The Last Hope

by FlugelCommunity

Chosen by the Celestial Forge, a young man awakens in a decrepit facility with Cortana, an AI gift, in a post-apocalyptic world of Nier: Automata. Hiding his humanity, he navigates the ruins, uncovering secrets of the past and his role in the present.

5. Chapter 5: Power?

I crept along the outskirts of the path, keeping low to the ground, each step slow and deliberate. The pipe I'd scavenged from the facility pressed firmly into my palm, its cold weight grounding me. It wasn't much—just a hunk of metal—but it gave me a small sense of reassurance. At least I had something to defend myself with.

My breaths came shallow and quick, my chest tight with the effort of staying calm. I tried to keep myself as small as possible, crouched low, barely disturbing the broken concrete beneath my boots. Despite all my efforts, I couldn't shake the feeling of exposure, like the ruins around me were watching, waiting.

The memory of the recon unit still burned brightly in my mind. I couldn't forget its glowing red sensor, its steady sweep of the room as it hunted for me. I could hear it now—the metallic clang of its limbs on the facility floor, the echo of stone cracking as it tried to smash through the wall to reach me. It had felt inevitable, like the machine's cold persistence would snuff me out no matter how tightly I pressed myself into the shadows.

And then, in an instant, it was gone.

I could still see the scene as vividly as if it were happening all over again: the machine's jerky, precise movements suddenly faltering, its frame lurching as a blade pierced through it. Not just any blade—a long, sleek weapon wielded with inhuman precision. It had been a single, clean strike, slicing through the recon unit's chest like paper. I didn't even see the wielder at first, only the smooth motion of the sword, the glint of its edge catching the faint light.

Sparks had burst from the machine's core as the blade withdrew, leaving a gaping hole in its metal body. The recon unit twitched once, its red sensor flickering, before collapsing to the ground with a deafening crash. Its killer—calm, controlled, and utterly terrifying—had stood over its remains, the sword at their side, ready for another strike if needed.

I didn't know who—or what—they were, but I knew this much: if that sword had been meant for me, I'd already be dead.

A nervous laugh escaped my lips, quiet and breathless. "Hah… hahah," I chuckled weakly, the sound barely audible. "How the hell am I supposed to survive here?"

It was ridiculous, really. I'd been awake for what? An hour? Maybe two? And I was already trying to navigate a post-apocalyptic death trap, hiding from killer machines and whatever had taken them down. The absurdity of it all made me laugh again, though the sound came out more like a strangled gasp.

"I don't even know what I'm doing," I muttered under my breath, tightening my grip on the pipe until my knuckles ached. "I don't know who's fighting who, or which side is the 'right' one—if there even is a right side. I just woke up, and now I'm supposed to figure out how to stay alive?"

Another shaky laugh escaped me, though it felt hollow. "I don't even know why I'm here. I just... appeared. Out of nowhere. And now I'm supposed to... what? Survive? Fight? Against what? For what?"

My voice trailed off, swallowed by the oppressive quiet of the ruins around me. The distant echoes of gunfire seemed fainter now, muffled by the decaying structures that loomed on all sides. For a moment, the silence felt suffocating, like the entire world was holding its breath.

I crouched lower, pressing my back against a crumbling wall as I scanned the path ahead. Jagged chunks of debris littered the ground—broken concrete, rusted rebar, the remnants of structures that had long since fallen apart. Vines and moss crept through the cracks, nature reclaiming what was left of the city.

I closed my eyes, forcing myself to take slow, steady breaths. The image of the recon unit's destroyed body flashed behind my eyelids again, and my stomach twisted. Whoever had killed it… they weren't human. They couldn't be. The precision, the control, the sheer ease with which they'd dispatched the machine—it was something no ordinary person could do. And if that thing decided I was a threat...

I shuddered at the thought.

"Cortana," I whispered, my voice trembling slightly. "You still there?"

"Always," she replied, her tone steady and calm—a stark contrast to my frayed nerves. "What's happening? Describe what you're seeing."

I let out a shaky breath, glancing around the ruins. "It's... quiet," I murmured. "Too quiet. I'm not hearing much—just the wind and... maybe some distant gunfire. It sounds farther away now, but... I don't know. I feel like I'm being watched."

Cortana paused, as if considering my words. "That's not surprising. After the recon unit found you, it's likely the area is being monitored—or worse, actively scouted. Do you see any movement? Any light or sound that stands out?"

"No, nothing," I said softly, scanning the shadows. "But it's like... I don't know. Like the quiet is wrong. Like it's waiting for something."

Another pause. "I can run a pulse scan to confirm," Cortana offered. "It would give us a clearer picture of the area within ten meters, but there's a risk. If anyone—or anything—is scanning for signals, the pulse could reveal our position."

I swallowed hard, gripping the pipe tightly. "No," I said after a moment. "Not yet. Let's not risk it unless we have to. I'll... I'll just keep my eyes open."

"Understood," she said. "Stay cautious. Trust your instincts. And if something feels off, tell me immediately."

"Yeah, sure," I muttered, my voice barely audible.

The sound of my own breathing was deafening in the silence, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves in the wind. I tightened my grip on the pipe, forcing myself to focus. One step at a time. Don't stop. Don't think too hard. Just keep moving.

Shaking myself, I forced the fear and doubt back to the edges of my mind. They lingered there like a heavy fog, but at least I could move now. Standing frozen, like some deer caught in headlights, wasn't going to get me anywhere. The path ahead stretched out before me—broken, uneven, treacherous. The solar panels waited further along, their silver frames glinting faintly in the light. That was my next step.

Just get there.

