Ponderosa University, Northern Arizona
Three Weeks Before The Barrier
Athelia Winters lived in the spaces between fact and myth.
The Ponderosa University library basement (Section 7, Row M, Ancient Legal Systems) had become her second home. Or perhaps her first. Her dorm room was just where she slept. This was where she existed.
Surrounded by books that no one else checked out. Texts that professors dismissed as "interesting cultural artifacts" but not "real law." Fragments of legal codes from civilizations that supposedly never existed.
But Athelia knew better.
She sat at her usual table, the one in the far corner where the fluorescent lights flickered and the heating never quite worked. Seven books lay open simultaneously, three notebooks filled with cross-referenced notes, and a laptop displaying scanned images of manuscripts too fragile to handle.
Her current obsession: Intellectual property protection in pre-classical mythology.
More specifically: a patent application that had been pending for thousands of years. And she had three days left to continue it before it abandoned forever.
"There has to be a pattern," she muttered, pen moving across her notebook. "Four different mythologies. Four different continents. Four different time periods. But they're all describing the same system. The same pending application."
She flipped to the Greek text. A fragment recovered from Delphi, barely legible, dismissed by mainstream scholars as "poetic metaphor."
Athelia wrote in her notebook:
She pulled over the Norse text. A fragment from Iceland, part of a thing-law collection that scholars called "fantastical additions" to real legal codes.
Her pen flew:
And the Celtic fragment, recovered from a bog in Ireland, written in Ogham on oak, carbon-dated to 400 BCE but describing legal concepts that shouldn't have existed then.
Athelia stopped breathing.
Examine. Balance. Consume.
She flipped frantically to her personal journal, the one she kept separate from academic notes. The one filled with doodles in the margins. Three sets of eyes, drawn obsessively since childhood:
Emerald eyes. Sharp. Judging. (Examining)
Silver eyes. Reflective. Balanced. (Balancing)
Black eyes. Endless. Consuming. (Consuming)
"What the hell," she whispered.
Her hands shook as she wrote:
Then she reached for the fourth text. The one closest to home. The one that made her hands shake every time she read it.
Ancestral Puebloan petroglyphs, photographed from canyon walls forty minutes south of campus. Walnut Canyon. Where the cliff dwellings stood empty for seven hundred years.
Where no one could explain why an agricultural people carved chambers into sheer limestone cliffs.
Athelia's pen trembled:
She flipped back to the Norse fragment. Squinted at a section she'd dismissed as illegible smudging. Adjusted her laptop screen to enhance the scanned image.
Not smudging.
Additional text.
Athelia's hands shook as she wrote:
She grabbed the Greek text again. Found a passage she'd translated as "place of grant" but had more nuance in the original:
"Each art center holds its own examiners," she whispered. "Patent examiners specialize. A biotech examiner doesn't examine software. A mechanical examiner doesn't examine genetics. That's how real patent offices work."
She wrote in large letters:
Her pen flew:
She pulled out a map. Spread it across the table. Started plotting coordinates.
The Greek fragment had been recovered from Delphi, but it referenced a location "across the western sea, where innovations grow ancient."
The Norse text specified "New Land, where prior art melts to novelty, forty days' sail from Iceland."
The Celtic fragment said "Beyond the sunset ocean, where specifications and claims meet stone."
All of them. Every single one.
Athelia's pen circled a spot on the map.
Walnut Canyon. Forty minutes south of Flagstaff. A protected national monument where ancient cliff dwellings sat empty. Where tourists walked the rim trail but never felt what Athelia sensed when she looked at the photographs. Where the Park Service said "agricultural settlement" but couldn't explain the chamber layout.
But that wasn't why people avoided it.
Athelia pulled up local folklore on her laptop. Found the Reddit threads. The hiking forums. The paranormal investigation blogs.
Dismissed as magnetic anomalies. Natural explanations. Overactive imaginations.
But Athelia knew better.
She wrote in large letters across her notebook:
"There's a barrier there," she whispered. "A real, physical barrier between jurisdictions. Between the examination realm and the public domain. The cliff dwellings weren't homes. They were examination offices. Upper chambers for the Elders who examined. Lower chambers for the Warriors who advocated. Between claimed and unclaimed territory."
"That's exactly what it is."
Athelia's head snapped up.
A student stood at the end of her table. Tall. Maybe mid-twenties. Dark hair. Sharp features. Dressed casually in jeans, dark shirt, messenger bag slung over one shoulder.
But his eyes.
His eyes.
