The Guild Master nervously taps the table with his fingers. Around him, the other members of the Guild Assembly chatter and shout in a deafening uproar. On one side, supporters of the Basileus shake their heads, outraged. On the other side, his opponents boo and yell, pounding their fists or feet to drown the amphitheater in the most irritating racket. There is no room for debate anymore. The other Masters are here only to clash, not to find any common ground. The only rule now seems to be to prevent the other side from expressing their opinion.

‘Silence!’

Boro's voice echoes through the crowded auditorium, struggling to be heard despite the powerful speakers. But no one seems to listen, too busy pulling each other's hair. While Boro had always been a virtuoso engineer, he had never managed to establish his authority over the Assembly. And today is another proof of his shortcomings, both in charisma and conflict management. Of course, the Guild Master had nothing against Boro as an individual. He was an admirable person, with a sharp intellect, coupled with a genius for mechanics. They were on good terms and had conversed on many occasions, over a drink or assembly plans. But he did not have the firm hand needed to arbitrate conflicts. He was an idealist, and this office required above all a pragmatist.

The Master observes the scene with a sigh. The Master of the Blacksmiths' Guild is taking on the Master of the Shipowners' Guild; Hao Fen, who supervises the Machinists' Corporation, is reading a thick report that probably has nothing to do with the ongoing diatribes, while Celsa, the spokesperson for the Parallax, has clearly chosen to catch up on her sleep despite the ambient clamor.

‘Silence!’

Disgusted, the President of the Assembly drops his microphone, which propagates an unpleasant feedback through the room as it hits the table. The Guild Master sighs, himself at the end of his patience. He has better things to do than attend these sterile discussions.

‘Master?’, a voice whispers in his ear as a bony hand comes to rest on his shoulder.

The Guild Master turns to the newcomer, a bit taken aback. A gaunt man, with chiseled features, stands before him, dressed in a diplomatic gown. The Master raises an eyebrow at the geometric patterns on his ceremonial attire, as well as the blue diamond nestled in the hollow of his neck, identifying him as a member of the Ordis.

‘I don't know what brings you here, Master Historian. But if you were hoping to witness a memorable moment, I'm afraid history will not be made today.’

The dignitary from the Monolith returns a polite smile. ‘I am used to these endless symposiums, though I must admit our stormy congresses are far from reaching this level... of animation. Allow me to introduce myself: Juraj, Master-Archivist of the Sanctum. And as you've guessed, my specialty is History, with a capital H.’

The Guild Master strains to discern the words of his interlocutor, whose diction is somewhat elusive and nasal.

‘And what brings me this honor, Master-Archivist?’

The Historian shrugs nonchalantly. ‘I would like to discuss something with you, Master Basem Falani of the Lapidaries' Guild. That is you, I presume?’

Basem simply nods. ‘If this concerns politics, I advise you to worry first about your own internal dissensions. I have enough to deal with this rumpus.’

Juraj adjusts his thick glasses on his nose, smiling conspiratorially. ‘Everything is political when you dig a little deeper.’

Basem clicks his tongue, clearly at the end of his rope. ‘Then address the Prospectors' Guild. They specialize in getting to the bottom of things.’

But the Historian remains undeterred. He even smiles. ‘I think I have something in my bag that might interest you greatly, beyond any political consideration. Literally, I mean.’

‘Literally beyond?’

‘Literally in my bag.’

‘We are currently in session,’ Basem sighs.

Beside them, two Masters jump up and throw their agendas into the air. Papers rain down toward the speaker's podium, where a lecturer tries in vain to present his arguments. It seems to Basem that Boro should put an end to this farce, but on the dais, the President seems too busy conferring with his secretaries.

‘Indeed, I apologize for disturbing you in such a... productive meeting.’

Basem grumbles into his beard. ‘I admit a bit of fresh air would do me good. You have five minutes to convince me.’

‘A time I will use most sparingly.’

He discreetly gets up and heads towards the glass doors, followed by the scholar. The sea breeze welcomes them with a refreshing caress as they step onto one of the Foundry's terraces. The terrace is deserted. Everyone is too busy bickering inside the amphitheater.

‘It's a very nice view you have here.’

Below, beyond the districts of Jusaka and Gwyntewyn, the Porto Novo district buzzes with life and activity. Cranes unload ship cargoes, merchant vessels prepare to set sail... A mist-breaker has arrived safely, likely bringing precious minerals for his Guild to cut and facet. Basem turns to the Historian.

‘I'm not here to listen to platitudes. You and I both know that the view from the Monolith is far more spectacular.’

‘Indeed. Allow me to ask you a question, then.’

The Historian rummages through his bag, while the Guild Master scrutinizes his aquiline profile. The man doesn't look like much, but something in his attitude and voice, despite his apparent nonchalance, makes Basem uneasy. He can't help but be on guard. Juraj pulls out a dull crystal with slightly golden reflections and hands it to the Lapidaries' Guild Master.

‘Do you know what this might be?’

Basem takes the stone casually, weighs it in his hand. He observes it intently, then furrows his brow. ‘Where did you find this?’

The scholar's smile turns conspiratorial. ‘In the most improbable place imaginable.’

The Master pulls a monocle from his vest and inspects the crystal more closely in the sunlight. He examines the fracture lines, the purity of the material... There are, of course, some inclusions, defects in its texture. But overall, it's a specimen of the finest quality.

