AETHERIUM BENCH
Cassian Lohr sits cross-legged on the ground, anomaly board propped against the Digital Aqualerian’s exterior, field journal open across his lap. His silver eyes track invisible patterns in the air—electromagnetic signatures, temporal distortions, the whisper of phenomena that refuse to conform to expected reality.
“There,” he murmurs, sketching rapid notes. “The frequency shifted. Just for a moment, but it shifted.”
His detection instruments rest in their cases nearby, deployed only when the trail grows hot. Right now he’s using older tools—observation, intuition, the way certain locations feel wrong in ways his conscious mind can’t quite articulate but his data-attuned senses recognize immediately.
The bench that will become his investigation station doesn’t exist yet. But the investigation does. The questions do. The patient, methodical hunt for truth beneath the surface of accepted reality.
“People dismiss what they don’t understand. They call it coincidence, misidentification, mass hysteria. But the data doesn’t lie. Something’s out there. Multiple somethings. And every unexplained phenomenon is a thread in a larger pattern we’re only beginning to perceive.”
Titan walks past, pausing to glance at Cassian’s notes. “You’re doing that thing again. The muttering thing.”
“There’s a pattern,” Cassian insists, gesturing at his journal. “Look at the timestamps. Look at the geographic correlation. This isn’t random.”
Titan just shakes his head fondly and continues his workout. But Cassian knows he’s listening. They all are, even when they pretend his theories are too wild. Because sometimes—often enough to matter—Cassian’s wild theories turn out to be documented fact.
He returns to his notes, silver eyes bright with focus. The bench will come. The truth is already here.