She frowns. "How about the lack of a mark? I think you might have options there."

"I'm not sure what that means, and honestly you're being very ominous right now."

"Don't worry so much. I'm here to help!"  It hasn't blinked once this whole time.

"I think I'd rather go" slips out, despite his better judgement.

It nods thoughtfully as if that's a reasoned and complex but ultimately convincing argument. "See you soon."

The world dissolves in a shower of sticky darkness that seems to flow down the lines of the diagrams, moving faster and faster until they reach the final circle and seem to grind to a halt.

He wakes in a pile of tangled blankets, sheathed in sweat, disoriented and bleary and reaches for a glass on the sideboard and - how did he get here? The last thing he remembers is inking lines in a notebook. He's pretty sure he didn't make it to bed.

He didn't. But Saul's not just going to leave him shivering in a curled up heap on the floor.

"Feeling any better?" There's a cup of coffee on the table next to Scoria, still steaming. Saul's peering at the diagrams on his desk. "This looks promising. What progress have you made?"

He grabs for the coffee, splashing it across his shirt as he knocks the cup over with a shaking hand and an oath. "Sorry - I had the strangest dream and I'm still fuzzy around the edges." The shadows seemed so real they still cling to the edge of his mind, whispering. "The ritual isn't quite done yet - closer, but I'm afraid I passed out before I could finish transcribing the necessary seals." He stands, attempting to shrug off the blankets, and nearly tips over. "Did you just finish inking the initial array? It feels...connected."

"I didn't touch your work." He frowns, peering at Scoria instead of the diagrams now. The shadows under his eyes look deeper than usual. "Are you feeling alright? You were out cold when I found you."

"I apologize - that must have been part of the dream." He rubs his eyes, searching his memory. "There was something important, but the details are slipping through my fingers like sand." The markings on the floor are pristine, untouched. He runs a hand along one of the outer circles, tracing the path of theoretical energy, and feels it thrum as if plucked. No, as if newly minted. The egregore isn't precisely alive or sentient but the construct has settled into place, slowly gathering power through the lattice of connections between each point. It feels hungry. He blinks again, sluggish. "I should get back to work before this entirely escapes me. The arrays...there must have been something else." But even as he speaks, details of ritual and rune swim away into the dark. He presses the heel of one hand against an eye, trying to ground himself, and glances to Saul. "My apologies again for this. It seems I'm not quite myself just yet."

Saul's frown deepens. "You really don't look well. Come, sit." He takes Scoria's arm and helps him into a chair, forcing another cup of coffee into his hands. "Drink. Now, tell me exactly what's going on. What did you dream of?" There's real concern in his eyes now. If Scoria's usual single-minded drive is faltering, something is very wrong.

He takes a long drink of the coffee, scalding his tongue, and lets out a breath. "Most of the details are gone now. I was trapped in some sort of ritual space. A woman - at least, I believe it was a woman - taunted me about my work. The diagrams around us were wrong, half-formed. She said she was there to help but her words were ominous. When I tried to leave, everything dissolved into darkness." He rubs his eyes again, frustrated at the lingering fugue. "I must have completed more of the ritual than I realized. There are connections forming already, pulling metaphysical threads tight between each point." The construct feels expectant now, like a web sensing the first tremors of a fly. "We should reinscribe the primary seals before this goes any further. I fear the bindings may not yet be strong enough if there was bleedthrough into my dreaming mind."

The house shakes again, dust filtering down through cracks in the ceiling onto the diagrams below. Outside, the wind howls a warning as thunder rumbles in the distance. The arrays glow with a sickly light, pulsing in time to a heartbeat that isn't quite synchronized. The woman's ominous promise echoes in his mind: See you soon. Whatever they've started, it seems impatient to emerge.

Scoria slams the remains of the coffee and stands, steadier now but still shaken. The arrays need reinforcement before this gets out of hand. "The primary seals, now. We have to lock this in place before it ruptures its bindings." He's already moving to gather the necessary components: bowls of salt and ash, vials of oil and blood, the carefully prepared tools for each ritual mark. The construct strains at its tethers, metaphysical hooks sunk deep but still not deep enough. He can feel it testing each point, searching for weaknesses to exploit. They built this to change the world but if they lose control now it could rend the seams of reality as easily as knit them anew. There are too many variables, too much left unfinished - but they are out of time. Each tremor signals the countdown to when this will shake itself free of their design.

Saul curses, grabbing components and following Scoria's lead. His silver hair is wild, eyes bright with worry and something like fear as he works to reinforce the seals. "We were too hasty. The bindings aren't strong enough, we have to finish this now before it breaks free or we'll never contain it." The house shudders again, dust and debris raining down around them, diagrams pulsing with that strange sick glow. He pours ash and oils, reinforcing one of the circles with haste and care in equal measure. They started this, they have to finish it. No time for doubts or hesitation now. Though... maybe a little.

