Lumis Sphereward pressed their light against the crack, searching for the flaw that should not exist. The repair was routine—a fracture no different from a thousand others—but the orb's core had split deeper than expected. Inside, where only smooth crystal should exist, a mark caught their glow. They rotated the orb on their workbench, angling it beneath the studio window where better light spilled across the shelves of waiting repairs. The mark wasn't a flaw. It was deliberate—a symbol etched into the innermost layer, invisible until the damage exposed it. Lumis had repaired thousands of orbs in this small workspace, their tools arranged with the precision of endless repetition. They had never seen this before. The orb went into the display case by the door, separated from the others. Lumis didn't know what the symbol meant, only that someone had put it there. Someone who knew how orbs were made from the inside out. Outside, the weathered banner that marked their studio flapped in the wind, its faded symbols counting seasons Lumis had stopped tracking long ago. The search had a direction now. Not a name, not a location—just proof that intention existed where Lumis had found only silence. They pressed their light against the case's glass, studying the mark one more time before returning to the other damaged orbs. The routine repairs could wait. This one changed everything.

Lumis returned to the studio after searching three neighboring workshops for more marked orbs. They found nothing. The other caretakers worked in cluttered spaces, their tools scattered across benches, their repair logs nonexistent. None of them kept records. But Lumis did. They moved through their own studio with fresh attention, scanning shelves and surfaces they'd stopped seeing years ago. The tall storage cabinet against the far wall had always been there, its welded seams crude but functional. Lumis had assumed it came with the space. Now they opened the doors and saw symbols carved into the wood backing—variations of the mark from inside the orb. Some were crossed out. Others circled. Someone had been testing. The anvil sat in the corner where Lumis shaped repair wire. They rolled closer, light angling across its stone face. The same symbol, hammered deep into the metal surface. Dust filled the grooves—old work, done long before Lumis arrived. The scattered metal shards around its base weren't theirs either. Someone had worked here. Someone had left marks everywhere, and Lumis had been too focused on fixing what was broken to notice what had always been whole. Lumis positioned the obsidian mirror on their workbench and began documenting. They reflected the anvil's mark first, then each symbol inside the cabinet, capturing the light patterns that made the etchings visible. The studio wasn't theirs. It never had been. The creator hadn't just made the orbs and vanished—they'd worked in this exact space, testing and marking and building. Lumis had been living inside the answer, repairing orbs at the same bench where they were likely first conceived. The search hadn't led them somewhere new. It had circled back to the only place they'd ever called home.

Lumis tilted the obsidian mirror over their documented symbols and laid them out across the bench. The marks weren't random. Lined up by angle and direction, they formed a crude map. One symbol pointed past the studio wall, toward something Lumis had never bothered to look for. They followed it out. The path led through scrub and broken stone until they reached a tall fountain of shimmering ribbons, magnetized strands hanging like frozen rain. A symbol was etched at its base, pointing further on. Lumis rolled past it, heart tight. Another waypoint. Then another carved into a flat stone half-buried in moss. The trail ended at a low domed structure Lumis had never seen. Its front was a cabinet-like door, welded crude, covered in the same symbols carved inside their own studio's cabinet. Lumis pressed against it. The seam split open. Inside waited a second workshop. A glowing obsidian orb hung above a stone podium, casting starlight across unfinished tools and dust-thick benches. The creator had worked here too, and then walked away. Lumis stood in the doorway, shaking, and understood they had found the room but not the person. The search was no longer circling. It had split in two.