"Focus," I muttered under my breath, forcing my legs to move. Don't overthink it. Don't let your brain spiral. Just get to the solar panels.

The Forge—or whatever that strange, cosmic force was—lingered in the back of my mind, a constant presence I couldn't ignore. It wasn't just knowledge; it felt like an entire potential reality pressing up against my skull, waiting for me to use it. Or fail trying. I'd bargained for this, hadn't I? Even if the details of that bargain were fuzzy, the results were clear enough.

The Forge had brought me here. It had filled me with knowledge—scientific principles, blueprints, theories, formulas. But all of it was locked behind walls of technology I couldn't access, tools I didn't have, and methods that felt just out of reach. It was like being handed a master key to a universe of possibilities and realizing the doors were all on the other side of an uncrossable chasm.

It wasn't helpful. Not yet. But it was there.

I grimaced, pushing the thought aside as my boots crunched softly on the cracked asphalt. Maybe when I got to the solar panels, something would change. Maybe the Forge would make more sense—or at least Cortana could help me figure something out. Either way, standing around and wallowing in fear wasn't going to solve anything.

Forcing myself to take the first step, I kept moving. One foot in front of the other.

"Cortana," I whispered, breaking the silence, my voice barely audible in the still air. "Any ideas on what we're going to do when we get there?"

She didn't answer immediately. I could almost feel her processing the question, her presence humming faintly in the back of my mind.

"Without more data, it's difficult to plan," she said finally, her tone calm but precise. "From your description, the solar panels may still have an intact control terminal. If that's the case, we can attempt to divert power—possibly to your neural interface, to stabilize my systems further, or to activate nearby equipment. But that's assuming the terminal is functional."

"And if it's not functional?" I asked, stepping carefully over a chunk of debris.

"Then we'll adapt," she replied simply. "Even if the terminal is beyond repair, the panels themselves may still hold usable components. I can guide you through dismantling them, if needed."

I nodded, my eyes scanning the ruins around me as I moved. "So... basically, we'll figure it out when we get there."

"Essentially, yes," she said, her voice softening slightly. "This is an unfamiliar environment with too many unknowns. Until we can establish some stability, improvisation will be key."

"Great," I muttered, shaking my head. "Improvisation. Love that for me."

A faint chuckle echoed through my neural link, the closest thing Cortana had to humor. "You're doing fine," she said. "Keep moving."

I pressed on, my footsteps slow and deliberate. The faint scent of saltwater lingered in the breeze, mixing with the musty, metallic tang of the ruins. Somewhere in the distance, the low rumble of an explosion rippled through the air, faint but unmistakable. I couldn't tell if it was getting closer or farther away, and I wasn't sure which I preferred.

The Forge stirred in the back of my mind again, faint whispers of knowledge brushing against my thoughts. I shook my head, trying to push it back, but it was like trying to ignore a growing itch.

"You know the whole periodic table now," I muttered to myself, half-joking, half-bitter. "Great. Very useful. Maybe I can throw some atomic numbers at the next robot that tries to kill me."

The irony wasn't lost on me. I'd been given this vast, cosmic knowledge—entire libraries of science and engineering—and yet I felt no more equipped to deal with this world than I had when I first woke up.

"At least it's not dragging me to that celestial plane again," I mumbled under my breath.

"Celestial plane?" Cortana asked, her voice curious but careful.

I hesitated, glancing around the ruins as I considered how to explain it. "It's... hard to describe," I said finally. "It's like... this other place. I don't even know if it's real. Every time the Forge gives me something, it's like I'm there—on this platform, floating in space, surrounded by stars. And then I just... come back, but with new knowledge crammed into my head. It's disorienting."

"Fascinating," she said after a moment. "It sounds like an advanced neural encoding process—an abstraction to make the transfer of information more comprehensible to your mind. The Forge could be using this 'celestial plane' as a medium to deliver data."

I sighed, shaking my head. "Yeah, well, it's not exactly helpful right now. It's giving me knowledge, sure, but I can't use any of it. Not yet. Not without tools, or materials, or... something."

"Patience," Cortana said softly. "The knowledge is there for a reason. It may not be immediately useful, but it will be—when the time comes."

I grunted in response, not entirely convinced, but not ready to argue.

The path began to widen, opening into a lot scattered with debris and the skeletal remains of rusted fences. Beyond them, I could see the solar panels, their silver surfaces reflecting faintly in the light.

"There," I murmured, crouching low as I approached the lot. "The panels. They're not in great shape, but they're there."

"Describe what you see," Cortana said, her tone shifting to something more focused.

I scanned the area carefully, my eyes darting between the panels and the shadows of the surrounding ruins. "The panels are... tilted, some of them cracked. I see a control terminal near the largest one, but it looks pretty rusted. There's some cover—broken fences, a few old vehicles—but the lot's wide open. If something's watching, they'll see me the second I step out."

"Noted," Cortana said. "Approach cautiously. Use the cover where you can. If you sense any danger, stop immediately and reassess. I can run a pulse scan, if necessary, but it's still a risk."

I nodded, gripping the pipe tightly as I crept forward. The lot felt impossibly large, the distance to the panels stretching farther with every step. The sunlight felt harsh and exposing, every sound I made amplified in the stillness.

One step at a time.

Finally, I reached the edge of the array, crouching low behind one of the larger panels. Up close, the damage was more apparent—cracks spiderwebbed across the glass, and rusted frames groaned faintly in the breeze. The control terminal sat near the base of the largest panel; its screen cracked but faintly flickering with power.

"Cortana," I whispered, glancing around nervously. "I'm here. What now?"