‘Kelon... but with a rather curious color.’ The Historian nods silently.

‘But it is inert, drained of all energy,’ Basem concludes.

Juraj simply nods again. The Lapidary Master gazes at him, trying to decipher his intentions. ‘You haven't really answered my question.’

The Ordis dignitary then smiles a predatory smile. ‘It was found in the wake of a Tumult Singularity.’

Basem's eyes widen, suddenly silent.

‘It's only a residue. We are still awaiting further analysis from some Yzmir Initiates. But we suspect that these crystals are what give Singularities their power. This one comes from the Glow that manifested a few years ago. Once the phenomenon dissipated, these stones lost their power, leaving us with these impotent — though pretty — fragments.’

‘You want us to study this material?’

The Historian shakes his head. ‘Not at all.’

‘Then I don't see how I can be of use to you, Master-Archivist.’

‘There are certain legends within the mines of Suspira,’ Juraj purrs. ‘Workers have reportedly seen a type of strange and unstable Kelon, whose power…’

‘Collapsed an entire quarry,’ the Guild Master interrupts. ‘These are just nonsense, miners' tales trying to cover up human error.’

‘The Tumult Nomads, during their wanderings, also reported seeing what they called Fire Gems.’

Basem rolls his eyes. ‘Which turned out to be Kelon crystals.’

‘That's what some have theorized, indeed. But their testimony spoke of a golden color, like concentrated sunlight. My archives don't lie.’

Basem shakes his head. ‘And if I let you continue, you'd eventually start talking about the mythical Primordiae, right? Nothing confirms their existence, just as nothing confirms another type of Kelon. I thought I was dealing with a historian, not a fabulist.’

‘Do not be disrespectful, Master Falani of the Lapidaries' Guild.’

‘You took the wrong path, Archivist,’ Basem retorts. ‘If you're more interested in tales and nonsense, you should have applied to the Lyra.’

‘History is a fiction regardless,’ the scholar calmly replies. ‘As soon as an event belongs to the past, it becomes an anecdote that is told. History is made of half-truths and deceptions passed off as facts.’

Basem rubs his forehead, visibly incredulous. ‘So you really believe this crystal was Sun Kelon?’

‘Every legend contains a grain of truth. So it’s a possibility. And it wouldn't be wise to dismiss it without considering it. Imagine what the Axiom could achieve with such a power source under its control. Isn’t the game worth investing some time in?’

The Guild Master's gaze drifts over the bay. ‘What do you suggest?’

‘The Rediscovery Endeavor will take place. That’s a certainty. Instead of fighting this project, it should be exploited to the fullest.’

‘I see. You want me to give my endorsement.’

Juraj smiles, this time with apparent benevolence, whether sincere or affected. ‘Your Guild and allies have not yet taken a stance. If you supported the Rediscovery Endeavor, it would tip the scales in favor of the project within your Faction.’

More politics... Basem sometimes longed for the days when he was a simple lapidary, cutting prisms for the Ordis Espars or simple Kelon crystals. Achieving the rank of Master had been a crowning achievement, a recognition of his talent. But with it had come all these diplomatic considerations, these intricate machinations...

‘If this Sun Kelon exists, it will be found within the Tumult. Only the exploration of the Terra Incognita will uncover it and bring it under control.’

Basem strokes his beard, deep in thought. Juraj seems eager to press his point. ‘The Suspira mines will soon be exhausted. Your precious Kelon is going to dry up. That's a fact, not nonsense. What will you do then? If there's a time to invest in preparing for the future, it's now. Otherwise, the entire Axiom risks being left behind.’

The Master Lapidary turns to his interlocutor. ‘And you? What do you have to gain personally? It's clear you side more with Avkan than with Waru.’

The man brushes a lock of hair from his face.

‘I'm on no side except that of humanity. Consider me a neutral party, but one who keeps a vigilant finger on the pulse of society. With that, I think my five minutes are up. I won't bother you any longer, Master Basem.’

The Historian turns away. Juraj. That was how he had introduced himself. He will make sure not to forget his name.

‘Archivist, you're forgetting your crystal.’

‘Keep it. Pass it on for study or use it as a paperweight, I care not. I give it to you as a gift.’

Basem watches him walk away. His slightly stooped silhouette disappears into the glasshouse, while the clamor of the Assembly filters through the unlatched door. If he is right, this material could sustainably power the Foundry's machines, averting the inevitable Kelon shortage. Supporting the Basileus meant convincing his allies to invest colossal sums and resources into an enterprise that could turn out to be nothing but a fool's errand. Opposing it meant exposing himself to a slow decline from which the Faction might not recover. Ultimately, it was a gamble, a high-stakes wager.

Basem glances at the stone he still holds in his hand. He watches the light pass through it, reflecting on its surface. Is it a diamond or just a worthless piece of coal? It was a leap in the dark. A risky bet. By mobilizing his supporters, he could certainly influence the Assembly's vote when it would take place in three weeks. With thirteen percent, he could easily sway the general opinion. But only time would rightly determine if he’d stand among the credulous or the cowards. If this lead happens to be just a fantasy, he will face disgrace, abandoned by his peers. However, if Juraj is right, nothing will be able to hinder the rise of the Axiom, alongside his own personal fortune.

The stone suddenly feels heavy in his fist. Maybe he was wrong in thinking nothing would be decided today. Perhaps it is the weight of History that lay in the palm of his hand.