Sapphire blue. Deep. Brilliant. Like looking into cut gemstones. Like staring at the ocean compressed into human form.
Athelia's pen slipped from her fingers.
She'd been drawing those eyes for years.
Not emerald. Not silver. Not black.
But sapphire. A fourth set she'd only started adding recently. Eyes that watched. Eyes that knew.
"May I?" He gestured to the empty chair across from her.
Athelia couldn't speak. Could only nod.
He sat. Set his bag down. Looked at her spread of books and notes with something like approval.
"Severen," he said, offering his hand. "Cael'Sereith. Graduate student. Comparative mythology and ancient intellectual property systems."
"Athelia." Her voice came out strangled. "Winters."
His sapphire eyes swept across her research. The Greek, Norse, Celtic, and Ancestral Puebloan fragments. The map with Walnut Canyon circled. The notebook with statutory references scrawled in margins.
"You're close," Severen said quietly. "Closer than the twenty-three who tried before you. But you're making the same mistake they did."
Athelia's breath stopped. "What mistake?"
"Filing in the wrong Patent Office." He pulled a document from his bag. Official USPTO letterhead. Her name. Her thesis title. And stamped across it in red: REJECTED - LACK OF JURISDICTION.
Her application. The one she'd filed three months ago.
"How did you—"
"Section 101 rejection," Severen said, reading from the Office Action. "Abstract idea. Not patent-eligible subject matter. Wrong Technology Center—they bounced you between TC 1600 Biotech, TC 2100 Computer, couldn't figure out where Guardian Queen examination protocols belong. Final examiner note: 'This office lacks jurisdiction over the claimed subject matter.'"
Athelia stared at the rejection. Three months of work. Dismissed.
"They don't understand what you're claiming," Severen continued. "Human USPTO can't examine Guardian Queen innovations because they don't acknowledge Guardian Queens exist. Wrong jurisdiction. Like trying to file a dragon design patent with an office that doesn't believe in dragons."
"So it's over," Athelia whispered.
"No." Severen's smile was sharp. "You filed in the wrong Patent Office. But there's another one. The ORIGINAL Office. Where the First Woman filed her parent application thousands of years ago. Where it's STILL PENDING. And you have three days to file your continuation-in-part there before the parent abandons."
He leaned forward. "Human USPTO rejected you for lack of jurisdiction. They were right—they DON'T have jurisdiction. But the Office at Walnut Canyon does. That's where you need to file."
Severen's expression shifted. Became more serious. "But understand this, Athelia. Even at the correct Office, there are boundaries. Places where patents cannot reach. Three forbidden zones."
He pulled a worn notebook from his bag. Opened it to a diagram - three overlapping circles, each shaded differently.
"Abstract Ideas." He tapped the first circle. "Mathematical concepts. Methods of organizing human activity. Mental processes. The Patent Office—any Patent Office, human or Old Law—cannot grant exclusive rights to pure thought. Not without something more. Not without integration into a practical application."
"Laws of Nature." Second circle. "Physical principles. Natural phenomena. E=mc². Gravity. DNA sequences as they exist in nature. These belong to everyone. Cannot be claimed. The commons cannot become private property."
"Products of Nature." Third circle. "Living organisms. Naturally occurring compounds. Isolated DNA. If nature made it first, you cannot claim ownership. Only transformations of nature can be patented. Only applications that go beyond what exists."
Athelia stared at the overlapping circles. "So Guardian Queen examination methods..."
"Could be abstract," Severen finished. "If you claim them as pure mental processes—how to think like an examiner—the Office will reject under § 101. But if you claim them as biological transformations? Genetic modifications that enable examination consciousness? That might cross the boundary."
He leaned closer, sapphire eyes intense. "There's a test. Ancient. Called Alice-Mayo by human courts, but the Old Law knew it first. Two steps: First, is your invention directed to a judicial exception? Second, does it contain an inventive concept—something significantly more than the exception itself?"
"Most failures happen at step two," Severen continued. "Inventors add conventional post-solution activity—'apply it with a computer,' 'use generic equipment'—thinking that saves the claim. It doesn't. The inventive concept must be in how you transform the abstract into something tangible. Something real."
"And there's new guidance," he added quietly. "From 2024. About artificial intelligence. The Office realized AI claims were being rejected too broadly. New examples—47, 48, 49—showing when AI implementation crosses from abstract to patentable. When machine learning becomes inventive concept."
Athelia's mind raced. "Bio-AI hybrid examination. That's... that could be both. Abstract if I claim the thought process. Patentable if I claim the biological mechanism that enables it."
