The central plains lay shrouded in mist and frost, a chill wind whispering across the expanse. Azure Sect disciples moved with ethereal steps, gliding silently across the ground, their robes trailing like living silver. In their hands, frost-lit scrolls carried the sealed letter from Khaldron, delivered with swiftness and authority beyond mortal comprehension.
The assembly of elders, engineers, and sect representatives paused as the scrolls were presented, frost motes swirling gently around them. Eyes widened, murmurs rippled through the crowd, and a tense hush fell over the plains. The message was clear: the contents were of the highest classification, meant only for the council's eyes. Nothing could be disclosed beyond this meeting.
Without delay, the gathered leaders arranged themselves. Long tables of frost-metal and carved stone were placed in a vast semicircle. The wind stirred the edges of robes and banners alike, carrying a sense of urgency and weight. The council was convened, and every head present understood the gravity: a meeting of unprecedented scope, directed by Khaldron himself, had begun.
No words were exchanged yet. Every participant felt the lattice's pulse beneath the plain, a subtle reminder that the Reaper's will stretched invisibly across every region. Frost motes spiraled overhead like silent sentinels as the council prepared to act, knowing that whatever was contained in Khaldron's letter would shape the immediate fate of the Azure Sect and its domains.
The meeting had begun.
Across every peak, plain, and valley of the Azure Sect, the moment the frost-lit scrolls arrived, shock rippled like wildfire. Couriers sprinted through wind and rain, workshops clanged with sudden activity, and disciples scrambled to marshal forces. Panic gripped the leaders; the urgency of Khaldron's command left no room for hesitation.
Every region attempted to act swiftly, yet the lattice-bound formations sealed the space around them. Conventional portals, teleportations, and space-folding techniques—all that could normally bypass distance—were rendered inert. Only the Azure Sect disciples, trained in ethereal steps, could glide unhindered through the lattice; all others were forced to traverse the terrain physically. No mountain pass, river, or hidden path could allow them to escape the call.
> Elder Veyl of Frostspire Peak shouted above the rising wind, "Open every portal! Every caravan, every disciple, move! The lattice allows no evasion!"
> Master Harrow of Sandwind Hold added, voice taut with urgency, "The formations bind space and motion. We cannot circumvent the summons—every region must assemble at the central plains!"
From northern ridges to southern valleys, western plains to minor outposts, disciples, wagons, and beasts surged forward under the invisible pull of the lattice. Frost motes spiraled along every road and trail, tracing the conduits of energy that guided them inexorably to the central plains. The rain slicked the ground, the cold wind whipped at cloaks and robes, but no force could halt the tide of movement.
Thousands converged, the central plains trembling beneath their weight. The entire Azure Sect—elders, engineers, disciples, and representatives—were funneled into a single massive assembly. The lattice hummed faintly beneath the frost and stone, a silent heartbeat of the Reaper's will, compelling unity and order in the face of urgency and chaos.
The council was no longer a distant plan; it was inevitable, unavoidable, and absolute. All regions, save for the few disciples capable of ethereal steps, were drawn together, bound to the Frost-Lit Council by the unseen hand of Khaldron. Storm clouds rolled across the plains, drizzle spitting upon them, yet even the wind and cold seemed to yield to the command that had spread faster than thought itself.
The central plains stretched wide beneath a bruised sky, rain streaking across the frozen earth. Frost motes drifted along the gathering, weaving through the hair and robes of elders, engineers, and sect representatives. Thousands had arrived, converging from distant ridges, valleys, and plains, every movement dictated by the unseen lattice. The storm's wind whipped banners and cloaks alike, carrying the scent of damp stone and frost.
Long tables of frost-metal were arranged in concentric arcs, and seats carved from dark stone waited beneath hanging lanterns, whose flames flickered with cold blue light. The assembled council was immense—elders of the peaks, engineers of the workshops, disciples of every rank—all present under the silent authority of Khaldron's summons. Even the minor sects had representatives, their faces pale with awe and the weight of the command.
No words were spoken at first. Each gaze swept the plains, noting the presence of peers and rivals alike, yet all shared the same tremor of anticipation. Frost motes spiraled above the assembly, echoing the lattice's pulse beneath their feet—a heartbeat felt in every joint and bone.
