Elias is marched from Holding Three into the ship’s buried “cathedral” of dead numbers, where Magos Savine-9 asks him to mend the fleet’s sacred star tables—not with chants, but with truth. Among racks that hum like a thinking hive, Elias replaces rite with rate, drawing a clean line through fifty years of drift while Havel watches the clock and Father Severian sniffs for heresy at the door. A small correction shifts a hazard from orange to gray; the hull seems to breathe easier. But every fix invites a reckoning: if the stars move and the map must move with them, what else will have to change? When Cassia arrives for a slate she can trust in the dark, Elias adds one more column—wounds the ship won’t admit. The bells may still rule the corridors, but for one quiet hour the vessel walks without a limp.Reformed Theologian GPT: https://chat.openai.com/g/g-XXwzX1gnv-reformed-theologianhttps://buymeacoffee.com/edi2730

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