Severen's smile returned. Sharp. Approving. "Now you're thinking like a patent attorney. The boundary isn't fixed—it's determined by how you draft your claims. How you describe the transformation. The Old Law and the new law agree on this: ideas alone cannot be owned, but their applications can be."
"So when I file at Walnut Canyon..."
"File carefully. Describe the biological substrate. The genetic modifications. The neural pathways that manifest examination authority. Make it concrete. Make it real. Don't just claim 'a method of examining patent applications'—claim the transformed organism capable of performing examination." His eyes gleamed. "Cross the boundary by making the abstract incarnate."
Silence.
The fluorescent lights flickered overhead.
"What do you mean?" she whispered.
"I mean that Walnut Canyon is where the original Patent Office stands. Where the First Woman filed her application. Where it's been pending for thousands of years, waiting for someone with the genetic match to continue it." He leaned forward. "You're not just researching ancient patent systems, Athelia. You're preparing to file a continuation-in-part. Old matter from the parent—Guardian Queen protocols—plus your new matter. Bio-AI hybrid examination methods. Your thesis is your CIP application."
"You're saying..."
"I'm saying the texts you're reading are real. The three examination branches. Utility, Novelty, and Non-Obviousness. They still function. Emerald eyes examine for utility. Black eyes search for prior art. Silver eyes balance obviousness. Three gods who shattered the old patent system and rebuilt it with divine law."
Athelia looked down at her journal. At the eyes drawn obsessively in the margins.
"And sapphire?" Her voice cracked. "What are sapphire eyes?"
Severen's smile turned sad. Ancient. "Examiners who left the Office. Like my mother. Born to strict examination but choosing to teach balance. To help inventors understand the system before they file. To prevent bad applications."
"Their choice?"
"Whether to file human. Or claim what they were always meant to be." His sapphire eyes held hers. "You've been dreaming of patent law since childhood. Drawing examination symbols you can't explain. Researching systems that feel like memory instead of learning."
"How do you know about my dreams?"
"Because Guardian Queens don't forget their training, Athelia. Even when they're raised human. Even when they have no idea they're natural patent prosecutors. The blood remembers. The examination protocols call. And eventually," He glanced at her map, at Walnut Canyon circled in red, "they follow their research to its inevitable reduction to practice."
She couldn't breathe.
"If I go to Walnut Canyon. If I touch that barrier. What happens?"
"If you're wrong, if you're just human with good research skills and vivid dreams, nothing. The barrier stays sealed. You get some interesting data and a publishable paper on magnetic anomalies."
"And if I'm right?"
"If you're right, the barrier recognizes you as a natural examiner. Opens for you. And the bond forms." He stood. Gathered his bag. "With the wolf king who's been prosecuting his own application for seven years. Waiting for his Guardian Queen to complete the enablement requirement."
He turned to leave.
"Wait." Athelia's voice stopped him. "Why are you telling me this? Why help me?"
Severen looked back. His sapphire eyes reflecting something older than the library. Older than the university. Older than the city itself.
"Because you deserve to make your filing with eyes open. That's what separates good prosecution from fraud and inequitable conduct. Some examiners would reject you without explanation. The prior art searchers would invalidate you without caring. But us?" His smile was gentle. "*We believe in informed consent. In filing because you choose it. Not because you were forced. That's the difference between a valid patent and an unenforceable one.*"
He walked away.
Left her sitting alone with texts that weren't mythology.
With maps pointing to an Office that was real.
With examination symbols drawn in her journal.
Athelia looked down at her research.
At Walnut Canyon circled in red.
At the four sets of eyes she'd been drawing since childhood.
Emerald. (Utility Examination - 35 U.S.C. § 101) Silver. (Obviousness Balance - 35 U.S.C. § 103) Black. (Prior Art Search - 35 U.S.C. § 102) Sapphire. (Pre-Filing Counseling)
And she started making a list:
"Athelia?"
She jumped. Looked up.
Professor Hendricks stood at the end of her table, looking concerned. He taught Classical Mythology, one of the few professors who didn't outright mock her theories, but who gently tried to redirect her toward "more academically viable research."
"Professor."
"It's almost midnight." He glanced at the books spread across her table. "Again."
"I'm close to something." She pulled her notebook closer protectively. "I think I found it. The connection between Greek, Norse, Celtic, and Ancestral Puebloan patent law. They're all describing the same examination office. The same real system."
