Time flowed like sluggish water in the Deep Observation Cell. Weeks passed, maybe months; Riven lost precise track, measuring progress only by the incremental successes wrested from the heart of his confinement. His physical strength was fully restored, his lean frame coiled with restless energy he channelled into rigorous physical discipline when not meditating or practising in secret.
The true change remained internal. His essence felt like a vast, pressurized ocean, the chaotic storm settled into the crushing depths, leaving a profoundly unnatural surface tranquillity.
His star-scarred Marks remained dark to the eye, but he could feel the nascent warmth within them, the potential power waiting. And crucially, he could now access the charm's secret.
In the deep cycles, when the Enclave slept or meditated and the sensors embedded in the walls seemed least active, Riven would sit, holding the ironwood charm.
The intense calm required was now easier to attain, a familiar mental landscape. Touching the charm, he could ignite the silver spark in the Mark node on his palm almost instantly. More than that, he could sustain it. Minutes now, not just seconds. And he could shape it.
The tiny bead of stable, pure mana on his fingertip could be drawn out into a shimmering silver thread, held steady, curved gently in the air. It was exquisite control, utterly unlike the wild surges of his past – likely comparable to the finesse expected of an Essence Weaver, though the amount of power was still minuscule.
"The charm filters," he theorized constantly. "It provides the harmonic key, and the Mark node is the lock. But the lock is small… how to open the gate wider, safely?"
His progress, however, hit a new wall. Literally. As he experimented with sustaining a slightly brighter, larger silver thread – perhaps the size of a small seed now – the Deep-Channel Insulators lining the cell reacted.
.VMMMMM.
A low, dissonant hum vibrated through the structure, subtle but undeniable. The sensors pulsed erratically. He instantly cut the flow, the silver light vanishing, heart pounding.
"They absorb chaoatic mana," he realized with dawning frustration. "But stability? Order? That registers as a different kind of anomaly against the background noise of my dormant field. They're not just suppressing — they're locking everything in place." The very walls designed to contain his chaos were now hindering his attempts at control.
This new obstacle fueled a cold fire of resentment within him. He paced the confines of the cell, four strides one way, four strides back, the smooth walls seeming to press closer.
'They fear the storm, so they try to enforce a dead end. Is there no room for controlled flow? Or is it easier to pretend I don't exist?'
He thought of Lorin's constant suspicion, the Healers' detached assessments, even Elmsa's careful, analytical distance now. They saw a problem to be managed, a danger to be contained. Did any of them see him? Did they care about understanding, or only about safety – their safety? The seeds of alienation, planted by years of isolation, began to sprout into bitter shoots.
He turned his frustration towards the scrolls Elmsa provided, particularly the one on Resonance Dampening.
If the insulators reacted to stable harmonics, perhaps there were principles within the theory he could use to mask his practice. He poured over diagrams of counter-frequency waves, harmonic null-zones, and mana signature cloaking weaves used by Wardens on stealth missions. The concepts were complex, likely intended for Locus Heart cultivators or higher, but Riven attacked them with fierce determination, his sharp mind, honed by years of intense internal focus, dissecting the theories, searching for applicable fragments.
Elmsa's next visit felt different. She didn't just bring supplies; she brought a compact diagnostic tool Riven hadn't seen before – a crystalline device that projected a complex, shimmering field when activated.
"Routine diagnostic update," she stated, her voice neutral, though her eyes were sharp, missing nothing. Elder Rowan requested a more detailed analysis of internal essence stability and resonance patterns." She activated the device. A low hum filled the air as the field enveloped Riven.
He felt subtle, probing energy mapping his quiescent core, analyzing the near-inert state of his Marks. He kept his internal state perfectly calm, offering no resistance and revealing nothing of his secret practice.
"Your core signature remains stable," Elmsa noted after a few moments, studying the readings projected onto the crystal. "Remarkably so. Almost… unnaturally placid." Her gaze lifted to meet his. "Are you certain you're experiencing no internal fluctuations? No resonance echoes at all?"
"None beyond the background noise inherent in this facility, Elmsa," Riven replied smoothly, maintaining eye contact. "The dampening field is very effective."
She held his gaze. He could feel the subtle pressure of her will, her attempt to gauge his truthfulness through his mana field, a skill advanced Tenders possessed. He kept his internal 'surface' perfectly calm, projecting only the deep quietness his power now presented outwardly. After a moment, she deactivated the device.
"Perhaps," she conceded, though a flicker of doubt remained in her eyes. "Continue your grounding. Understanding resonance requires a stable foundation." She left without further comment, taking the diagnostic tool with her.
'She suspects,' Riven knew. 'The stability itself is suspicious now.' He needed more than just control; he needed subtlety and misdirection. And he needed more information.
An opportunity came unexpectedly. During a shift change for the Wardens monitoring the Observation Wing – normally a silent, network-based handover – a brief, urgent discussion occurred just outside his cell door, their voices slightly raised, assuming the occupant couldn't hear through the heavily insulated walls. But Riven, his senses unnaturally sharp after years of focusing inward, caught fragments.
"...Crags data analysis complete..." Borin's low voice. "...pre-Dimming resonance patterns confirmed in the crystal matrix..." Lyra Minor's analytical tone. "...matches fragments found near the Sunken City ruins... Elder Rowan is concerned... increasing patrols..." Lorin's sharp reply, cutting off as they moved away.
Pre-Dimming resonance? Sunken City ruins? Increasing patrols? The fragments clicked together in Riven's mind.
The Elders weren't just analyzing him; they were analyzing the sky event and finding connections to lost history, and to other potentially dangerous locations. And they were concerned enough to increase patrols near ruins within the Enclave's territory? Why? Was there a connection between the sky-song and these ruins?
The information sparked a new direction in his thoughts. Passive practice in his cell was reaching its limit due to the insulators and the risk of detection. If he wanted true understanding and true control, he needed more knowledge. Knowledge about pre-dimming resonance, about the ruins Lorin mentioned, about the true nature of the power he touched at the Crags. Knowledge the Elders possessed but would never share freely with him.
He looked at the sensors embedded in the walls, then at his hands, feeling the potential for that tiny silver spark. Controlling his mana wasn't just about stability anymore. Could he use it subtly? Could he perhaps influence the sensors? Or even, carefully, cautiously, touch the Great Root network itself when security was lowest, seeking information directly? The idea was incredibly dangerous, violating every protocol, and risking immediate, severe repercussions if detected.
But the thought of remaining in this cage indefinitely, fed only filtered truths while the universe sang a song only he could truly hear, was becoming unbearable.
The resentment simmered. The desire for knowledge burned. He needed a plan. Accessing the Enclave's deeper knowledge required cunning, subtlety, and a level of control he hadn't yet mastered. But now, he had a starting point and a desperate motivation.
The walls remained, but Riven's focus shifted from simply enduring confinement to actively seeking a way out – not necessarily physical escape yet, but escape from ignorance.