> Elder Veyl of Frostspire Peak whispered, voice barely audible over the drizzle: "The lattice… its rhythm compels even the mountains themselves. We are all drawn like iron to the lodestone."
> Master Harrow of Sandwind Hold muttered, tension sharpening his tone: "Every detail, every region… bound to the command. Nothing moves without it."
From the northern ridges, southern valleys, and western plains, disciples had guided wagons, golems, and supplies into position. Engineers unrolled plans, scribes copied intricate runes, and every elder moved with measured urgency. The assembly hummed with life, yet beneath it all, the lattice throbbed like a living entity, binding every thought, every movement, to Khaldron's will.
The storm intensified, rain pelting the frost-metal tables, cold wind threading through hoods and sleeves, yet no one faltered. The Frost-Lit Council had formed, a single organism of coordinated intellect, discipline, and raw potential, ready to enact whatever Khaldron's sealed instructions contained.
In the center of the assembly, a raised dais waited. The candlelight flickered against the dark stone, shadows dancing like restless spirits. All eyes were drawn to that point, the silent promise of the Reaper's authority lingering in the rain-slick air. The council had begun.
The council waited on the rain-slicked central plains, frost motes drifting lazily through the chilled air. Every table, every seat of frost-metal and stone was occupied, not by ordinary disciples, but by the highest echelon: sect leaders, elder masters, head engineers, chief scholars, rune masters, master boatwrights, and lead carpenters. Every hand rested on scrolls, instruments, or runes, every eye fixed on the central dais, yet none perceived him.
Khaldron was there. Not stepping forward, not moving, not announcing himself. Not a ripple of wind betrayed his presence, no frost mote shifted unnaturally, no shadow betrayed him. To every mortal present, he might as well have been a phantom; his existence went unnoticed, yet his will hung over them like the weight of winter itself.
> Elder Veyl of Frostspire Peak whispered, voice tight with unease, "The lattice… its rhythm… can you feel it? Something presses upon the plains."
> Matriarch Liora, head of Verdant Bastion, nodded slowly, narrowing her eyes. "A presence, yet… nothing manifests. Is it the Reaper himself, or merely the wind?"
Even the master scholars and rune masters, whose eyes could read the subtlest pulse in the ether, felt a subtle weight in the lattice, a pressure that carried authority and command—but could not identify its source. Scrolls remained unmarked, instruments untouched, and yet a silent gravity pressed upon every mind and bone.
No one could say when he had arrived. From the first moment the council gathered, he had existed among them—yet no step, no gesture, no flicker of form betrayed him. The storm softened slightly, as if even it acknowledged his presence, and every frost mote seemed to hum a slower, deeper note beneath his unseen gaze.
The council was complete. Leaders and masters of every domain sat ready, prepared to act on the command they did not yet fully understand. And above them, around them, through the lattice itself, Khaldron remained—present, unperceived, and absolute.
No mortal eye, no scholar, no elder could sense him. And yet, the weight of his will bent the plains, the rain, and even the lattice itself to silent obedience.
Khaldron's presence remained unseen, yet the weight of his will pressed over the council like winter frost. Slowly, without a sound, he placed a series of meticulously inscribed scrolls and diagrams upon the central table. Runes flared faintly along the edges, their light reflecting in the eyes of the assembled elders and masters, though none could pinpoint the source.
He spoke, voice calm yet carrying absolute authority, resonating across the council like ice against stone:
> "I have no space for this project within my peak," he said, eyes unseen but piercing through the gathered minds. "The portal gate, the shipyard, and the lumber mills—these shall be placed within the Plum Blossom territory. The central plain, currently unused, shall serve as the foundation for strategic deployment and defense. Every structure shall be positioned to maximize both resource flow and tactical advantage."
The head engineers and master carpenters leaned in, studying the scrolls as Khaldron continued, laying out intricate details of the designs: golem haulers etched with runes, lumber mills that drew energy directly from the Death Star lattice, and massive portals calibrated to withstand both siege and environmental extremes.
> "The central plain is perfect," Khaldron continued. "Its elevation, openness, and concealment make it ideal. No mortal enemy may anticipate the scale of this operation until it is complete. Every region shall feed into this network; every construct shall obey the lattice and the commands therein."
The rune masters traced faint, glowing lines along the scrolls, their hands trembling slightly under the weight of unseen scrutiny. Even the head scholars exchanged glances, aware that the combination of strategic foresight, construction logistics, and magical engineering was beyond ordinary comprehension.