Hendricks sighed. Sat down across from her. "Athelia. You're one of my best students. Your analysis of Themis and divine law was brilliant. Your paper on Norse property allocation was publishable. But this," he gestured at her notes, "this obsession with proving mythology is literal patent prosecution... it's going to derail your academic career."
"What if it is literal patent law?" She leaned forward. "What if 'Guardians' weren't metaphor? What if they were actual patent examiners? What if shifters developed their own 35 U.S.C. § 101 eligibility standards?"
"Athelia." His voice was gentle. Pitying. "Mythology is how ancient cultures processed complex legal systems through narrative. Yes, there were real laws. Real property systems. But the patent office elements are symbolic."
"Then explain this." She shoved the Celtic fragment translation at him. "Three examination branches. Utility, novelty, non-obviousness. I've been dreaming about patent prosecution since I was a child. Drawing examination symbols. And now I find a 2400-year-old legal text describing the exact same structure as 35 U.S.C.."
Hendricks looked at the translation. At her notebooks. At the statutory references in the margins.
"Athelia," he said carefully. "Have you considered that maybe you encountered patent law years ago? Maybe in a family member's work, or a documentary? And your brain retained it subconsciously, which manifested as dreams and drawings?"
"I have considered that." Her jaw tightened. "I've also considered that maybe... maybe, there are examination systems in this world that academia refuses to acknowledge because they don't fit the paradigm. Because shifter innovations don't qualify under current 35 U.S.C. § 101 subject matter eligibility."
"That's conspiracy thinking."
"No." She gathered her books. Started packing. "Conspiracy thinking is believing in cover-ups. I'm talking about loss. About patent systems that got forgotten because the people who used them were genetically divergent and humans stopped recognizing their claims. About innovations that got abandoned because we couldn't examine them under our eligibility standards."
"Like werewolf genetics." Hendricks' tone was patient. Condescending.
"Like genetically divergent humans with canid traits whose DNA modifications would qualify as compositions of matter under 35 U.S.C. § 101." She met his eyes. "Which is exactly what Norse sagas describe. Not magic. Not curses. Just... novel genetic compositions. Which current examiners reject because they think they're abstract ideas instead of applied technology."
Hendricks stood. "I can't stop you from pursuing this. But I'm asking you, as someone who cares about your future, to be careful. Write the thesis you need to graduate. Then chase your theories."
"My thesis is my theory," Athelia said quietly. "Mythology as Undocumented Patent Systems. I'm proving that ancient allocation ceremonies weren't metaphor. They were actual examination processes that still exist."
"Still exist?" He looked alarmed now.
"Still exist." She shouldered her bag. "And I have three days to file my CIP before the parent application abandons. Walnut Canyon. Tomorrow. I'm going to find the Office. File the continuation. Complete what the First Woman started."
"Athelia."
"Thank you for your concern, Professor. Goodnight."
She left him standing in the archives, surrounded by books that he thought were just stories.
But Athelia knew better.
She returned to her dorm. Spread her research across her desk. Her bed. Her floor.
Four mythologies. One examination office. One truth.
She pulled out a fresh notebook. Started writing her field research plan:
Walnut Canyon contains the original Patent Office where the First Woman's application has been pending for millennia. Parent Application Status: PENDING, final abandonment deadline in 72 hours. I am 100% genetic match to original inventor. I can file continuation-in-part under 35 U.S.C. § 120 if I reach the Office in time.
1. Locate the original Patent Office 2. File CIP before parent abandons (DEADLINE CRITICAL) 3. Old matter: Guardian Queen examination protocols (from parent) 4. New matter: Bio-AI hybrid innovation examination methods (my contribution) 5. Prove genetic match and inventor entitlement 6. Complete what 23 others failed to accomplish
- Approach from coordinates specified in Norse text - Document all examination anomalies - Attempt to locate "Guardian" examination stations - IF barrier is tangible: attempt reduction to practice (physical embodiment test)
1. Tell Casey where I'm going. 2. Bring charged phone (even if GPS fails - like patent pending status). 3. Pack emergency supplies. 4. Do NOT cross barrier without proper specification documentation. 5. Return before dark (or before examination period expires?)
She looked at the last line. Crossed it out.
Wrote instead: Return when enablement is proven.
Then she pulled out her personal journal. The one with the eyes drawn in every margin.
Flipped to a blank page.
Wrote:
She stared at the words.
Then, almost unconsciously, she started drawing in the margin.
Emerald eyes. Sharp and examining. (35 U.S.C. § 101 Utility)
Silver eyes. Reflective and balancing. (35 U.S.C. § 103 Obviousness)
Black eyes. Endless and searching. (35 U.S.C. § 102 Prior Art)
Three sets of eyes that haunted her dreams.
