The name 'Jack,' spoken in that smooth, cultured voice, was like a key turning in a lock I didn't know I was trapped in. For an instant, my two realities threatened to collide. The Master of [The Veiled Path], the man who had faced demons and communed with the grief of a god, recoiled internally. But the unassuming healer, the quiet survivor, stepped forward. I forced a slight, weary slump into my shoulders, blinked as if adjusting to the light, and offered a simple, non-committal nod.

"That's me," I said, my voice deliberately a little rough, the voice of a man more used to quiet work than formal introductions. My gaze flickered to Lucas, a silent question passing between us, letting him take the lead.

Blade's smile didn't change. It was a perfectly crafted expression, a tool of his trade. It was friendly, but it held the same detached interest a biologist might have for a particularly unusual specimen of insect. His two companions remained passive, but their attention had sharpened. The woman, who had been examining her gauntlet, now watched me with analytical, unnervingly still eyes. The other man, who had been leaning against a pillar, had shifted his weight slightly, a subtle adjustment that put him in a better position to react. They were a perfectly coordinated unit, their professional calm more intimidating than any overt threat.

"My apologies for the formal introductions in the middle of your town square," Blade continued, his voice a silken wave of casual authority. "It's just that your settlement is… fascinating. A genuine anomaly." He made a sweeping gesture that encompassed the bustling, albeit subdued, life of Bastion. "To have not only survived, but to have thrived enough to trigger a Tier 1 Nexus Evolution so early… and this close to an established Imperial presence… that requires remarkable leadership." He inclined his head toward Lucas, a polite but hollow gesture of respect. "And, it would seem, some remarkable individuals."

His eyes, cold and sharp as polished glass, settled back on me, his expression softening into one of gentle, professional curiosity. "We hear tales, of course. The citizens here have nothing but praise for the man who keeps the people on their feet. It's just that most of the truly potent healers we encounter are guild-trained, their skills meticulously catalogued. An independent talent like yours... you must have had a remarkable teacher."

It was a masterfully constructed non-question. An open, friendly invitation to share, a conversational prompt that felt entirely innocent. But beneath the velvet glove of his words was the iron fist of inquiry. He wanted to know my origins, my loyalties, my value. He wanted to place me on his meticulously organized chart of assets and liabilities. The silence stretched, and in that small gap, I saw Lucas tense, ready to jump in and deflect. I subtly shook my head.

Instead of answering directly, I let my own mask fall, but not the one that concealed my power. I let slip the mask that hid the man who had lost everything. My gaze unfocused, drifting past Blade to the horizon, to a past he couldn't see. The haunted, weary feeling wasn't hard to summon; it was my constant companion. I thought of my sister, Anna, lost somewhere in the Kyorian machine. Of my grandfather, Arthur. Of the world that was gone forever. A genuine shadow of pain crossed my face.

"I was taught," I said finally, my voice low and quiet, imbued with a finality that discouraged follow-up. "Back some time ago."

I looked back at him, my expression blank but for a weariness that went bone-deep, the look of a man for whom that particular topic was a closed and painful door. It was not defiance; it was the quiet, impenetrable armor of old grief.

Any other man might have pressed, but Blade was a professional. Forcing a man to recount his trauma was clumsy, inefficient. He immediately shifted his approach, his face morphing into an expression of perfect, practiced sympathy. It was chilling to watch.

"My apologies," he said, his voice softening just enough to seem sincere. "It is a harsh world. We all carry our ghosts." He made the words sound like a shared burden, a moment of connection, but what he was really doing was masterful. He was acknowledging my pain, and in doing so, he was dismissing it as a common, mundane tragedy, gently reasserting his own position of calm, worldly experience. He then pivoted with flawless grace, his attention returning to Lucas as if the moment had never happened.

"But resilience is the single most valuable commodity in this sector, which is precisely why the Overseer takes such an interest in this place. He believes that individuals who have demonstrated such… initiative… deserve to be rewarded." His voice was laced with honey again, a sweet, cloying promise. "He's authorized a series of incentive programs. Special contracts, direct access to the Artificer's Cog for advanced equipment, even a few coveted Tier 3 skill books for those who distinguish themselves in service to the Empire's goals of prosperity and expansion. We're here to identify those… promising individuals."

