The first direct confrontation occurred during a community resource allocation meeting.
Mira stood before the assembled residents—approximately one hundred fifty people who'd turned out for the gathering—and presented an alternative vision for Haven's future. Her proposal was carefully constructed: it acknowledged the need for defensive capability while questioning the current allocation of resources toward barrier technology development and maintenance.
"We're grateful for the siege's survivors," she began, her voice calm and reasonable. "We're grateful that the barriers helped us endure. But gratitude shouldn't mean blind commitment to continued resource investment in systems that consume significant effort to maintain and understand."
She gestured toward a simple chart she'd drawn, showing Haven's resource allocation. "We're dedicating twenty percent of our technical expertise to barrier maintenance and development. Twenty percent. That's roughly equivalent to what we spend on food production and storage combined. Is that proportional? Is that sustainable?"
Anya stood to respond, but Mira continued before she could speak.
"I'm not saying we should abandon the barriers. I'm asking whether we should consider simpler defensive approaches. Whether we should allocate some of that twenty percent toward other survival priorities. Whether continued dependence on a technology that requires a dangerous asset's constant oversight is truly wise."
The phrase landed. Dangerous asset. It was a term the council used in private, but hearing it spoken aloud in a community gathering gave it weight. Gave it legitimacy through public utterance.
"What simpler approaches are you suggesting?" Father Thorne asked, his voice carefully neutral.
"Fortification methods that don't require exotic technology," Mira replied. "Traditional traps. Layered defensive positions. Creature deterrents that rely on established knowledge rather than experimental systems."
"We used those methods before," Harren said flatly. "They didn't work against the siege. Creatures adapted. Soldiers overcame them. Only the barrier technology kept Haven alive."
"This time," Mira said. "Only this time. What guarantees do we have that the barriers will work against future threats? What if we face an assault from a faction that specifically prepares defenses against Resonance-Inversion frequency? What if we face someone with Marcus's power and fewer scruples about using it?"
It was a good question. A question that council members had privately discussed but hadn't voiced in community settings. A question that created doubt about the fundamental strategy.
"We monitor the situation," Anya said carefully. "We adapt as needed. But abandoning a system that worked in favor of simpler approaches that failed doesn't seem logical."
"Unless the price of maintaining that system exceeds its benefit," Mira countered. "Resource allocation is always about trade-offs. We're trading stability for innovation. I'm asking whether that trade is actually serving the community."
The council met privately that evening.
"She's effective," Harren admitted grimly. "She's raising legitimate questions about resource allocation. She's framing it as fiscal responsibility rather than anti-Marcus sentiment."
"But the anti-Marcus sentiment is her actual goal," Lysera said. "She's using resource concerns as a vehicle to build support for his exile."
"Can we stop her?" Anya asked.
"Not without becoming obviously repressive," Father Thorne said. "Which would only strengthen her position. She'd become the voice being suppressed by leadership. That would increase her faction's growth."
"Then what do we do?" Cairn asked, his multi-layered voice making the question seem to come from multiple mouths simultaneously.
"We let her make her case," Lysera said finally. "We allow the community to debate. And we hope that reasoned argument prevails over emotional appeal."
"And if it doesn't?" Harren asked.
"Then we address it then. But fighting her now, before she's actually forced a decision, just gives her credibility as someone being silenced."
Mira's faction grew rapidly over the following weeks.
She held smaller meetings, ostensibly discussing resource allocation but actually building consensus around Marcus's potential exile. She spoke with individual residents, listening to their concerns, acknowledging the legitimacy of their discomfort around his presence.
She was, Marcus realized when hearing accounts of her activities through the community grapevine, genuinely good at what she did. She wasn't manipulative in a crude way. She was genuinely interested in people's perspectives. She genuinely believed her arguments about resource allocation. And her position, while not entirely right, wasn't entirely wrong either.
What made her dangerous was that she'd identified a real vulnerability—community unease around Marcus's presence—and was using it as leverage to push her political agenda.
"She's not unreasonable," Lysera told Marcus after one of Mira's community gatherings. "That's what makes her difficult. If she were obviously wrong, people would dismiss her. But she's partially right about resource allocation. And she's absolutely right that your presence creates complications for the community."
"Should I leave earlier?" Marcus asked again.
"Not yet," Lysera said. "Leaving early would look like you're fleeing her pressure. It would strengthen her position and make it seem like her faction forced the issue. Better to maintain the timeline and make clear that you're leaving because it's the right choice, not because you were driven out."