As I crouched behind the cracked solar panel, scanning the rusted control terminal ahead, another surge of knowledge hit me like a wave breaking against my skull. I winced, gripping the edge of the panel to steady myself as the familiar, uncomfortable sensation spread through my mind.

More knowledge.

This time, it was carpentry. Not just the basics of cutting wood and hammering nails, but an instinctive understanding of construction—frameworks, load-bearing supports, angles, joints, finishes. My mind flooded with blueprints I'd never seen before, calculations running unbidden through my thoughts.

I groaned softly, pressing a hand to my temple as the knowledge settled, filling the gaps in my understanding. It wasn't just theory—I could feel it as ability, something practical, something I could use if I had the tools. I could almost see myself cutting planks, driving nails, shaping structures from nothing.

Then came something more, deeper, harder to ignore. A compulsion, maybe even a certainty, that anything I built at my base would be completed in half the time it would take anyone else. It was as if the Forge itself had rewritten the rules of construction for me. Efficiency burned into my thoughts.

But the knowledge wasn't all clean edges and inspiration. There was a shadow to it—a warning. If I rushed, if I sacrificed time in exchange for speed, I could finish a project ten times faster than anyone else. But the tradeoff was steep. Quality would suffer. Corners would be cut—not by carelessness, but as a baked-in consequence of the Forge's influence.

Structurally sound... but barely, I thought, the words forming instinctively. Just enough to hold together. Just enough to survive.

It wasn't a gift without consequences. It was like rushing to build a makeshift bridge during a flood—functional, yes, but riddled with weak spots. It might hold for a time, but it would always be at risk of collapse under stress.

I exhaled slowly, blinking against the glare of sunlight reflecting off the damaged solar panels. The knowledge settled deeper, sinking into place alongside the other fragments the Forge had given me. Slowly, I let my hand drop from my temple, my heartbeat steadying.

"Are you all, right?" Cortana's voice broke through the haze, calm but concerned.

"Yeah," I murmured, shaking my head to clear it. "Just... more Forge stuff."

"Anything useful?" she asked, her tone sharpening slightly.

"Carpentry," I said flatly, scanning the lot again for any signs of movement. "I suddenly know more about building things than I ever wanted to. Frameworks, supports, angles—you name it. And apparently, I can finish projects faster than anyone else. Half the time for normal builds. Ten times faster if I really rush it, but..."

I trailed off, grimacing as the weight of the warning settled in my chest.

"But what?" Cortana pressed.

"But the quality takes a hit," I admitted. "A big one. Rushed projects won't fall apart immediately, but they'll be weak. Barely holding together. Like... a patched-up wall that looks fine until you lean on it the wrong way."

She was quiet for a moment, processing the new information. "That's... intriguing," she said finally. "A tradeoff between time and stability. I imagine there could be scenarios where rushing a project might be necessary—emergencies, for example. But I'd recommend caution. A poorly constructed base could leave you vulnerable, even if it seems functional at first."

"No kidding," I muttered.

Pushing the thought aside, I shifted my attention back to the task at hand. The solar panels loomed ahead, silent and weathered, their frames groaning faintly in the breeze. The control terminal sat at the base of the largest panel, cracked but faintly flickering with power.

"Cortana," I whispered, glancing around the lot again. "I'm going to try to get to the terminal. Do you think we'll be able to use it?"

"It depends on its condition," she said. "If the circuitry is intact, we may be able to reroute power or gather information about the surrounding area. If it's too damaged..."

"Then I guess we'll improvise," I finished, tightening my grip on the pipe in my hands.

"Exactly," she said. "Move carefully. Use the cover where you can. And if anything feels off, stop immediately and reassess."

I nodded, exhaling slowly as I steeled myself. The knowledge of carpentry still buzzed faintly in the back of my mind, like a tool waiting to be used. But right now, it was just another piece of the puzzle—a piece I couldn't afford to think about too deeply.

With a final glance around the lot, I crept forward, keeping low to the ground. One step at a time, I told myself. Just get to the terminal. Don't overthink it. Don't look back.

Keeping low, I crept forward, my body carefully hidden by the panels around me. Each step felt agonizingly slow, the sound of my boots against the cracked asphalt unnaturally loud in the stillness. My heart hammered in my chest, but I forced myself to focus, inching closer to the control terminal.

When I finally reached it, I crouched down, my fingers brushing against the cool, rusted surface of the terminal's casing. Up close, it was in worse shape than I'd hoped. The screen was cracked, spiderwebbed with fine lines, but it flickered faintly with life—a glimmer of hope in an otherwise broken shell.

The edges of the casing were corroded, and as I inspected it closer, I noticed several frayed wires sticking out near the base, their insulation worn away. A couple of the connections were barely hanging on, exposed copper twisted awkwardly. Some wires had been outright chewed through, probably by animals that had claimed this place as their own long before I'd woken up.

But… it didn't seem beyond repair. Not entirely.

I ran my fingers lightly along the edges of the terminal, careful not to disturb the fragile connections. The screen flickered again, and for a moment, a faint string of text flashed across its surface before disappearing into static. I had no idea what it had said, but it was enough to confirm that there was something here, something alive beneath the rust and decay.

"Cortana," I whispered, leaning in closer to the terminal, "the control panel's… it's a mess. The screen is cracked, but it's flickering like it still works. Some of the connections aren't there—looks like the wires have been chewed through or corroded." I hesitated, running a hand over the damaged casing. "I think it's fixable, but I don't know what I'm doing. Can you guide me?"

"Describe the damage in detail," Cortana said, her voice calm but focused. "Start with the external casing and then move to the wiring you can see."