He glances at Scoria as they work, worry creasing his brow. "Are you sure you're up for this? You were out for a while, and look..." He hesitates, but pushes on. "Haggard. We can try again in a few days, once you've rested. Our lives won't end if we delay this a little longer." Despite his words, his hands continue their swift, practiced work, reinforcing another seal with haste born of fear as much as determination. He doesn't want to stop, not when they're so close, but Scoria's health worries him more than their work coming undone. They've dealt with setbacks before, but he's never seen his friend knocked out cold for hours with no explanation.

"No, we can't stop now." His hands move with purpose, dripping ash and oil onto each point of the primary seals in turn. The construct shudders as another thread pulls taut, a resonance building that thrums through flesh and bone alike. They are running out of time.

"We knew the risks when we began this, Saul. You said it yourself - we've dealt with failures before." He grimaces, wiping sweat and dust from his brow with one sleeve. The coffee has sharpened his mind but his body still feels leaden, slowed. They started this, they have to finish it. "If we stop now, we may lose control entirely. The bindings grow stronger with each reinforcement. We are so close." The arrays pulse again, an echoing heartbeat syncopated just a fraction out of time. The woman's promise lingers at the edge of thought, a whisper of things still left unseen. He has to believe they will contain this, that their design is sound. The alternative is unthinkable.

His hands do not slow, tracing each point and channel in turn, shoring up weaknesses that the construct strains to exploit. The primary seals are nearly complete; then for the final bindings before this can shake itself fully awake and turn its gaze upon the world. They built this to change things but if they lose control now it could rend the seams of reality as easily as knit them anew. There are too many variables, too much left unfinished - but they are out of time. Each tremor signals the countdown to when this will shake itself free of their design.

5.

And then he reconsiders. This needs more buy-in, more cooperation for it to really stick.

And so he earths the gathered energy and potential with the a loud crack and the sound of hot metal cooling unevenly.

… Wasn't sure he could do that. Probably should have thought of it earlier.

He stands there in the circle, hands still outstretched and tingling with the remnants of that building power. The arrays have gone dark and still, no longer straining against their anchors but quiescent, potential energy dissipated into the ground. "Well. That was foolish of us." The realization of how close they came to losing control hits him like a sledgehammer and he sways on his feet, adrenaline fading. His bare arms are covered in ash and tiny cuts, and he's fairly sure his hair is standing on end. At least the wind has calmed outside, no longer rattling the windows in their frames. Saul is looking at him with an expression somewhere between fear, anger and relief. He can't blame him. They aren't usually this reckless but impatience and ambition blinded them to the risks. "We should start over. Do this properly." His voice sounds strange in his own ears, shaky in the wake of that thrumming resonance. "Not just the two of us. We need cooperation, trust, or this will never work."

To change the world, they need more than two wayward souls stumbling in the dark. But finding others they can trust with this secret goal, that believe as strongly that thing need to change - that may prove a greater challenge.

Saul lets out a long breath, staring at Scoria with dawning horror and anger. His hair is in disarray, eyes wide with accusation. "You...you caused it to overload." His hands curl into tight, trembling fists. "What did you do? How could you be so careless?" He steps back, glaring at the darkened arrays, the catastrophe barely averted. The realization of how close they came to ruin due to Scoria's recklessness sinks in and he flushes with rage. "You were wrong, we never should have trusted you!" His voice rises to a shout, anger replacing resolve. "Finding someone competent to assist will not be easy after this disaster you nearly caused." He jabs a finger at Scoria, face twisting in disgusted betrayal. "No more chances. Your recklessness could have doomed everything we worked for." He turns away, body rigid with contempt. "I should have known better than to trust you so blindly. Your impatience and lack of discipline make you dangerous." A bitter smile pulls at his lips and he shakes his head bitterly. "Though I suppose some lessons must be learned the hard way."

Scoria stands frozen in stunned disbelief, mouth open but finding no words. His hands ache, burns blistering across callused palms. Anger wars with sorrow, righteous indignation with the sting of betrayal. Saul's words are blades honed sharp. Your recklessness could have doomed everything we worked for. He of all people should understand the necessity of that split-second decision, the instincts that demanded action before thought.

"You would have done the same." His voice is hoarse but firm. "Had you seconds to decide whether we should continue into unknown peril or cut our losses to regroup, tell me your choice would differ!" He takes a shuddering breath, rage coiling hot in his gut. "Your hypocrisy insults us both. We knew the risks, we have always known the risks, but now you flinch at the precipice and call me fool?"

The arrays are lifeless behind him but he can still feel their potential like the buzz of static on his skin. His hands clench at his sides, leather creaking. "Go, then. Run from what we have built out of fear and spite." He spits the words like venom, poison on his tongue. "I will not abandon this. The world still needs changing and I will find the means, with or without your help."

He turns away, gaze lingering on the darkened points of their shared ambitiont. The cuts on his palms sting of remembered failure.