Three examination requirements that governed all patent law.
Three branches of the Office that supposedly no longer existed.
Athelia closed the journal.
Looked at her map of Walnut Canyon.
At the red circle marking the coordinates.
"Tomorrow," she whispered. "72 hours until the parent abandons. I'm going to find the Office. File my CIP. Claim priority to the First Woman's filing date. Complete the prosecution she started."
She didn't know that inside the dome, 23 failed applicants' remains bore witness to what happened when you tried to continue without genetic match.
She didn't know that the parent application contained claims she'd never seen—including a Mate Bond system with unspecified parameters.
She didn't know that filing a CIP meant inheriting all claims from the parent, not just the ones she wanted.
She didn't know that an ancient database named Malachar was waiting to download into her the moment she proved enablement.
But she knew this:
She was the only person alive who could file this continuation.
And the deadline was in 72 hours.
About to file. About to discover what "continuation-in-part" really meant.
Core Patent Statutes Encoded in Chapter 1:
- 35 U.S.C. § 101 - Patent-eligible subject matter (utility requirement) - 35 U.S.C. § 102 - Novelty (prior art defeats patent) - 35 U.S.C. § 103 - Non-obviousness (invention not predictable to PHOSITA) - 35 U.S.C. § 112(a) - Written description, enablement, best mode - 35 U.S.C. § 112(b) - Definiteness of claims - 35 U.S.C. § 120 - Benefit of earlier filing date (continuation/CIP must file before parent abandons) - 35 U.S.C. § 131 - Examiner authority during prosecution - 37 CFR § 1.63 (implementing 35 U.S.C. § 115) - Oath/declaration requirements (inventor must have contributed to invention) - 37 CFR § 1.76 - Application contents
Key Concepts:
- Continuation-in-Part (CIP) = Application claiming priority to parent, containing parent's disclosure PLUS new matter - § 120 Priority = To get parent's date, claimed subject matter must be supported in parent under § 112(a); new matter gets only CIP filing date - Pending Application = Not granted, not abandoned; prosecution continuing - Abandonment Deadline = Failure to respond = application abandons, can't claim priority - Inventor Entitlement = Must be true inventor or joint inventor to file continuation (37 CFR § 1.63) - PHOSITA = Person Having Ordinary Skill In The Art (standard for enablement) - Reduction to Practice = Building working embodiment of invention - Prosecution = Process of obtaining patent through USPTO examination - Specification = Written description in patent application - Claims = Legal boundaries of invention (what is protected) - Prior Art = Existing knowledge that can defeat novelty/non-obviousness - Enablement = Specification teaches how to make/use invention - Inequitable Conduct = Fraud during prosecution = patent unenforceable
[END CHAPTER ONE - Study Notes: This chapter encodes the foundational structure of patent examination. Print, highlight statutory references, annotate with case law as you study.]
Referenced Statutes - For Patent Bar Study
Whoever invents or discovers any new and useful process, machine, manufacture, or composition of matter, or any new and useful improvement thereof, may obtain a patent therefor, subject to the conditions and requirements of this title.
(a) Novelty; Prior Art.—A person shall be entitled to a patent unless—
(1) the claimed invention was patented, described in a printed publication, or in public use, on sale, or otherwise available to the public before the effective filing date of the claimed invention.
A patent for a claimed invention may not be obtained if the differences between the claimed invention and the prior art are such that the claimed invention as a whole would have been obvious before the effective filing date to a person having ordinary skill in the art to which the claimed invention pertains.
(a) IN GENERAL.—The specification shall contain a written description of the invention, and of the manner and process of making and using it, in such full, clear, concise, and exact terms as to enable any person skilled in the art to make and use the same, and shall set forth the best mode contemplated by the inventor of carrying out the invention.
(b) CONCLUSION.—The specification shall conclude with one or more claims particularly pointing out and distinctly claiming the subject matter which the inventor regards as the invention.
An application for patent for an invention disclosed in an application previously filed in the United States shall have the same effect as though filed on the date of the prior application, if filed before the patenting or abandonment of the first application and if it contains a specific reference to the earlier filed application. (Continuation-in-Part applications covered here.)
The Director shall cause an examination to be made of the application and the alleged new invention; and if on such examination it appears that the applicant is entitled to a patent under the law, the Director shall issue a patent therefor.
END FULL STATUTORY TEXT
Chapter 1 with Front Matter, Review Questions & USPTO Practice Problems
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