I nodded, though my hands were trembling slightly as I adjusted my grip on the pipe and leaned closer to the terminal. "The casing is rusted along the edges," I said softly, keeping my voice low. "There's a gap near the bottom where it looks like something pried it open—or maybe it just rusted through. I can see wires sticking out. Some are frayed, some are completely chewed through. The screen… it's cracked, but it's still flickering."

"Hmm," Cortana hummed thoughtfully. "From your description, it sounds like the internal power supply might still be functional, but the connections to the screen and other components are compromised. The chewed wires are likely causing intermittent signals or shorts."

"Okay," I said, taking a slow breath. "So… what do I do?"

"You'll need to open the terminal," she replied. "Check the interior for damage, then reconnect or replace the compromised wires. I can guide you through the process, but you'll need to proceed carefully. Without the proper tools, this will be delicate work."

I glanced at the multi-tool I'd scavenged from the backpack earlier. It wasn't much—half the hinges were stiff, and a couple of the smaller tools were missing entirely—but it would have to do. "Yeah, 'careful' isn't exactly my specialty right now," I muttered, gripping the multi-tool tightly.

"You'll do fine," Cortana said, her voice softening slightly. "I'll guide you. First, you'll need to open the casing. Look for any screws or latches holding it together."

"I don't think I need to fully open it," I said, crouching closer to the terminal. "The whole side is already rusted out—I can just reach my hands in." I hesitated, brushing my fingers against the corroded edges. "It should be fine."

Cortana's voice hummed in my ear. "If that's the case, describe what you're seeing. What's inside? Do you want me to guide you, or should I help you focus on one part at a time? I could try to help you get a clearer view before we start messing with anything."

I stared into the broken shell of the machine, the faint flicker of power pulsing somewhere deep inside. My chest tightened. "I don't know," I admitted, pulling my hands back slightly. "I don't even know if we're in the clear yet. There's still so much around us—everything feels… off." My voice dropped lower, almost to a whisper. "The fighting earlier—it's quieter now, but I can't tell how far it's moved. I mean, how far does the pulse go again? Can we even trust that they haven't circled back?"

"The pulse extends about ten meters," Cortana explained, her tone even, as if she were walking me through a tutorial. "It's low-energy and designed to minimize detection, so the chances of it being picked up are slim, especially at this depth. Most reconnaissance units wouldn't notice unless they were specifically scanning for anomalies within range. That said…" She paused, her voice lowering slightly, "it's not completely foolproof. If there's a system nearby actively monitoring electromagnetic activity—or if something more advanced happens to be in the area—it could flag the pulse."

I hesitated, my fingers brushing the edge of the terminal's rusted casing. "Ten meters…" I muttered, rolling the thought around in my head. "That's barely anything. It should keep us under the radar, right? But how likely is it that something picks it up? Are we talking one in a million, or more like flipping a coin?"

"It depends on what's out there," Cortana replied thoughtfully. "A standard recon unit? Unlikely to notice, unless it's already suspicious and actively searching this area. But anything equipped with advanced sensory modules, like an AI network or a command drone, would have a higher chance of detecting the spike. The risk isn't zero, but it's manageable. I can mitigate it by keeping the pulse duration as short as possible—it'll still give us the data we need without leaving much of a signature."

I hesitated, glancing around the room. My hands tightened around the rusted edges of the terminal as I weighed the risk. Every instinct screamed to stay hidden, to keep quiet. But we couldn't just guess our way through this mess.

"Do it," I said finally, my voice low but firm.

"Understood. Activating pulse," Cortana replied.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then I felt it—a faint hum, barely more than a whisper against my skin, like static brushing the air. It was over almost as soon as it began, and the room returned to stillness, save for the faint crackle of sparking wires.

"The pulse scan confirmed it," Cortana said, her tone calm but focused. "The cables that transfer data from the solar panels to the control unit are intact. That's good news—it means the panels are functional, at least to some extent. The bad news is the control terminal itself is in terrible shape. You'll need to reroute power around the damaged cables and get the display working."

I exhaled slowly, crouching closer to the terminal's cracked casing. "So basically, the panels are fine, but I have to play electrician to fix the interface?" I muttered, tugging at a few of the frayed wires with my multi-tool. The whole thing looked like it had been chewed up and spat out by time itself.

"Precisely," Cortana said. "But don't worry, I'm here to guide you every step of the way. And by 'guide,' I mean provide instructions while you risk electrocution. It's a team effort."

I snorted despite myself. "Glad to know my suffering is a collaborative experience."

She ignored my jab, her voice turning thoughtful. "From what I scanned, the damaged cables are mostly internal—power to the control screen is shot, and a few data connections have corroded, but it's manageable. If you can bypass the worst of the damage and patch the display's connections, I'll be able to take over the rest of the terminal's functions remotely."

"Sounds simple enough," I muttered, shifting the casing slightly to peer inside. A tangle of wires spilled out, some frayed and sparking faintly, others rusted to the point of uselessness. "Is there anything else I should know before I start pulling at things?"

"Well," Cortana began, her voice light with mock reassurance, "you could short the entire terminal, rendering it completely inoperable. Or you could trigger an unnoticed power surge that fries the remaining circuitry. Or, worst-case scenario, you could electrocute yourself and leave me with no one to talk to. But hey, if that happens, at least the silence will be peaceful."

I groaned, gripping the multi-tool tighter. "Your bedside manner is impeccable, you know that?"

"Thank you," she said cheerfully. "Now, focus. First, disconnect the damaged power cable—it's the one sparking near the back. Once that's out of the way, we'll start rerouting."

