I came to with a jolt, unsure if I was dreaming or rebooting. No cold slab under my back. Just fabric, actual, breathable, non-synthetic fabric, and a faint hum in the walls.
The hexagonal chamber around me wasn’t familiar. Walls were patched together from alloy panels etched with sigils, numbers, and chalk diagrams that looked halfway between machine code and cult scripture.
A sculpture, dangled overhead. Melted glass, frayed cables, and something that might once have been a med-drone, all pulsing faintly like it tried to be alive.
This had to be Rayjin’s place. Just met the guy once, but it feels like his home. Same layered chaos. Same smell of chemicals. Eccentric enough to be sacred. Slum wealth in a fancier wrapper.276Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPFZOpbc7iJ
I sat up too fast. Bad idea. The walls melted for a moment, my pulse thudding in my teeth. Skin prickled like I was still half-frozen.
My uniform waited on a frame nearby, whispering. When I touched it, the fibers curled around my fingers, warming like recognition. It slid over my limbs, tightening thread by thread until it sealed at the neck. Breathing with me.
Voices came through faint and sharp from the next chamber.
“…was never the plan,” Aedan’s voice, warm and precise.
“It is now,” Vex clipped. “Unless you’ve got a better idea hiding in that shiny wristband of yours.”
I stepped through the threshold. They looked up.
Aedan by the warped viewport, one shoulder against the wall, medallion spinning a lazy arc through his fingers like it had nowhere better to be. Vex pacing tight arcs, hair brushing back with each turn without her noticing. Rayjin was elbow-deep in a tangle of cables, muttering softly to something that might've once been a toaster, body in constant low-level motion even when ostensibly still.
And Vulkred, because of course, was leaning against an old radiator, sipping neon fluid from a flask that smelled like it was banned in several star systems. “Accelerated regeneration,” he said, without preamble. “Do you know what that does to surgical stitching? Artistry. Gone. Your body dissolved my best work in six hours like it was cheap thread.” He took a pull from the flask. “Rude.”
Vex cocked her head. “Look who’s still breathing.”
I rubbed my neck. “The dead have better manners. I must still be alive, with a working neurolink, I hope.”
Her smirk twitched. “You sound alive, alright.”
I crossed the chamber as they made space.
Aedan spoke, a brow raised. “Remember how to use your link?”
“Let’s find out,” I said.
“Neurolink primer incoming. Don’t drool.”
Arvie unfolded it in bursts, images, sensations, muscle-memory ghosts:
- Direct comms, brain-to-brain. One-to-one or group whisper.
- Encrypted channels are safer, but with the right tech, they can still be traced and cracked, especially over distance.
- Standing next to your friend, it’s better to whisper. Sound only travels so far. Neural pings can light up on scanners.
- Sure, you can connect to terminals and machines. But if you want speed, you go neural link.
- And yeah, mass broadcasts, propaganda, riot-coordination. All the good stuff.
Then she added sweetly: “Congratulations. You now have the power of telepathy. Use responsibly-ish.”
I blinked, refocusing. “Yeah,” I said. “Think I’ve got the hang of it.”
“Good.” Aedan’s fingers ghosted across his wrist cuff. “Setting up a secure loop. Group mesh. Minimal bleed.”
A ping bloomed in my mind.
« Encrypted thread open. Local link established. Recipients: Aedan, Vex, Rayjin, Vulkred, and prince. »
After a moment, Aedan said, “Could not access your ID. Just static. Tuned your access to that garbage.”
“That… feels poetic,” I said.
That mock bow again. “Yeah, sure.”
His voice slid into my skull like a scalpel:
« Ping to confirm. »
« Still breathing. » I pulsed back.
« He’s alive. Sound the alarms, » Vex said, dry as dust.
« I’ve already built a shrine, » Rayjin added, « partially fireproof. »
« Ping, » Vulkred pinged.
Aedan nodded and put the medallion in his pocket, and unfolded a schematic onto the table, spreading it with the easy grace of someone who'd done it in worse places than this.
Vex leaned over and flicked her fingers across it, glyph-lines dancing to life in pale green arcs, illuminating the dusty surface.
“Alright. Mission brief,” Aedan began, one finger tracing the map. “Hollow Thorn, old transit nexus gang. Used to be small, now they've got teeth. Been dredging ruins. Pulling tech. Testing it on… volunteers.”
Subtle name. Probably wore skulls for hats.
“Volunteers?” I asked.
Vulkred barked a laugh. “Only if you count screaming as consent.”
“They’re parasites,” Vex cut in. “And worse, crafty ones.”
I raised an eyebrow. “And you want me to just stroll in?”
Rayjin snorted, which ended in a raspy cough, dragging something across the table with both hands, a sparking, half-assembled device the size of a clenched fist, components still being soldered into place as he moved. He grinned with the particular brightness of someone who genuinely could not see the problem. “Contingency,” he said, holding it up. A small, cheerful arc of electricity jumped between two of its exposed nodes. “Directional. Mostly. Don't hold it near your face.” He set it down in front of me and immediately went back to his cables.
“They'll want you,” Vex said, eyes glinting. “You're already famous. Valcor's parade turned you into a myth.” She tilted her head, weight shifting with restless amusement. “A mysterious amnesiac who breathes poison and vanishes from his circus. You're basically a recruitment poster.”
I frowned. “So, I’m the bait.”
“A gift,” Aedan corrected, spreading his hands with a small, gracious flourish. “Offered up from a rival faction. No fuss.” He paused, then added, as if it were an afterthought: “You're welcome.”
“So, I’m back on the auction block,” I said, deadpan.
Arvie chirped, “Excellent, my favorite strategy: minimal intel, hostile territory, bait protocol.”
