They didn't call it a sect. Not at first.
Kyren leaned over the bent schematics Rios had printed from an old undernet archive. On the cracked holo-slab were dozens of designs — compound layouts, sigil banners, modified resonance towers, and even old tax scripts from a time when sects were taxed like businesses. Half of it made no sense.
"Are we really doing this?" Kyren asked.
Chiyo leaned over his shoulder. "If we don't, someone else will do it for you."
Jamo plopped down on a box, chewing on dried protein paste. "We need a base. We've got clout. Merch's selling. Stream donors keep tagging us with fan names like 'Kyrenites' and 'Glitch Bloods.' We might as well make it official."
Kyren narrowed his eyes. "We're not calling it Glitch Blood anything."
Jamo shrugged. "You say that now. Wait till the tattoo ideas roll in."
Kairashi floated by, upside down as usual. "It should have a gate. Something big. Dramatic. With a lock that only opens if you laugh sincerely."
Chiyo blinked. "What?"
Kyren muttered, "That's actually not bad."
---
They settled into an abandoned church on the edge of Sector Thirteen — old stone, reinforced steel gates, and a long, cracked courtyard with enough space for training, supply storage, and escaping if it all went bad.
The first rule Kyren made was simple: No pledging without pressure. No oaths without options.
"If you want to join," he said to the dozen runaways and rogue operators who filtered in over the next few days, "you train, you bleed, and you make your own name. I don't need worshippers. I need people who know how to say no."
Some left.
Most stayed.
They didn't call it a sect. But word got out anyway.
---
Rios built the outside perimeter. Jammo rigged a broadcast hub in the basement and began streaming "house updates" to their growing feed audience. Donations climbed. Combat clips were remixed with synth-beats. Fans debated uniforms. Someone even published a digital zine: The Miswritten Monthly.
Kyren hated it.
But it worked.
Their name changed again on the boards:
> KYREN OMARI — FOUNDER, HOUSE UNWRITTEN
Known Affiliates: Tanaka, Jamo, Kairashi
Territory: Sector Thirteen
Status: Pre-Alignment Entity (Unregistered)
Behavior: Deviant but Structuring
That last line made Chiyo smile. "Deviant but structuring. That's you in a sentence."
---
The first suitors arrived before sunrise.
Three different factions, same morning. Each brought gifts, veiled threats, and terms written in languages older than Oraka itself.
The first envoy was from the Crimson Kin, a blood-legacy sect that had once tried to marry into the Spear Guild. They brought rare ore, spiced wine, and a scroll that offered "a bond by blade and name."
Kyren burned the scroll before they left.
The second envoy came from The Ledger Circle — a bureaucratic cult that tracked resonance users like tax write-offs. They offered contracts, spreadsheets, and a guaranteed mythologization campaign.
Chiyo threw them off the compound wall personally.
The third envoy didn't speak. Just handed Kyren a sealed envelope.
Inside: a photo of him as a child. One that shouldn't exist. And a glyph branded beneath it, glowing faintly.
"Who gave you this?" Kyren asked.
The envoy smiled, eyes stitched shut. "The one who knew your name before you were born."
They didn't stay for tea.
---
That night, Chiyo trained with Kyren in the courtyard. The spear had begun to shift again, its shaft now marked with micro-glyphs that rearranged with each swing. Kyren's movement had changed too — sharper, but less predictable. The rhythm had started to bend toward him instead of the other way around.
"You're stronger," Chiyo said between strikes.
"So are you."
She lunged. He parried. Their weapons snapped and clanged like old arguments.
"Still not as fast as me," she added.
Kyren grinned. "Give me two more relics."
They moved faster.
Then stopped when the alarm bell rang.
---
Jammo ran into the courtyard wearing a gold vest he clearly found five minutes ago.
"I made a deal!" he shouted.
Kyren raised a brow. "With who?"
"A syndicate! Minor one! Totally harmless!"
"Jammo."
"They're funding our infrastructure. In exchange, they get a limited license to sell merchandise under our emblem."
Chiyo sighed. "You sold the symbol?"
"Leased!" Jammo said. "Short-term. Limited editions. And they're paying in credits, tech, and food."
Kyren looked at the crate beside him. It was already branded.
UNWRITTEN: BECOME THE ERROR
He rubbed his eyes. "If we survive this, you're grounded."
---
Kairashi, meanwhile, had taken over the bell tower.
They had started carving strange runes into the stone and said they were "setting a rhythm trap in case the Guild sent spies with dry humor."
No one knew what that meant.
But the weather changed slightly around the tower.
And the pigeons stopped coming.
---
At the end of the week, Rios sat Kyren down in the chapel.
"You've made something real," he said. "Which means it's time for someone to try and break it."
Kyren leaned forward. "They're organizing?"
Rios nodded. "Guild. Cults. A few legacy sects from other provinces. They're planning a summit. Not to talk you down — to plan your containment."
Kyren stood, stared at the broken stained glass above the altar.
"Let them meet," he said. "Let them plan."
"They'll come for your people first."
"Then we train harder."
Chiyo stepped in. "And smarter."
Jamo popped his head in. "And more fashionably!"
Kairashi floated in upside down. "And with flaming laughter."
Kyren nodded slowly. "And this time, we write our script."