I reached into the terminal, carefully avoiding the sparking wire she mentioned. "Are we sure about this? That pulse scan… Couldn't it have missed something? Like a fault in the cables I'm about to touch? Or, I don't know, a recon unit catching on to the scan?"

"The scan was clean," Cortana reassured me. "The chance of it missing anything significant is low—though I'll admit, the scan's range is limited to ten meters. As for recon units detecting it? The energy signature was brief and subtle. Unless they're actively monitoring this area with high-sensitivity equipment, it's unlikely they picked it up."

"'Unlikely' isn't the same as 'impossible,'" I muttered, pulling the damaged cable free with a sharp snap. A faint pop and a puff of burnt-smelling smoke followed, making me cough. "Okay, what next?"

"Next, you'll replace that cable with one of the intact ones," Cortana said, her tone once again clinical. "Try the one directly to its left—it should still be functional. If the color coding is still intact, it'll be green. If not... well, let's hope you're good at improvisation."

I found the cable she mentioned, carefully untangling it from the mess. It seemed intact—no fraying, no sparking—but its casing was brittle, flaking under my fingers as I worked. "And if I'm not good at improvisation?"

"Then this terminal becomes a very expensive paperweight," Cortana said dryly. "And we'll have to find another way to access the solar panels. No pressure."

I muttered something under my breath that I didn't care to repeat. With a bit of effort, I slotted the new cable into place, wincing at the faint spark that jumped as it connected. The hum of the terminal grew steadier, a faint flicker of light brightening the cracked screen.

"There we go," Cortana said. "Now, reconnect the display's data cable—it's the one that looks like it's barely hanging on but hasn't completely given up on life yet. Kind of like you."

"Thanks for that," I said flatly, but I did as she instructed. The cable clicked into place with a satisfying snap, and the screen flickered fully to life, the fractured lines distorting the faint text that began to scroll across it.

"Perfect," Cortana said, her voice sharpening with purpose. "Let me see what I can pull from the terminal's systems. If everything's intact, I should be able to redirect power from the panels. Worst case, we've got a glorified flashlight."

"Or it explodes in my face," I added dryly.

"True," she said brightly. "But if it does, I'll be sure to catalog the event for posterity."

I couldn't help but grin despite myself, shaking my head. "You're impossible."

"And yet indispensable," she replied smoothly. "Now, let me focus. If this thing has any usable systems left, I'll find them."

"Well, if there's anything useful, let me know," I muttered, fiddling with a frayed wire as my thoughts began to spiral. "But, from what I remember, you said it'd be better to use the panels to power something up here instead of routing it back to the facility. And if we do reroute it up here… what are we even powering? Have you noticed there's nothing up here to connect to?" My voice was rising, words tumbling out faster as panic started to creep in.

What if this was all for nothing? What if the panels can't even be used? The whole point of coming here was to find a purpose for them—some kind of solution. But here I am, standing in a desolate field in the middle of a rundown city that's been abandoned for who knows how long. Thousands of years? Longer?

My thoughts were racing, too fast to make sense of. I clenched the pipe in my hand, my breathing shallow as the vast emptiness of the city pressed in on me.

"Stop!" Cortana's voice rang out in my neural link, sharp but not unkind. "Take a deep breath. Focus. Panicking isn't going to help either of us."

I froze, forcing myself to inhale deeply. One breath. Then another. My chest still felt tight, but Cortana's calm presence anchored me, pulling me back from the edge.

"Think," she said, her tone softer now, more measured. "With the knowledge you have, what can you do? The panels are functional. That's a start. Focus on what you have, not what you don't."

I let the words sink in, my thoughts slowing enough to feel less overwhelming. She was right. Focus on what I have.

I glanced around the decayed cityscape, trying to see past the hopelessness of it. The shells of crumbling buildings surrounded me, their hollow frames a stark reminder of what had been lost. But they weren't just ruins. They were potential. Shelter. Scavenging grounds.

"With the Forge's knowledge," I murmured to myself, the words half a mantra, half a reminder, "I could build something. A shelter. Reinforce one of the buildings nearby. Search for supplies." My voice grew steadier, my hands relaxing as the first threads of a plan began to form. "There has to be something salvageable in these ruins. Something I can use."

"Now you're thinking," Cortana said approvingly. "The panels might not solve every problem, but they give us options. If you can secure a shelter and find enough materials, we can establish a base of operations. From there, we'll regroup and figure out the next steps."

I nodded slowly, scanning the area again with a fresh perspective. This wasn't just a field in the middle of nowhere. It was a starting point. The Forge had given me knowledge—carpentry, survival, adaptation. I just needed to use it.

"Right," I said, more to myself than to her. "One thing at a time. Shelter first. Then I'll figure out the rest."

The thought steadied me, giving me something concrete to work toward. No more spiraling. No more pointless panic. I had tools. I had knowledge. And I had a voice in my head that refused to let me give up.

"That's the spirit," Cortana said, her tone lightening slightly. "Now let's see what kind of fixer-upper you can manage in the ruins of an ancient apocalypse."

My vision blurred, and the world around me faded like the edges of a dream dissolving into darkness. The sound of the wind, the faint creak of rusted panels, even Cortana's voice—all of it slipped away as I felt myself pulled somewhere else. It was as if my mind had been untethered from my body, drawn upward into the infinite expanse of stars.

I was back in the celestial plane.

The stars shimmered in all directions, bright and distant, forming constellations that felt familiar yet unknowable. Some constellations glowed stronger now, clearer than before, while others flickered faintly, on the edge of fading into darkness. I couldn't help but laugh softly to myself at the sight—flickering stars that were stars.