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His gaze drifted from Lucas, to a grim-faced Silas who had just walked up, and then lingered for a pointed moment back on me. The implication was clear. It was a poison dart wrapped in a gift bow. They weren't here to conquer Bastion with force. They were here to buy it, piece by piece, starting with its leaders. They were here to turn us against each other with the promise of power.

"The Empire is very generous to its friends," Blade finished, his smile finally reaching his eyes, but it was a cold, hungry light.

"We thank the Overseer for his… interest," Lucas said, his voice a flat, diplomatic wall. "Bastion is, and will remain, a free settlement, but we welcome all visitors."

"Of course," Blade said smoothly. He clapped Lucas lightly on the shoulder, a gesture that was both friendly and proprietary. "We have some matters to discuss with our contacts in the Vanguard. We will trouble you again later." With a final, shared glance between them that was as efficient and silent as a military signal, Blade and his two companions turned and walked away, their movements casual, yet carrying an unmistakable air of ownership. They moved as if they already owned the ground they walked on.

The moment they were out of earshot, the air pressure seemed to return to normal. Lucas let out a breath he looked like he had been holding for an hour. "My office," he grated, turning on his heel.

I followed him into the small, cluttered room that served as his command center. Maps were pinned to the walls, stacks of parchment detailing crop yields and militia rosters covered the table, and a half-empty mug of cold, bitter-smelling ale sat by a flickering lantern. The scent of stress was thick in the air.

Lucas paced the length of the small room, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. The mask of the stoic leader was gone, replaced by the raw, gnawing anxiety of a man backed into a corner.

"They've been here for three days," he began, his voice low and intense. "They arrived shortly after you left. They don't threaten. They don't command. They just… watch. They walk the settlement, they talk to people, they ask questions. Friendly questions. 'How's the food supply?' 'That's an interesting design for a wall, where did you get the idea?' 'Who is your most skilled blacksmith?' It's worse than threats, Jack. It's an audit. A corporate takeover disguised as a friendly visit."

He stopped pacing and slammed his fist down on the table, making the lantern jump. "And they offer things. One of them, the woman, took Eliza — our best alchemist! — aside yesterday. Talked to her for an hour. Eliza came back with a new formula for a more potent healing salve and a look in her eye I've never seen before. A mix of fear and… ambition. They're not conquering us, Jack. They're… dissecting us. Finding every point of leverage, every quiet ambition, every hidden fear, and pulling on the strings."

"They're professionals, Lucas," I said softly. "This is what they do."

"They keep talking about the Overseer," Lucas continued, his voice dropping even lower. "How he wants to meet with the 'pillars of the community.' With me, with Silas, with Elder Borin. They mentioned you, too. Said a man with your healing gifts is exactly the kind of talent the Empire cultivates."

The pit in my stomach deepened. My own cover, my attempt to be a helpful but background figure, had inadvertently painted a target on my back.

"They're mostly behaving," Lucas admitted, sinking into his chair with a weary sigh. "But it's the 'mostly' that keeps me up at night. The way he looks at us... Blade... it's like we're a puzzle he's figuring out. And I'm afraid of what happens when he thinks he has all the pieces."

I put a hand on his shoulder. "We'll figure it out, Lucas. Together. We knew this was coming."

He looked up at me, a flicker of his old, defiant spirit returning to his eyes. "You're right. We will."

A sound from outside shattered the fragile moment of resolve. It wasn't a sound of battle, not the roar of a monster. It was the sharp, percussive sound of splintering wood — like a heavy door being kicked off its hinges — followed immediately by a deep, guttural bellow of pure, unadulterated pain.

Another crash, louder this time, the unmistakable sound of a market stall laden with goods being overturned, pottery shattering on the hard-packed earth. A woman shrieked, a short, sharp sound of surprise and terror.

Then, a single, piercing scream ripped through the sudden, horrified silence of the town. It was a man's voice, a raw, ragged sound of absolute, unendurable agony that went on and on before being abruptly cut short.

Lucas and I looked at each other, our eyes wide with the same dawning dread. The professional calm of our visitors had just ended. The Foreman's smile had faded, and the hammer was finally coming down. We burst out of the office, into the sudden, cold fear that had gripped our home.

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