I Copy the Authorities of the Four Calamities

Chapter 389: The Size of it

The late afternoon sun bled low across the western horizon, washing the compound’s heavy stone in a rich, fading gold. Vane found Ryuken standing on the outer battlement.

The older man wasn’t doing anything—just existing, completely anchored in the present moment without the need for external distraction. He didn’t even turn as Vane’s footsteps echoed up the stone steps. Vane came to a stop beside him, letting his gaze fall to the sprawling expanse of Korreth below the mountain.

They stood in comfortable silence. It was the fifth hour; the city’s bustling market was winding down, and the mana-grid thrummed cleanly through the streets, finally stabilized after three grueling days of repair.

"The gala," Ryuken said, his voice breaking the quiet.

Vane looked at him.

"You saw it."

"Yes."

Ryuken kept his eyes on the city. "Varian is everything the North produced him to be. He has been Rank 9 for eleven years. He went north specifically to forge his body into a weapon capable of surviving that depth of power." He paused, letting the chill breeze carry the weight of his words. "At the gala, the Emperor pushed him to his absolute limit, and then stepped back, satisfied."

Ryuken turned his head, his gaze piercing. "Do you understand what that means?"

"Varian was breathing hard," Vane said quietly.

"He was," Ryuken agreed. "I have been at this rank for thirty-seven years. Varian has been at it for eleven. The Emperor has held this rank for two hundred and sixteen." He held Vane’s gaze. "We are all Rank 9. The word covers the same number, Vane. It does not cover the same reality."

Vane remained silent, letting the sheer scale of the power disparity sink in.

"The Domain the Emperor expanded at the gala held two hundred people," Ryuken continued, his voice softening but losing none of its edge. "He completely neutralized Transcendent-level collateral damage, engaged Varian at full pressure, and smiled for the entire duration." Ryuken looked back at the sprawling city. "It wasn’t a performance. He was genuinely comfortable."

Ryuken sighed, a rare sound from the stoic warrior. "I’m not telling you this to diminish what you are building. I’m telling you so you understand the actual size of the mountain you are trying to climb. When you progress further down the equalization path and finally feel the gap closing... do not mistake closing the gap for reaching the end of it."

Vane looked down at the city, the setting sun catching in his eyes.

"The gap closes, though," Vane said.

Ryuken looked back at him.

"Yes," Vane murmured, his voice laced with quiet absolute certainty. "It does."

Something shifted in Ryuken’s expression. It wasn’t quite approval, but a flicker of profound respect—the rare acknowledgment he offered only when someone spoke a hard, undeniable truth.

"Just make sure you understand what you’re closing toward," Ryuken said. Without another word, he turned and went back inside.

By the seventh hour, the scent of Old Shen’s eastern winter table drifted down the residential corridors. It was a heavy, fiercely spiced spread—the kind of meal Shen only prepared when the compound was full, the air was biting cold, and the family had spent the day exhausting themselves.

The dining room was packed. Valerica sat to Vane’s left, Ashe to his right. Across the table, Isole toyed with her food, an unopened document case resting beside her bowl. Next to her, Nyx had pulled her legs up onto the bench, sitting sideways in a pretzel-like slouch that would have left anyone else agonizingly cramped, but she made it look effortlessly graceful.

Varian lingered at the threshold for a moment before stepping in. He looked at the full, noisy table, then quietly took a seat at the far end. He ate with the methodical, hyper-focused attention of a man who hadn’t shared a meal with five other people in a decade. He didn’t seem uncomfortable with the noise or the proximity; rather, he watched them all with a quiet, analytical fascination.

Beneath the table, Ashe shifted, pressing the side of her knee against Vane’s. She didn’t say a word, just left it there, a warm, grounding anchor.

"The highland source," Valerica said suddenly, not looking up from her bowl. She had spent the last two days meticulously interrogating him to reconstruct his timeline in the northern territory. "Third week."

"He was an older man," Vane replied smoothly. "He thought your written specification was hilarious."

Valerica’s eyes narrowed. "It was a thorough specification."

"It was four pages long, Valerica."

"The altitude variants required separate entries," she shot back, her chopsticks clicking sharply against her porcelain bowl. "Did it work?"

"Perfectly, for the first month. But when the highland source ran dry, I had to substitute it with the valley variety above the elevation limit. The depth was wrong."

Valerica set her chopsticks down with a sharp clack. She finally looked at him, her eyes flashing with a mix of exasperation and deep-seated worry. "I told you that on the fourth page."

"The highland source ran out."

"Then you should have found a second highland source."

"At that altitude? In the northern territory? In the dead of winter?"