The motes of light that always accompanied me in this place began to stir. They circled me like fireflies, their movements deliberate, purposeful. I noticed there were more of them now, as if I'd gained something along the way. I was sure they were the source of the knowledge the Forge had granted me earlier: carpentry, construction, and the instincts that had flooded my mind when I needed them most.

Now, the motes solidified into a single stream of light, reaching upward like a glowing tendril. It stretched toward the stars above, seeking something. When it struck a star, the star trembled, descending toward me in a radiant arc. As it drew closer, I felt the rush of knowledge flood my mind—a metal, ancient and mythical, took shape in my thoughts.

Adamantine.

Images and memories filled my mind, as if I were recalling them from some distant life. The metal was forged by dwarves in the frozen north of another world, and it was so rare because it came from the body of a fallen god. It was nearly indestructible, capable of cutting through evil like fire and repelling even the strongest dark magic. The Forge whispered something more to me—an exception. While forging adamantine was normally an impossible task without divine skill, I would find it no harder to work with than steel… at least for the first time I forged it.

The star's glow brightened as it descended, streaking across the sky like a comet. When it reached me, it transformed into a glowing crate that landed at my feet, humming faintly with power. I stared at it, a mixture of awe and disbelief washing over me.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" I muttered aloud, though there was no one to answer me. My voice echoed faintly in the vast expanse of the celestial plane.

And then, just as suddenly as it began, it ended.

The stars dissolved into darkness, and the cold air of the ruined city snapped back into focus. The faint creak of the solar panels and the distant hum of the broken terminal returned, grounding me in reality. I blinked, disoriented for a moment, as my eyes adjusted to the harsh sunlight filtering through the cracks in the surrounding buildings.

And there it was.

The crate of adamantine sat beside me, solid and impossibly real, faintly glowing with the same divine aura I had seen in the celestial plane. I crouched down, hesitating for a moment before reaching out to touch its smooth surface. The metal was cold under my fingers, pulsing faintly as if alive.

"What now?" I muttered under my breath.

"'What now?'" Cortana's voice cut in sharply, filled with confusion. "What are you talking about? You've been standing there for all of two seconds. Did you just zone out, or are you having some kind of apocalypse-induced existential crisis?"

I blinked again, glancing between the crate and the solar panels around me. "Uh… yeah, sure. Existential crisis. Let's go with that."

"Don't dodge the question," she replied. "What's going on? You've been silent for a moment, and now you're muttering to yourself like a crazy person. Focus"

"Right. About that…" I gestured toward the crate, my voice unsteady. "Can you… see this? Or, uh, are you aware of it?"

There was a pause. "See what? You know I can't see anything unless you describe it to me or send a pulse scan."

"It's… a crate," I said slowly. "A glowing crate. With adamantine inside."

Another pause. "Adamantine?" Her voice faltered, the word coming out almost as a question. "I… I don't have any records of that material in my database. But…" She hesitated again, as if struggling to process something. "But I know what it is. It's forged from the body of a fallen god, nearly indestructible, capable of blocking dark magic, and—wait." Her tone sharpened. "Why do I know this?"

"That's what I've been trying to figure out," I muttered. "The Forge gave me the knowledge, and somehow, it's… sharing it with you? I don't know how it works."

"You're saying that whatever is giving you all this information—this 'Forge' you keep talking about—can physically manifest things?" Cortana's voice was a mix of disbelief and unease, as though she couldn't decide whether to be impressed or utterly horrified.

"Pretty much," I replied with a helpless shrug, gesturing toward the crate glowing faintly beside me. "I mean… it's right there."

She went silent for a moment, as if her systems needed a hard reset to process the sheer absurdity of what I'd just said. Finally, she let out a soft, exasperated sigh. "You know, I was designed to handle a lot of complex scenarios—fighting alien armadas, working alongside Spartans, analyzing tactical data in real time—but this?" Her tone shifted, dry and sharp, laced with a healthy dose of sarcasm. "This is a whole new level of weird. Congratulations, you've officially broken my programming."

Despite myself, I let out a shaky laugh, still teetering between awe and disbelief. "Yeah, well, welcome to the club. Honestly, I don't even know what to do with this thing." I motioned vaguely toward the crate. "I can't exactly lug it around while we're trying to get power running."

"Then leave it," Cortana said, regaining her usual composure, though her voice carried an edge of lingering unease. "We've got enough on our plate without figuring out where to store your magical loot crate right now. Focus on the task at hand—scout the area. Look for any buildings or structures we can convert into a home base. Use that knowledge the Forge dumped into your brain about craftsmanship to figure out what we can salvage. Then we'll worry about your… gift from the stars later."

I nodded, standing and brushing the dirt off my hands. My eyes lingered on the crate for a moment longer, the faint glow reflecting off its surface like a quiet promise

"Alright," I said, glancing at the glowing crate of adamantine one last time before shifting my focus back to the rusted control terminal. "I'm gonna leave your containment chip here with the panel while you work on it. You can focus on getting this thing up and running, and I'll head out to scout the buildings nearby."

Cortana's voice chimed in immediately, calm but questioning. "And by 'scout,' I assume you mean 'wander into decrepit buildings while hoping not to get crushed, ambushed, or otherwise maimed'? Sounds like a foolproof plan."

I rolled my eyes. "You're hilarious. Look, I don't hear any more fighting, so I think we're in the clear—at least for now. I'll stick to the outskirts of the fence, check the buildings closest to us. If I find anything worth salvaging, I'll come back and bring you along so we can assess it together."

