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Chapter Twenty-One

A ries

The Sanctoran Temple’s vast dome stretches above us, its crystalline surface reflecting a wash of color across the walls.

Dozens of iridescent spheres hover at waist height—simple tools of light and energy, nothing like our sentient Spark, who watches anxiously from the sidelines near the Committee members.

“The Sanctoran Sphere Trial will begin,” the Committee member announces to the assembled crowd. “Each participant must guide twelve light spheres through prescribed patterns using focused mental energy. Think of it as telekinesis, but only with these specific spheres.”

They gesture, and twenty-four perfect orbs of light rise from recessed floor panels, hovering at waist height. Twelve align before me and twelve before Callie.

“The spheres respond to mental commands from their assigned guide,” they continue.

“Participants must move their spheres in perfect mirror patterns of their partner while maintaining the prescribed physical distance. The patterns will appear as light traces in the air—you must guide your spheres to follow these pathways exactly. Any collision between spheres results in immediate failure. ”

To demonstrate, they create a simple geometric pattern in glowing lines between us. “These are your paths. Guide your spheres through them in synchronization. Begin with one sphere each, advancing to all twelve for the final sequence.”

I glance at Callie. This is different from anything we’ve practiced. The spheres are just tools, machines that respond to mental focus—but coordinating twelve each while matching movements exactly? While maintaining our physical distance?

A protester’s voice bursts through the anxious silence: “Stop wasting sacred traditions on killers!”

The spheres begin to pulse in sequence, creating the first basic pattern we must mirror. Like a simplified star chart, the lights trace paths we must follow in perfect unison.

“Ready?” I ask softly.

Callie’s answering smile holds surprising warmth despite the circumstances. “Together.”

We begin the dance of light and shadow. Though this is telekinetic in nature, I find my hands moving in precise gestures that guide my spheres. When I glance out of the corner of my eye, I see Callie is doing the same thing. We look as though we’re engaged in a graceful dance.

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.