“They’ll strip you,” Vulkred winked, holding up a scanner like a blessing totem. “Leave you alone in a chamber for processing.”
Lovely.
“That’s your breach window,” said Aedan, pointing at the map. “Secondary hatch. Locked. You crack it, drop through a service chute, lands you in zone 12-O-1.”
“Infested,” Vex noted, a little too gleefully. “Toxic air, probable beasts.”
“You’ll have to move fast,” Aedan added. “Quiet.”
I gave them a long, slow blink. “And how exactly am I doing that with no weapons, zero gear?”
Silence.
Arvie scoffed, “Want me to do it for you? I’ll just manifest a mech-suit out of sarcasm.”
“Seriously,” I said, “I’m not diving into a beast den naked and empty-handed. I left my satchel with the Directorate. Mutacell’s still in it.”
That landed like a dropped wrench.
“Mutacell,” Vex muttered, glancing at Aedan. “That changes things.”
I nodded. “If I have it, this whole thing might not be suicide.”
Vulkred said I was likely to die either way, and did not seem too concerned about it.
Rayjin leaned back in his chair, gears hissing beneath. “And you think they will just hand it back to you if we ask them?”
“If Larek’s alive and we save him?” I said, “He’ll hand me the whole damn tower.”
“Mutacell changes the math.” Aedan tilted his head. “Which means Larek first. He's the only one who can get us into the Directorate without a body count.”
Vex shrugged, one corner of her mouth lifting. “Simple enough to be stupid.”
“Let me check.” Aedan's eyes glazed for half a breath, cuff pulsing faintly. “Got something. Not confirmed, but strong enough to move on. Larek might be held near the old silos. Vult Rive's turf.”
Arvie muttered, “Perfect. Neighborhood’s only got three stars on the crime index.”276Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4zmdxBDaIp
Aedan scanned our faces, straightened off the wall, and pointed at Vulkred and Rayjin. “You two hold here and prep the gear. Don't let Rayjin electrocute the equipment.” He turned to Vex and me. “You're with me. We regroup at mine.” He turned and walked off.
Rayjin, already back in his cables, waved a hand without looking up. Vulkred's response was to take another pull from his flask, which in his register meant understood.
We followed Aedan out. Didn't make it two blocks before the drums kicked in.
Low and bone-hollow, echoing down the tunnel ribs like some ancient machine trying to breathe. I clocked it as gang noise at first, or maybe a funeral, maybe just another turf tantrum. But no. Too clean. Rhythmic. Ceremonial, like a ritual had broken loose and started freelancing.
We turned a corner. And saw them.
A procession, dozens deep, creeping through the arterial dark. Robes patched from old banners, cracked synthsilk and communion cloth, painted with radiant spirals and sigils that glowed sickly green under the tunnel light. Some wore half-masks, like saints who’d outlived their sins.
At the front, high above their heads, they carried an armored figure etched into plates of mirror-glass and bone-white alloy. The likeness wasn't exact, but it stopped me cold. Same cut of jaw. Same silver-blue sculpted hair. Same damn eyes.
My eyes.
A woman in the front caught sight of me, dropped her torch, and screamed.
“Duvainor reborn! The waking flame walks again!”
And just like that, chaos.276Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ16874PSOXX
The procession cracked open like an artery cut loose from its vessel. Voices cascaded into a single roar. Hands reached. Feet stamped. People threw themselves forward, scattering incense and bone-totems across the floor.
Vex: “Shit.”
Aedan: “Double shit.”
“Triple…” I muttered right before the mob surged and lifted me like stolen cargo.
They didn’t ask. They just hoisted. Shouted. Paraded. Like I was the climax of some long-forgotten prophecy and they’d been holding their breath for aeons.
Arvie crackled into my skull with pure delight.
“Ah ha hah. Look who tripped the parade fuse and unlocked bonus saint mode.”
Someone pressed a rusted halo onto my head. A child smeared ash across my cheek like it was sacred geometry. Some tried to kiss my boots, sobbing.
Symbols everywhere. Tattooed into skin, carved onto totems, etched on repurposed riot gear held high like temple banners.
Vex was trailing us, and despite the chaos she looked more amused than alarmed, one hand resting on her blade out of habit while the other brushed her hair back. She met my eyes over the crowd and mouthed something that might have been condolences or might have been congratulations. Hard to tell with her.
Aedan trailed slower still, scanning the tunnel walls and exits with that familiar processor-light in his eyes, medallion nowhere in sight. The stillness that meant he was thinking very quickly about several things at once.276Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRUYg6vX4DZ
“They think I’m a saint,” I muttered. “Or something worse.”
“According to the banners,” Arvie chirped. “You are the Ash-Walker, the Flame-Born, the Sovereign of Collapse, the Saint of the Final Seal. Honestly, I’m flattered just being with you.”
“Could it be real?”
“You’re asking the wrong half of your brain.”
The tunnel widened into a broken amphitheater, carved from the bones of an old transit interchange. Burnt signage overhead still flickered in archaic dialects. They called it the Sanctum.
A half-circle altar of relics loomed, plasma engines split open like mechanical scripture, old memory vaults hardwired into the walls. At the center: a dais, built from broken drone torsos, shattered war masks, and a spinal coil the size of my leg. The kind of thing you didn’t sit on unless you meant it.
They set me on it like I belonged.
Aedan stayed way back. Vex arrived last, threading through the edge of the crowd with practiced ease, arms crossed, watching me on the dais with an expression that was half calculation and half smile.
« Well, your holiness. Enjoying the cult experience? »
I wanted to laugh. Instead, I sat perfectly still, wondering why my life had such sudden shifts.
“Divine glitch confirmed. Next stop: accidental empire.”276Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbia5vwzikz
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