as a distant asteroid field revealed itself as a dance of gravitational influences, beautiful in its mathematical precision. Fear still lingered at the edges of his mind, but alongside it grew something new—a sense of wonder at the universe now revealing itself in all its hidden dimensions.

  "I never imagined..." he began, then shook his head, smiling. "There aren't words for this."

  Wind smiled back. "Then make new ones."

  Carson stood at the center of the Poseidon's command deck, the familiar weight of the Light Stone warm against his chest. The ship had reconfigured itself overnight, transforming the previously organic, flowing space into something resembling a war room. Holographic displays hovered at precise intervals around the circular chamber, each one streaming data that Carson could now perceive not just visually, but as patterns of intention and possibility flowing directly into his consciousness.

  His companions had gathered in a loose semicircle, their faces bathed in the golden-blue glow of the projections. Wind stood nearest, her posture alert but relaxed in a way that spoke of newfound trust. Link lounged against a bulkhead, outwardly casual but with eyes that missed nothing. Mira had positioned herself slightly apart, royal bearing still evident despite her exile. Bowie examined the displays with scholarly interest, occasionally murmuring to himself.

  They were looking to him now. Not with the desperate hope of the stranded or the blind faith of followers, but with the measured respect of equals who recognized his unique position. The realization settled in Carson's chest—not as a burden, but as a responsibility he was finally ready to accept.

  "We need somewhere safe," Carson said, his voice steady. "Somewhere to regroup before Roman tracks us down."

  As if responding to his thoughts, the Light Stone pulsed against his skin. The sensation was no longer alien or frightening—it felt like a conversation, an exchange of information between equals. The ship's systems responded in kind, humming at a frequency that matched the Stone's energy signature perfectly.

  Dr. Craft's AI materialized in the center of the room, his form more defined than Carson had ever seen it. The holographic representation smiled, though his eyes held the weight of centuries.

  "The Stone has been trying to tell you something," Dr. Craft said. "It contains coordinates—embedded in memory patterns too complex for normal human perception to decode."

  Carson nodded, feeling the truth of it. Since his perceptual shift, fragments of information had been surfacing in his awareness—star patterns, gravitational coordinates, navigational markers that made no sense in isolation.

  "Show us," he said simply.

  The holographic solar system expanded around them, stars and planets spinning in miniature. Dr. Craft raised his hands, and the display responded, zooming toward the asteroid belt between Mars and Jupiter. The view continued inward, focusing on a cluster of unremarkable rocks until one particular asteroid glowed with subtle significance.

  "The Lost Colony," Dr. Craft said. "Established during the First Schism when researchers like myself realized the dangers of both TITAN control and Theist dogma."

  The asteroid rotated slowly, revealing hidden features—artificial caverns, shielded habitats, energy signatures carefully masked to appear as natural radiation.

  "I don't understand," Mira said, stepping forward. "The histories never mentioned—"

  "Because we wanted it that way," Dr. Craft interrupted gently. "A sanctuary built specifically for Keepers and those who understood the true purpose of the Keys. Neither TITAN nor the Theist Order knows of its existence—or at least, they didn't in my time."

  Carson felt the information flowing through the Stone, through the ship, and into his awareness. Not just coordinates but security protocols, approach vectors, recognition signals. The data integrated seamlessly with his enhanced perception, arranging itself into strategic options he could assess with newfound clarity.

  "It's still there," he said with certainty. "I can... feel it. The colony is still active."

  Wind raised an eyebrow. "You're sure?"

  Carson nodded, moving to the central display and manipulating it with intuitive gestures. The holographic asteroid enlarged, revealing energy patterns only he could fully interpret.

  "Life support active. Defense systems operational. And there's something else..." He paused, focusing on a peculiar resonance pattern. "Other Keys have been there. Recently."

  Link pushed off from the wall. "Sounds like exactly where we need to be. Question is, can we get there without leading Roman's forces straight to it?"

  Carson considered this, feeling the ship's systems offering navigational solutions. The connection between his mind, the Stone, and the Poseidon had become so seamless he barely noticed where one ended and another began.

  "We'll need to take an indirect route," he said, tracing a path through the holographic display. "Use Jupiter's gravity well to mask our trajectory, then approach from the opposite side of the belt." The route appeared in the display as he described it, calculations automatically adjusting for optimal stealth and efficiency.

  "That adds nearly three days to our journey," Mira pointed out.

  "Better than leading Roman to the only safe harbor we have," Carson replied, not unkindly but with a firmness that brooked no argument. He looked around at his companions, meeting each gaze directly. "This isn't just about us anymore. If the Lost Colony has survived this long, it represents knowledge and resources we can't afford to compromise."

  The others nodded, accepting his assessment without question. The shift in their dynamic was subtle but unmistakable—they weren't following him out of desperation or lack of options, but because his judgment had earned their trust.

  Carson turned to the navigation console, interfacing directly with the ship's systems through his connection to the Stone. The coordinates flowed from his mind into the Poseidon's navigation matrix, setting their course with a precision that would have been impossible just days ago.

  "Set course for the Lost Colony," he said, feeling the ship respond to his command with eager readiness. "We have a lot to learn before we face what's coming."