Khaldron's tone softened ever so slightly, yet the authority remained unbroken:
> "All who labor here shall understand: the Plum Blossom territory shall bear the brunt of construction, yet the benefits—resources, defenses, and mobility—shall extend to all sects. None shall falter in diligence, for the lattice watches, and every misstep will be corrected before it manifests."
The council remained silent, absorbing the scope of the plan. Every head leaned closer, studying diagrams of runed portals, mechanized golem haulers, and enchanted lumber mills. Rain pattered lightly on the plains, the flicker of candlelight catching on frost-metal edges, and through it all, Khaldron's unseen gaze measured, judged, and silently guided.
The stage was set. The central plain, the Plum Blossom territory, and the lattice of the Azure Sect would soon become a single, unstoppable network of production, strategy, and magical engineering—an engine of war and cultivation beyond any mortal imagination.
Khaldron's unseen presence lingered over the council like a weightless shadow, his words precise, deliberate.
> "The Azure Sect will provide all labor for this endeavor," he said, voice calm but carrying the immovable authority of frost and steel. "In addition, the new generation of golems—fully rune-bound and calibrated for the Devourer region—will be stationed on the central plain. Their strength and intelligence shall drive construction with unmatched precision."
Heads of every sect, elder masters, and chief engineers leaned closer to the glowing scrolls and diagrams, tracing the paths of portals, lumber mills, and strategic installations. The scale of coordination was vast, yet every detail was accounted for.
> "The distribution of projects," Khaldron continued, "shall fall to the elders. Every region shall receive its assignments: construction schedules, resource allocation, and labor quotas. The Azure Sect provides both muscle and guidance, yet the success of this network depends on your diligence and oversight."
Elder Veyl's fingers hovered above a scroll, eyes narrowing. "Central plain as the hub… Golems deployed… Every region coordinated… The weight of this task…"
> Khaldron's voice cut through like frost over stone, unseen yet undeniable: "Do not falter. Every timber, every portal, every runed hauler shall follow the lattice. Azure Sect labor will guide them, but your judgment and vigilance must ensure perfection. Only then will the plan function as a living mechanism of cultivation, defense, and production."
The council absorbed the scope, murmurs quieted by the sheer magnitude of the project. Frost motes spun slowly in the damp air, candlelight reflecting off runed diagrams, while the rain tapped rhythmically on the central plain beyond.
The elders began dividing responsibility, nodding to one another, assigning teams to portals, mills, and strategic constructions. With the Azure Sect golems poised at the central plain, and the elders distributing tasks across every region, the project's first steps had begun—an intricate web of labor, magic, and command, orchestrated with the precision of a Reaper's unseen hand.
The hall of the central plain shivered with anticipation. Frost motes glimmered faintly along runes etched into the walls, reflecting the glow of countless candle flames. The assembled elders, heads of engineering, rune masters, and master carpenters from every major sect sat in tense silence, awaiting the presence of Khaldron. No one noticed him at first; he stood among them, frost-lit and silent, as if he had no existence at all.
With deliberate motion, Khaldron laid his scrolls on the central table. The diagrams shimmered—intricate plans for the Devourer lumber, golem deployment, and fortifications. His voice, calm and measured, cut through the hall:
> "The central plain shall serve as the primary hub for harvesting Devourer lumber. The Azure Sect will provide labor—new-generation golems, intelligent and tireless. They will transport timber to the processing hubs without error, ceaseless in purpose."
Eyes followed the luminous diagrams, tracing the flow of resources.
> "The Plum Blossom Sect shall process this timber, measuring and cutting each piece to exact specifications. Once prepared, the lumber will be delivered to the eastern sects—Sunspire Sect and Mistvale Sect—who shall construct warships, Frost Towers, Death Towers, and fortifications near their regions. They shall ensure every beam, every plank, every timber serves its purpose in defense against the empire."
Heads of the eastern sects inclined in solemn agreement.
> "Every region performs its assigned role, yet all actions converge into a single, living mechanism of strategy, cultivation, and fortification. Azure golems labor ceaselessly. Plum Blossom artisans craft with precision. Eastern sects assemble and consolidate near the eastern front, preparing for the imperial threat. Every motion, every plank, every beam is aligned, synchronized, and unstoppable."
