"WHAT WE DON'T SAY"
The med bay was quiet.
Not in function—machines still breathed, monitors still pulsed, medics still moved with practiced hands—but in one room, where a small group stood and thought too hard to speak.
Allium lay still.
Bandages crossed his chest in clean lines, hiding the wound but not the fact that his glow had dimmed. Neon orange traced faintly under skin like embers refusing to die. He looked peaceful in the way storms look peaceful when they're far away.
Rose stood beside the bed, arms folded tighter than comfort required. Weaver stood near the foot, threads hovering in faint, restless arcs, as if they couldn't decide whether to touch or stay away.
What rested on Rose's mind didn't settle.
It paced.
"Weaver," she said finally, voice low, careful not to disturb the room's fragile balance. "Did you know what he meant?"
Weaver didn't look up.
"If I purify…" Rose continued, the words dragging like something heavy. "How does that stabilize him?"
Weaver's gaze stayed on Allium.
"I do not know," he admitted. "He wants me to connect the ley-lines from the suns… to him."
Rose huffed—more frustration than anger, more curiosity than fear. She looked at Allium's face, searching for anything that resembled certainty.
Jax stepped forward from the wall where he'd been standing like a sentry.
"The Keeper made it clear," he said, voice firm. "We need to get to Virel."
Weaver's threads tightened, recoil disguised as stillness.
"There has to be another way."
Cassidy crossed her arms, leaning against a cabinet like she needed the metal to keep her upright. Her eyes were tired, but her voice still had edge.
"You need to respect Rose's choice. And what—" she tilted her head at Weaver, daring him, "—you're worried your creation might die that way?"
Weaver's eyes lifted.
Not explosive. Not loud.
Just the kind of anger that comes from being cornered by truth.
"I've tolerated enough from you all," he said, voice controlled, sharp in its restraint. "Questioning my choices, as if you understand them. You do not know the truth."
His eyes hardened.
"You are ignorant."
Cassidy's face flashed with offense.
"Oh, wow." She spread her hands. "So how about you tell us what you're so scared about, jerk."
Weaver exhaled slowly. The air left him like resignation.
"He wakes," Weaver said, and his threads drifted closer to Allium without touching him, "and he destroys. That has always been his function. There were threats long ago that he—in this form—could not overcome."
Rose's brow furrowed.
"Form?" she asked. "Are you speaking about the… overload? What he did against Khelos?"
Weaver shook his head.
"That," he said softly, "was an imperfect form, due to his imbalance. Full force—he is not the Balance Keeper as you know him. In that state…" Weaver's voice dropped, almost ashamed to say it aloud, "he does not see life. Only mission."
Cassidy blinked.
"Wait a second." She stared at him. "That was imperfect? You're saying he's got more juice than that?"
Weaver nodded once.
"That is why he rests," he said. "Him awake—forming attachment—might cause that form to erupt. And in it…" He swallowed. "He does not see enemy from ally."
Thane, who had been quiet until now, looked at Allium with something like dread.
"This has happened before?"
Weaver's threads stilled.
"One time," he said. "Soul-takers overtook a settlement in Nexon. Their numbers were far too great. And in his pure overload form…" Weaver's jaw clenched. "He wiped the entire settlement. To finish the mission."
Silence hit the room like impact.
Jax's voice cut through first, tight with controlled disbelief.
"Why did you hide this intel? That is pretty important information."
Weaver didn't flinch.
"To make it clear," he said, "he does not choose this. He does so from the Tri-energy's accord."
Cassidy stared at him like he'd spoken in another language.
"Dude," she said flatly, "what does that mean?"
Weaver's tone shifted.
Not into lecture. Not into authority.
Into observation.
"When I pulled Allium together," he said quietly, "there were… voices."
Cassidy's arms loosened.
"Voices," she repeated, slower now.
"Not his," Weaver continued. His threads moved faintly, as if remembering the moment instead of showing it. "Something within the ley I mended—forming him. Guiding the structure while I pretended I was the one designing it."
Cassidy looked around the room involuntarily, as if the walls might be listening.
"You're saying they actually understand," she whispered, and for once her humor didn't come. "That's honestly terrifying."
Weaver nodded.
"If the energy that made him was only the Trees…" His voice thinned. "I shake at the thought of what it will do to him."
Rose stepped closer.
Her hand reached out and rested gently over Weaver's.
The gesture was quiet, but it carried weight.
"Even under an imperfect form," Rose said, steady as steel, "he held control."
Weaver's eyes flicked to her.
Rose didn't look away.
"I'm asking you," she said, "as someone who fights for it every second of my life… I recognize will. And he has a lot of it."
Weaver stared at her hand on his.
Then at Allium.
Something in him softened—not relief, not certainty—just acceptance forced through fear.
"You accept this," he murmured, almost to himself. "Over the years, you've become more human every day…"
He let out a breath that sounded like surrender.
"And I will," he said quietly, "respect yours. And his."
Jax nodded once, as if the decision had finally become real.
He activated comms.
"Docks," Jax said into the receiver. "This is Commander Jax. Requesting hovercraft for transport. Include supplies and a medical bed. Reinforced."
Static. Then a voice, crisp and obedient.
"Copy on that, Commander. Ten minutes. Location?"
Jax looked at Weaver.
Then past him—to Rose.
Then to Allium, still sleeping like the world hadn't just changed.
He answered with one word.
"Virel."