Mara returns to the Hall of Welcome with her warded journal tucked beneath one arm. Cold-stiffened fingers flex as she crosses the familiar outer path, leaving the ravine and its marked ledge behind.
The household appears undisturbed. Lamps burn steadily, the restored lattice rests quiet, and Vetta waits within the entry hall, her pale-gray void-kin form trailing soft curls of smoke at the shoulders.
Vetta
You are home. Sit before you spend more strength on those fingers.
As Mara reaches the threshold, a thin line of ravine silt catches the lamplight across the stone. It has been arranged into three nested arcs crossed by one straight line.
Vetta
That was not here when I entered. The mark carries the method, not the force behind it.
The pattern bears no command, summons, or living presence. Yet its placement is unmistakable: someone has carried the altered guidance from beneath the ravine to Mara’s refuge.
Vetta
Do you want the Hall to witness it, or should we leave it exactly where it lies?
Secure the Hall against the copied mark