Frost motes swirled around the council table, reflecting off the runes and the glowing diagrams of supply lines, workshops, and construction zones. Responsibilities were clear: Azure Sect engineers managed golem deployment; Plum Blossom masters oversaw timber processing; eastern sect artisans built fortifications, towers, and warships; every effort focused on the eastern conflict.
> "The lattice observes," Khaldron concluded, voice unwavering. "Every action must be precise. Every misstep corrected before it manifests. Labor, processing, construction—each a pulse of the same heartbeat. Unity ensures this network becomes a living fortress. Let the central plain, the Plum Blossom Sect, and the eastern front operate as one, under the unseen hand of the Azure Sect."
Outside, the central plain lay still, yet beneath its surface, the gears of Khaldron's design prepared to turn. Golems would move, Plum Blossom artisans would shape timber, and eastern sects would fortify and prepare for war—the entire region poised to become a synchronized engine of preparation against the empire.
Khaldron's frost-lit eyes swept across the council hall, lingering on each elder and head of engineering. The candles flickered, casting long shadows that danced along the walls like restless spirits.
> Khaldron: "We must accelerate. The eastern front cannot wait. I need this completed faster. Recruit more hands, expand labor lines, and bring every craftsman, artisan, and golem into the fold."
He tapped the central scroll, and frost-lit runes traced the planned expansions in the air.
> Khaldron: "I add to the budget—one hundred million Death Star coins. Let no workshop lack resources, no forge go cold. But heed this: no corruption shall taint this operation. You know the rules."
A murmur of acknowledgment swept through the council. Each elder, head engineer, and master artisan bowed slightly. The weight of Khaldron's mandate was absolute. The Eastern Sects would have timber, fortifications, and labor enough to construct Frost Towers, Death Towers, and warships at a pace previously unimagined.
The frost motes swirled faster, almost as if the lattice itself responded to the directive.
> Khaldron: "Every coin, every timber, every stroke of labor must be accounted for. Precision and loyalty are your only currency. The empire approaches; time favors no one. Move swiftly, and move as one."
The council fell into focused silence, understanding the scope. Outside, the central plain lay quiet, but beneath the stone floors and the frozen soil, gears and golems stirred, ready to turn the enormous machinery of construction and strategy at Khaldron's command.
The council hall went quiet. Frost motes swirled lazily around the heads of the elders and sect leaders, reflecting the pale candlelight. One of the Plum Blossom Sect leaders, Master Eldric, leaned forward, eyes wide beneath his frost-laced hood.
> Master Eldric: "One… one hundred million Death Star coins, my lord? Are you certain? That sum… it is beyond all precedent, beyond the coffers of many sects combined."
Khaldron's frost-lit gaze remained steady, piercing yet calm, as if weighing not just the coin, but the very loyalty of those assembled.
> Khaldron: "Certain. Resources, labor, and precision—all must flow without obstruction. Every coin accounted for, every artisan and golem at full capacity. Corruption shall not touch this project. You know the rules. You have lived by them."
A murmur ran through the council. Some elders exchanged glances, the enormity of the allocation sinking in.
> Master Eldric: "Very well… then we shall marshal our artisans and coordinate with the Azure golems. Such a fund will allow us to… to raise towers, forge ships, and prepare the eastern front beyond anything previously imagined."
Khaldron nodded once, frost motes spiraling like silent approval.
> Khaldron: "Good. Waste not a single moment. Every coin, every plank, every pulse of effort shall bend to purpose. The empire approaches, and we shall be ready."
The leader bowed deeply, the weight of responsibility heavy but clear, as the rest of the council prepared to execute Khaldron's unprecedented command.
Khaldron's frost-lit gaze swept the assembled elders and heads of engineering, his voice calm but resonant, carrying the weight of absolute authority.
> Khaldron: "Remember this—every coin I grant you carries an imprint. Every piece is bound to purpose. No craft, no labor, no shipment may stray from its design. Corruption finds no harbor, and folly shall serve none. These coins are not wealth—they are instruments of order, discipline, and inevitability."
A hush fell over the council. Even the eldest masters, seasoned in administration and warfare, felt the gravity of his words. Frost motes spiraled in the candlelight, as if the lattice itself affirmed the decree.
> Master Eldric: "Bound to purpose… understood, my lord. We shall marshal every artisan, every golem, every hand under our command. Not a single coin shall falter, nor a single task remain undone."