"Hmm," Cortana said thoughtfully. "Splitting up isn't my favorite idea. You do realize that without me physically connected to your neural interface, you'll be on your own? No guidance, no quick problem-solving, and no sarcasm to keep you company."

I smirked despite myself. "I think I can survive for a few minutes without your delightful commentary, thanks."

"Debatable," she replied dryly, but her tone softened a bit. "Alright, fine. I'll stay here and see what I can do with the terminal. But if you so much as stub your toe, I expect you to come running back like a sensible person. We can't afford to lose you."

"Got it, Mom," I shot back, slinging the backpack over my shoulder. "Oh, and while I'm out there, I'll see if I can find something to rig up a visual feed for you. Maybe a working camera or some kind of sensor we can jury-rig. If I can set that up, you'd at least have eyes on whatever I'm scouting."

That seemed to get her attention. "A live visual feed? Now that would be useful," she said, her voice shifting into her more analytical mode. "If you manage to find something functional—and that's a big if—I can probably modify it to link directly to my systems. It won't be perfect, but having a real-time view of your surroundings would definitely improve my ability to assist you."

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking," I said, glancing toward the nearest crumbling building just beyond the fence. "At least then you wouldn't have to rely on my 'vivid descriptions' of every piece of rubble I trip over."

"True," she replied. "Your descriptions do leave a lot to be desired. Just try not to break anything important—your legs, for example—before we get the feed set up."

"I'll do my best," I said with a grin, moving toward the edge of the fenced-off area. "Alright, I'm heading out. Stay focused on the terminal. If anything weird happens—or you get the panels up and running—ping me immediately."

"Can you explain to me how exactly I'll feel about you being out here alone?" Cortana's voice was sharp with disbelief, though she was clearly trying to keep her tone calm. "Like I just told you, I won't be connected to you anymore. No neural link. No comms. No guidance. You'll be completely on your own, and I can't even contact you if something goes wrong. Why am I even agreeing to this ridiculous plan of yours?"

I paused mid-step, sighing as I turned my head slightly toward the terminal. "Because you know I'm right," I said, my voice calm but firm. "We need supplies, and I can't just sit here twiddling my thumbs while you work on the terminal. There's no one else to do it. It's either me, or we both sit here waiting for something that's never going to come."

She didn't respond right away, but I could almost hear her weighing the logic of my words. Finally, she let out a soft huff of resignation. "Fine. But you'd better stick to the outskirts like you said. No wandering off into the unknown. You're not a Spartan, and I don't think you'll do very well in a fight against anything remotely hostile."

"Wow, thanks for the motivational speech," I muttered, slinging the backpack more securely over my shoulder.

"I'm serious," she continued, her tone steady now but still carrying an edge of worry. "You're all I've got out here. If something happens to you, I'm stuck. Forever. And while I'm sure I'd eventually enjoy the company of rusted solar panels, I'd rather avoid that fate, thank you very much."

I smirked, shaking my head slightly. "Don't worry, I'll be careful. I'll stick close to the fence and only check out the nearby buildings. If anything looks sketchy, I'll come back. Besides, I'll make it quick. I'm not looking to start any trouble."

"Good," she said, her voice laced with dry humor. "Because if you get yourself killed, I'll never forgive you. And no, I don't care that I'm technically an AI—it's the principle of the thing."

"Noted," I said with a faint grin. But as I reached the edge of the fenced area and turned to glance back, I could hear the worry still lingering in her voice.

"Just… try not to do anything too stupid while you're out there, alright?" Cortana said softly, almost hesitantly. "Remember, you're my only ticket out of here. I'd hate to lose my one and only host to sheer recklessness."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I muttered, carefully stepping over the crumbling remains of the fence and into the open expanse beyond. My hand briefly brushed against the cold metal of the pipe I carried, its weight grounding me. "I'll be back soon. Promise."

There was no response this time, but I could feel her presence fading as I moved farther away from the terminal. For the first time since waking up, I was completely on my own.

I moved away from the fence, the faint sound of my boots crunching against cracked asphalt echoing in the stillness. The first building closest to me came into view—a small structure, maybe a shop or some kind of office. Whatever it used to be, I couldn't tell. The signs were long gone, stripped away by time or the elements, leaving only the cold, blank face of concrete staring back at me.

The facade was bare, no trace of paint, no branding, nothing but weathered stone somehow still standing amidst the decay. The windows were shattered, jagged shards of glass clinging stubbornly to the frames. Vines snaked up one side of the building, weaving their way into cracks in the wall. It was eerie in its emptiness, like a hollow shell that had forgotten it was ever alive.

As I approached, I peered through the broken windows. The interior didn't inspire much hope—it looked as empty as the exterior. Rubble was scattered across the floor, bits of concrete, wood, and rusted metal forming piles that seemed to collapse in on themselves. No furniture, no appliances, no hint of what this place had once been. Just emptiness.

I stepped inside, the sound of my boots muffled by the dust-coated floor. The air was stale and faintly metallic, carrying the faint tang of rust and mildew. The building wasn't much better on the inside than it was outside. No shelves, no counters, nothing to suggest what it might have been. Just rubble and shadows.

I scanned the space, hoping to find something—a tool, a piece of scrap metal, anything I could use. My eyes darted from corner to corner, but the only things left behind were broken bits of debris that looked more like trash than treasure.

"Empty," I muttered to myself, the word echoing faintly in the barren room. It was obvious this place had already been scavenged—maybe years ago, maybe recently. My thoughts drifted back to the skirmish I'd overheard earlier. If one of the two factions fighting nearby had cleared this place out, how many other buildings had they stripped bare? And how much closer were they now?

