While Rynn and Eren wandered wild valleys, learning how to breathe in rhythm with the world,
far away, the heart of civilization ticked to a different beat—
and that beat was about to skip.
---
Velith — The City That Never Slept
Velith didn't wake; it powered up.
Steam hissed through silver vents, gears the size of houses rotated beneath glass streets, and relic lights flickered to life in perfect order.
Every bridge turned on schedule, every whistle sounded on time.
The city moved like music with no rest between notes.
At its center loomed the Chronoloom, a tower of mirrored brass that pulsed with the slow precision of a colossal clock.
They said it kept time itself in rhythm.
No one questioned it.
No one wanted to hear what happened when the rhythm failed.
---
Beyond the Lights
Just outside Velith's mechanical glow stood the ruins of an old rail district—
collapsed towers, cracked mirrors, half-dead relics still humming in their sleep.
Inside one of those shells, nine people gathered.
Not around a table—there was none—but scattered across the space as they pleased.
A woman perched in a window frame.
Two brothers whispered near the door.
A boy sat cross-legged on the floor, sketching circles in dust.
Another leaned on a hanging beam that groaned above them.
The rest claimed shadows and corners.
A single relic lantern on a crate bathed them in flickering gold and blue.
Each breath made it stutter.
This was the Ninefold Veil—
not a guild, not a church, not a rebellion.
Just nine different pulses sharing one rhythm of defiance.
---
The Man Called Mael
He sat on the cracked floor, coat sleeves rolled to his elbows, black hair uneven as if he'd cut it himself.
Amber eyes, sharp and still, tracked the lantern's flicker like a metronome.
Every few seconds he tapped the ground with one finger—soft, steady, deliberate.
The room unconsciously matched his tempo.
When he finally spoke, his voice carried no command, only certainty.
> "The Aethern Kernel lies beneath the Chronoloom.
We take it, and Velith forgets how to move."
Someone laughed—a low, nervous sound from the window.
> "Stealing the city's heartbeat? That's not a plan, Mael. That's suicide."
Mael smiled slightly, almost kindly.
> "Suicide has no rhythm. This will."
He unfolded a map drawn in ink and relic dust.
Lines glowed faintly, pulsing with the same rhythm as his tapping finger.
---
The Crew
The silver-haired woman by the window flexed her relic gloves; sparks danced across her knuckles.
> "And if we actually get to the Kernel?"
> "Then Velith wakes up," Mael said.
"And for the first time in centuries, it won't know what to do."
The twins exchanged a look—silent, mirrored.
The feather-cloak girl tested her blade, each scrape whispering a tone that joined Mael's quiet rhythm.
The boy on the floor stopped drawing and just listened.
For a moment, it felt like the room itself was breathing with them.
---
The Leader's Flow
Outside, a pair of Guild patrol lights swept across the ruins.
One beam brushed the window.
The air changed.
Sound thinned.
Dust hung motionless.
Every heartbeat inside the building seemed to wait for permission.
Mael didn't move; he only hummed a single note—low, even, unfinished.
The patrol lamps flickered, hesitated, and moved on.
When the sound returned, it felt wrong, as if the world had skipped half a second.
The younger members stared, unsettled.
None of them understood what had just happened.
The twins didn't ask.
No one ever asked.
Mael reached for a small relic on his wrist—
a half-formed dial of brass with a missing hand.
It ticked once, faintly out of sync with the world.
He stopped humming.
The light steadied.
---
Planning the Heist
> "Four nights," he said.
"When the Chronoloom resets its pulse. That's our opening."
The feather-cloak girl frowned.
> "And the Guild's sensors?"
> "Predictable. Their rhythm hasn't changed in ten years.
We'll move between the beats."
The glyph-skinned man on the beam grinned.
> "You mean you'll move, and we'll try to keep up."
Mael looked up, amusement flickering behind the calm.
> "Try not to trip over the silence."
Laughter rippled through the group—short, uneasy, genuine.
They didn't worship him; they just couldn't help syncing to him.
---
The Philosophy of Chaos
As they discussed routes and shifts, Mael's tone grew softer, almost conversational.
> "People think order keeps the world alive.
But order is only one side of rhythm.
Chaos is the rest between notes.
Without it, the music dies."
He glanced toward the city's glow through the shattered window.
> "Velith has played the same song for too long.
I just want to hear it stumble."
---
Departure
The meeting broke apart.
Members faded into the dark one by one, slipping through cracks and shadows.
No rally cries, no vows—only quiet acceptance.
The youngest lingered near the door.
> "What if it fails?"
Mael rose, dusted off his hands, and watched the horizon where the city's lights turned like gears in the fog.
He smiled, faint and distant.
> "Then at least the world remembers how to move."
He stepped into the night.
Behind him, the relic lantern dimmed and went out.
And somewhere deep within Velith, a single gear hesitated before turning again.
---
End of Chapter 21 – City of Gears
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