Khaldron nodded once, frost motes whirling faster around him.
> Khaldron: "Good. Let every pulse of labor, every strike of hammer, every swing of axe serve the lattice. The empire approaches, and we shall be ready. Let the work begin."
Without another word, the council rose, moving with disciplined precision. Outside the hall, the central plain stirred with motion—new-generation golems lined up, timber and supplies readied, artisans and laborers poised to execute every command. The imprinted coins gleamed faintly in their hands, silent witnesses to the order now set into motion.
Khaldron's frost-lit eyes swept across the council, his voice cutting through the hall like wind over frozen peaks.
> Khaldron: "These coins are accursed—not in malice, but in purpose. Let none think to squander, to divert, or to idle. Let this agreement be sealed."
He gestured, and a massive scroll unfurled across the center table, its runes glimmering faintly with frost-lit energy. The parchment was enormous, stretching nearly the full length of the chamber, a contract both imposing and unyielding.
> Khaldron: "Each sect shall be paid abundantly, every artisan, every laborer compensated beyond the standard. Let incentive and discipline flow together. The work we undertake demands precision, loyalty, and excellence. Let every hand know its worth, and let every mind feel the weight of this covenant."
The elders and heads of engineering leaned closer, awed by the sheer magnitude of the scroll and the clarity of the edict. Frost motes danced over its surface, tracing the intricate lines of stipulation and purpose.
> Master Eldric: "Such… scale. My lord, we shall see it executed to the letter. Every laborer, every golem, every shipment will honor this covenant."
Khaldron's pale lips curved into the faintest of smiles, a rare acknowledgment:
> Khaldron: "Good. Let the lattice bind this contract to every pulse of labor, to every strike of hammer, to every swing of axe. No effort shall falter. No coin shall stray. Let the empire test us. Let them come. We shall be ready, and we shall endure."
Frost motes spiraled higher as the council bowed in solemn agreement. The massive scroll shimmered, sealing their obedience not by fear, but by the immutable authority of Khaldron's design—and the accursed coins that now bound every hand and mind to the lattice.
The massive scroll unfurled fully upon the table, frost motes flickering along its edges. To the assembled elders and sect leaders, it appeared less like parchment and more like a fragment of the cosmos itself. Threads of starlight wove through it—silver and gold intertwined, glimmering with a strange transparency, as if purity itself had been captured and set into runes.
> Master Eldric (whispering): "It… it looks like a dying star, bound in starlight. The threads… they breathe."
> Khaldron (voice steady, resonant): "Indeed. Let all who touch this covenant understand its weight. Every clause, every line, every imprint of coin carries the certainty of the lattice. Purity of purpose, abundance of reward, and the inevitability of execution—woven together, like a star at the edge of collapse. Let this guide your hands, and temper your hearts."
The elders leaned closer, awe and a flicker of fear reflected in their eyes. Light from the scroll shimmered across their robes, casting shifting patterns like constellations in motion. Even the most seasoned leaders, hardened by centuries of administration and war, felt the immensity of the decree pressing upon them.
> Khaldron: "Every laborer, every golem, every shipment, every pulse of effort—let it align to this covenant. No deviation. No hesitation. This is not a mere contract. It is the architecture of inevitability, the map by which our work touches both mortal and celestial realms alike."
Frost motes swirled higher, circling the starlit scroll like orbiting fragments. The council bowed deeply, silently acknowledging the brilliance and authority of the covenant—its radiance a reminder that every coin, every hand, and every mind was now bound to Khaldron's immutable design.
The elders and sect leaders circled the starlit scroll, their eyes wide, voices hushed.
> Elder Veyl: "I… I have never seen anything so radiant. It's as if the very essence of a star has been bound to paper."
> Master Harrow: "Silver and gold intertwined… yet transparent. It feels alive, yet untouched. Each rune… each thread hums with intention."
> Matriarch Liora: "The purity… it burns and soothes at once. I cannot fathom how such a covenant can exist."
Khaldron's frost-lit gaze swept over them, his voice calm yet carrying the weight of eternity:
> Khaldron: "Let your wonder not distract you. Beauty is not idle; it is the frame through which purpose manifests. Every coin, every effort, every laborer shall move in accordance with this covenant. Its brilliance is a guide—its authority absolute."