"I don’t care about the northern territory’s supply chain limitations," she snapped, though her voice wavered just a fraction. "I want you to understand that I warned you on the fourth page. You could have been hurt."

Across the table, Nyx’s lips curved into a knowing smirk. "She’s been holding onto this since the moment you walked through the gates."

"I have been holding onto this," Valerica corrected icily, "since he sent a message through the squad channel seven months ago casually mentioning he was using the valley variety." She picked up her chopsticks, her posture rigid. "I let it go. Until now."

Isole watched the exchange, her eyes softening with quiet amusement. She leaned forward slightly, looking at Vane. "She rewrote the specification for you," Isole murmured. "Five different versions. She started the week after you sent that message."

Valerica said nothing. She stared fiercely at her food, chewing with aggressive precision.

Vane looked at her, truly looking past the irritation to the anxiety she’d been carrying for months. Slowly, he reached over and covered her hand where it rested tightly on the tabletop.

Valerica froze. For a second, the air in the room felt heavy, the localized gravity thickening—a side effect of her Celestial Heart reacting to her fluctuating emotions. Then, with a quiet exhale, she turned her hand over and intertwined her fingers with his. She didn’t look up, and she kept eating with her free hand, but the ambient gravity in the room instantly smoothed out into a warm, gentle hum.

They stayed tethered like that for the rest of the meal.

Later, the group migrated to the sitting area in the residential corridor. The dining room was simply too large and formal for five people who were stuffed with spiced food and had absolutely nowhere else to be. Someone had dragged over the plush cushions from the inner rooms, and they arranged themselves organically—a silent choreography born from having survived too much together to care about personal space.

Ashe sat beside Vane, her legs draped comfortably over his lap as she read through a stack of papers from Isole’s document case. Vane’s arm rested casually around her waist. Outside the frosty window, the compound settled into the quiet rhythm of the evening.

Isole was tucked into the other side of the arrangement. As she leaned over to consult her own notes, her shoulder brushed against Vane’s. She did it twice without seeming to notice. The third time, she didn’t bother leaning back.

"The temple library in the western provinces," Nyx murmured. She sat cross-legged by the window, moonlight catching the swirling, hypnotic depths of her opal eyes. "The archive materials I dug out of the eastern market four months ago, and the documents Isole just found... they’re different iterations of the exact same record."

"The diagram," Vane prompted.

"Adjacent to it. The record is older than the diagram, but they definitely share a source." She flashed him a secretive smile. "I’ll break the whole thing down for you when we return to Zenith and I can lay both sets out side-by-side."

She spoke with the quiet thrill of a predator that had caught a scent, but tonight was meant for rest. The hunt could wait.

Sometime before the ninth hour, Isole’s breathing leveled out. She had fallen asleep resting fully against Vane’s shoulder. Vane recognized the rhythm of her breathing instantly—it was the same deep, trusting slumber she had finally fallen into back in Mourn-Hold, when their freezing cabin had finally been secured against the horrors outside.

Ashe glanced up from her reading. She looked at the sleeping Isole, then at Vane. The corner of her mouth twitched upward in a soft, affectionate smile, and she went right back to her documents.

A few minutes later, Nyx abandoned her spot by the window. She padded over and squeezed onto the cushions beside Vane, opposite of Isole. She didn’t ask for room; she just claimed her space with the effortless, unapologetic confidence that was so uniquely hers. She peered down at the papers Vane was holding.

"You aren’t reading those," she whispered.

"I was."

"You haven’t turned a single page in twenty minutes."

Without asking, Nyx plucked the papers from his hands and tossed them onto the low table. She leaned in, her captivating opal eyes locking onto his. There was a dangerous, swirling intent in them now.

She kissed him. Right there in the dimly lit corridor, with Isole softly snoring against his shoulder, Ashe reading barely three feet away, and the distant sound of Valerica’s measured breathing down the hall. It wasn’t a quick, teasing peck. It was deep, lingering, and entirely meant for him.

When she finally pulled back, she didn’t retreat. She rested her forehead against his cheek, her breath hot against his skin.

"Good," she murmured, a low hum of deep satisfaction vibrating in her chest.

Ashe had looked up at some point during the kiss. She didn’t look shocked, annoyed, or performatively tolerant. She just watched them with the quiet, genuine acceptance of a woman who had spent two years building a life with these people and found the dynamic perfectly whole.

Reaching over, Ashe picked up the discarded documents from the low table. She tapped them neatly against her thigh, then handed them right back to Vane.

"You should actually read them," she said, her tone utterly dry.

Vane took the papers. Smiling faintly, he read them.