I shook my head, forcing myself to push those thoughts aside. No point in worrying about things I couldn't control. Not right now.

Moving farther inside, I noticed a staircase against the far wall, its wooden steps warped and cracked but still intact enough to climb. The second floor might hold something more intact—or at least more salvageable. I carefully made my way up, each step creaking faintly under my weight.

When I reached the second floor, it was immediately apparent that it was in slightly better shape. The walls were still standing, mostly, and there was far less rubble scattered across the floor. A few broken planks of wood were piled in the corner, along with what looked like the remnants of a small table, though it had long since fallen apart. Dust coated everything in a fine layer, muting what little color might have once existed here.

Kneeling down, I examined the scraps of wood, brushing away some of the dust. They weren't much—just broken pieces of what might have been furniture—but they were dry, and they seemed sturdy enough. Maybe I could use them to start a fire or build something small later. I stuffed the pieces into my backpack, careful not to overfill it. They weren't exactly a jackpot, but at least it was something.

As I stood and glanced around the room again, I couldn't shake the feeling of just how dead this place felt. The silence was heavy, oppressive, as if the building itself had given up long ago. If there had been other scavengers, they'd already taken anything of value. And if the factions I'd heard fighting earlier had been here, they'd been thorough.

I walked to a window and glanced out at the street below. The same quiet desolation greeted me—broken buildings, overgrown streets, and not a single sign of life. The wind whispered through the cracks in the walls, carrying with it the faint scent of salt from the nearby ocean.

I let out a slow breath, trying to clear my mind. This wasn't ideal, but it wasn't hopeless either. If I could find enough scraps, enough material, maybe I could make something work. One step at a time.

I turned back toward the room and adjusted the strap of my backpack. There were a couple of floors above me, but this place wasn't likely to hold much more. I debated for a moment whether to keep searching or move on to the next building. The thought of spending the night perched on top of this crumbling shell crossed my mind—it wasn't safe, but it might be safer than wandering aimlessly in the open.

Either way, I'd need more supplies before I could even think about settling in. For now, I'd keep looking.

Deciding there wasn't much more I could scavenge here, I let out a soft sigh and turned toward the stairs. My backpack felt heavier than it should, even with only a few broken pieces of wood inside. It wasn't the weight of the supplies—it was the realization that this building, like so many others, had already been picked clean.

"Maybe the next one will be better," I muttered under my breath, more to fill the silence than out of any real optimism. If there was anything left in this city worth salvaging, I just had to hope I'd stumble onto it before the fighting crept closer.

I made my way back down to the ground floor, each step creaking slightly under my weight. The air felt heavier here, stale and unmoving, as if the building itself were holding its breath. Even though the structure looked like it might collapse with a strong enough breeze, it seemed to be holding together just well enough to stay upright.

Pausing near the door, I glanced back at the empty room one last time. Rubble and dust coated the floor, the walls cracked and crumbling. It wasn't much of a shelter, but I couldn't ignore the fact that it might serve as a last resort.

If I had no other options—if I couldn't find anything better—this place might work as a temporary refuge. The second floor was in decent shape, and the roof seemed accessible enough. It wasn't ideal, but at least I'd be off the ground, out of sight from whatever might be lurking out there.

I stepped outside, blinking against the sunlight as the open air hit my face. The cool breeze carried the faint scent of saltwater, a stark contrast to the musty stillness inside the building. Turning back, I studied the structure more closely from the outside. The concrete walls were cracked and weathered, the jagged edges of broken windows casting long, uneven shadows across the facade.

The roof, though partially caved in on one side, looked intact enough on the other. If I had to, I could camp out up there for the night. It wouldn't be comfortable—it wouldn't even be safe—but it was an option.

"I wouldn't like it," I murmured to myself, my voice low. "But it's better than nothing."

Still, I hoped it wouldn't come to that. I adjusted the strap of my backpack and glanced around, scanning the nearby buildings. Most were in similar states of disrepair, their walls sagging and their windows shattered. The next building, slightly taller and set farther back from the street, caught my eye.

"Maybe that one," I muttered, setting off toward it. If I could find something—anything—to bring back to Cortana, it might make this whole trip feel a little less futile. Maybe a piece of equipment, something we could modify or repurpose. Or, if I got really lucky, maybe something to give her a proper visual feed, so she didn't have to rely solely on my descriptions.

The thought of her dry commentary on my scavenging efforts made me smirk despite myself. "Alright, next stop," I said under my breath, gripping the pipe in my hand as I moved cautiously toward the next building.

Thinking back to what I've been through throughout the day feels like it's only midday. Can't really tell. I can't even tell if the sun has moved at all. If I am going to be looking for any type of technology that might be able to allow Cortana to see. My best bet would maybe later heading back out to where? The robot that almost killed me and maybe scouting supplies from that if whatever killed it hasn't done it already. I have to run by Cortana. She thinks it would be payable enough, but I think it would be worth the risk.

One saving grace that I can say is that there's been no sounds of fighting. It seems like it's just nature is the only thing I've been able to hear in the section of this city. Making my way over to the next building, just doing a quick peek in to see if it's. Many different from the one I just left. It doesn't seem like it again and it's mostly destroyed and this one doesn't even have any type of furniture or anything. No one, nothing survived. It's empty just for concrete walls with holes in them. I think my best bet would be just to look around, see if I can find any plants that are edible. I don't think I'll be able to find any technology.

Thinking back on everything I've been through today, it feels like it should be midday. But honestly, I can't tell. I don't even know if the sun has moved at all. The sky's light hasn't shifted—not enough for me to notice, anyway—and it's unsettling. How long have I been out here? Hours? More? