Page 37 of Aries

The ancient Sanctorans believed these patterns represented the flow of cosmic energy—now they’ll test our ability to move as one mind.

The first sequence flows smoothly—simple geometric shapes. But the second level brings spiraling helixes that must cross paths without touching. One sphere brushing another means instant disqualification.

“Careful,” Callie murmurs as our lights weave past each other with barely a hair’s breadth between them. “They’re speeding up.”

She’s right. Each new pattern flows faster than the last, requiring split-second timing and absolute trust in each other’s movements. The angry crowd fades to background noise as we focus entirely on our synchronized movements.

A sudden commotion erupts in the stands. Through my peripheral vision, I catch someone raising what looks like a disruption field generator—designed to interfere with energy-based technology.

“Incoming,” I warn quietly. “Left side, upper level.”

Callie doesn’t look away from our spheres, but I see her slight nod. When the generator activates, sending waves of interference rippling through the temple, we’re ready.

Our lights flicker and jump, fighting the disruptive energy. But we’ve learned to read each other so well these past weeks that we adjust instantly, compensating for the interference without breaking pattern.

Security moves to neutralize the threat, but more disruption fields activate from different points in the crowd. They’re coordinated this time, working together to sabotage the trial.

The next pattern requires a complex weaving motion where our spheres must pass through a three-dimensional knot without touching. Under normal circumstances, it would be challenging. With multiple disruption fields fighting us, it should be impossible.

But something has changed between us since the Unity Dance. Each trial, each shared morning ritual, each evening song (despite Callie’s admittedly terrible singing) has built a connection deeper than physical. I can sense her movements now, anticipate her adjustments before she makes them.

Our spheres dance through the interference, maintaining perfect synchronization despite the chaos. The pattern grows more elaborate—a spiraling mandala of light that requires absolute precision.

“Focus on the task,” Callie urges gently as more disruption fields join the assault. “Nothing else exists.”

The crowd’s angry shouts rise in volume as they realize their interference isn’t working. Someone throws something that shatters against the temple’s barrier, but we can’t spare attention to look. One moment’s distraction means failure.

The final pattern looms—the swiftest and most complex sequence yet. Our spheres must trace the ancient symbol for infinity while weaving through twelve crossing points, all without touching.

The disruption fields reach maximum power just as we begin. Our lights flicker wildly, fighting the interference that threatens to send them crashing together. But we move in perfect harmony, guiding them through the pattern as if we share one mind.

When the completion chime sounds, I almost can’t believe we managed it.

But as we stand there, exhausted and triumphant, a piece of debris from the collapsing structure breaks loose above us.

Instinctively, I reach for Callie, pulling her against me and covering her head with my arms as the chunk of stone crashes where she’d been standing. For a moment, we’re pressed together, her body sheltered completely by mine, both trembling from the close call.

The Committee member materializes instantly. “Physical contact detected. However, given the immediate life-threatening danger and the protective nature of the contact, no mark will be assessed. But you came perilously close to your second violation."

We separate quickly, both shaken by how close we came to losing everything.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Callie

Back in our cottage, the silence feels heavier than usual. We move through our evening routine—preparing simple food, tending to Spark, arranging ourselves for meditation—but the weight of how close we came to a second mark hangs between us.

“The disruption fields,” I finally say as we settle into our meditation positions. “That wasn’t a random protest.”

Aries nods grimly. “Coordinated. Timed perfectly to when we’d be most vulnerable.” His hands rest on his thighs, but I can see the tension in his shoulders. “Someone’s been tracking our progress, planning this.”

The implications settle around us like a cold draft. The opposition has moved beyond angry crowds to organized sabotage—sabotage that nearly cost us everything today.

“They’ll try again,” I state, not really a question.

“Probably worse next time.” His golden eyes meet mine across our small space. “The closer we get to completion, the more desperate they become.”

I think of Mira Thessian’s grief-hardened face, of the protesters who see our success as a denial of justice for their losses. Understanding their pain doesn’t make the danger less real.

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