The elders swallowed, awe and respect mingling with the faintest tremor of fear. Frost motes spiraled around the starlit scroll, casting fleeting constellations across the hall, as if the stars themselves acknowledged the covenant.
> Elder Veyl (softly, almost to himself): "It is… magnificent. We are bound, yet blessed to witness it."
> Khaldron: "Witness, yes—but also obey. Let every action, every hammer strike, every golem's movement, align with what you see. Let the stars themselves be a testament to your fidelity and purpose."
The council bowed again, a silent accord echoing through the hall. In that moment, the beauty of the covenant was inseparable from its authority, leaving no doubt that every hand present was now a thread in Khaldron's lattice of inevitability.
Khaldron's frost-lit eyes swept across the assembled elders and sect leaders, his voice steady and commanding:
> Khaldron: "Witness the covenant, behold its authority, and now make it yours. Sign this in ink. Use your sect seal, your clan seal, whatever mark defines your hand and your house. Let it bind you as surely as the lattice binds the stars."
The elders and heads of every sect exchanged glances, awe mingling with the weight of responsibility. Slowly, deliberately, they dipped their pens into inkpots wrought with frost-metal inlays, each movement measured and solemn.
> Elder Veyl: "So shall it be… our seal shall mark our devotion, our obedience, and our purpose."
One by one, each seal pressed against the starlit scroll, leaving impressions of silver and gold, glittering faintly as if absorbing the covenant's light. Frost motes swirled higher, circling the seals as though acknowledging each mark with silent approval.
> Master Harrow: "By my hand, and the mark of Sandwind Hold, we commit to this covenant. Every laborer, every shipment, every effort—aligned as one."
> Matriarch Liora: "By the Verdant Bastion seal, we pledge our obedience. Let the lattice hold our purpose, and let no deviation pass unseen."
Khaldron's lips curved into the faintest smile, a rare acknowledgment. The scroll, now heavy with the seals of every participating sect and clan, shimmered brighter, threads of starlight weaving into one unbroken lattice of authority and intent.
> Khaldron: "So it is done. Witness and obey. Let the covenant guide every hand, every thought, and every pulse of effort. The stars bear witness; the lattice enforces it. Move now, and let nothing falter."
The council bowed deeply, their seals etched into the starlit scroll, the magnitude of the agreement settling like frost upon their shoulders. Each hand, each mind, each sect now a living part of Khaldron's grand design.
As the final seals pressed into the starlit scroll, a subtle tremor ran through the hall. The threads of silver and gold shimmered and pulsed, as though awakening from slumber. Frost motes flickered faster, tracing patterns along the edges of the covenant, and the light from the scroll seemed to bend the air itself.
> Khaldron (voice calm, resonant): "Witness now the covenant's essence. Let it be known: every seal, every mark, every hand is recognized—not just in this hall, but across the flow of time itself."
A wave of unseen energy radiated outward. The very air shimmered, and the assembled elders and sect leaders felt an imperceptible tug at their perception of moments. Each pulse of the scroll imprinted itself upon the continuum of time, leaving behind an invisible mark: every action, every delivery, every laborer's movement would now be woven into the covenant's design.
> Elder Veyl (whispering, awe-struck): "It… it reaches beyond the present… the covenant touches every heartbeat of the work yet to come."
> Matriarch Liora: "A living contract… its recognition flows through time as if it has always existed."
Khaldron's frost-lit gaze swept across the council, unwavering:
> Khaldron: "Let this pulse guide you, enforce you, and bind you. Every choice, every effort, every hand that touches this design shall be aligned. Time itself shall bear witness to your fidelity. Deviations shall be impossible, for the lattice now flows through moments yet unmade."
The starlit scroll pulsed once more, brighter and steadier, casting a lattice of silver and gold across the hall. In that instant, the covenant became more than ink and seal—it became a temporal imprint, a living architecture of authority, binding every sect, every laborer, every golem, and every pulse of effort to Khaldron's grand design.
> Master Harrow (softly, reverent): "By this recognition… we are bound, yet guided… time itself shall carry our deeds."
The hall fell silent, the pulse of the covenant humming faintly like a heartbeat that stretched across seconds, hours, and years yet to come. Every eye, every mind, every hand was now inextricably linked to the lattice of inevitability, the scroll's starlit light marking the flow of all that would follow.