The political pressure manifested in unexpected ways.
Some residents began avoiding the workshop entirely. Even when Anya was working alone, people stopped coming to request repairs or assistance. The association with Marcus had become tainted through proximity.
The two technicians training on barrier maintenance began experiencing subtle social pressure—questions about whether they wanted to continue, suggestions that they might find more community support if they distanced themselves from Marcus's work.
One of them—a young woman named Sara who'd shown genuine aptitude and commitment—approached Marcus privately.
"I want to continue the training," she said. "But I'm experiencing pressure from Mira's faction. They're suggesting I'm complicit in your corruption of Haven. They're suggesting that associating with you is damaging my social standing."
"You should listen to them," Marcus said quietly. "You should distance yourself. Mira's faction is growing. It would be smarter to maintain your social position than to continue working with me."
"That's not what I asked," Sara said firmly. "I'm asking whether I should continue because the work matters, not because of social status. So: does it matter? Does this training matter?"
Marcus looked at the young technician—barely twenty years old, showing more integrity than most of Haven's residents combined—and felt the weight of responsibility that came with being trusted.
"Yes," he said. "It matters. The barriers are crucial for Haven's long-term survival. Understanding them is crucial. And I need to know that people who understand the systems will remain after I'm gone."
"Then I'll continue," Sara said. "And I'll accept whatever social consequences come with that choice."
The tension crystallized during a council meeting when Mira formally requested the opportunity to present her alternative proposal.
She stood before the leadership—Anya, Lysera, Harren, Father Thorne, Cairn—and presented a detailed alternative framework for resource allocation. It was thorough work. Clearly researched. Reasonable on its face.
"I'm not suggesting we abandon the barriers entirely," she said. "I'm suggesting we allocate fewer resources toward further development and focus on maintaining what we already have. I'm suggesting we explore simpler defensive approaches in parallel. I'm suggesting we begin planning for Marcus's eventual departure by building communities of knowledge around the existing barrier systems."
"You're suggesting we reduce resource allocation to barrier development from twenty percent to five percent," Anya said, working through the numbers. "That would mean slowing our defensive innovation significantly."
"Yes," Mira agreed. "But it would also mean increased resources for agriculture, for food storage, for basic survival infrastructure. Seventeen percent is a significant allocation that could address genuine community needs."
"And when we face the next major threat?" Lysera asked. "When we need advanced defensive capability that we haven't developed because we reduced innovation investment?"
"We'll have simpler defensive methods that we can implement quickly," Mira said. "We'll have a community that's better-fed and more stable. We'll have positioned ourselves for long-term sustainability rather than crisis response."
It was a compelling argument. It was also fundamentally misunderstanding how the Confluence operated. It was assuming that threats would remain manageable. That simpler defenses would continue to work. That the world wouldn't continue accelerating toward larger conflicts and more sophisticated threats.
But Mira's argument didn't require being correct about cosmic forces. It just required being reasonable enough to convince a community tired of scarcity and stress.
"We'll discuss this," Father Thorne said finally. "This deserves serious council consideration. But we won't be making changes quickly or based on a single proposal. We'll need time to assess implications and community input."
That night, Marcus spoke with Lysera.
"She's going to win," he said simply. "Not immediately, but eventually. Her faction will grow. The community will tire of scarcity. Resources will be reallocated. And then when the next threat comes and the simplified defenses fail, I'll already be gone and it will be too late to implement better systems."
"Probably," Lysera agreed. "But that's not something we can control. All we can control is the choice to do what's right while we're able to do it."
"And what's right? Continuing to develop advanced defenses that Mira's faction will eventually dismantle? Training technicians to maintain systems that will eventually be abandoned?"
"Yes," Lysera said. "Because the moment you stop trying is the moment they win completely. The moment you accept their framing as inevitable is the moment you stop being Marcus Hayes and become fully what Lilith intended—a passive instrument of cosmic force."
Marcus felt the weight of her words. Understood that she was right. Understood that the choice to continue despite inevitable failure was more meaningful than the choice to surrender to probability.
"Three months," he said. "I'll maintain the timeline. I'll finish the work. I'll train the technicians completely. And then I'll leave."
"And Mira's faction?"
"Will do what they do," Marcus said. "Will make their choices. Will face the consequences when those choices prove inadequate. That's not my responsibility anymore."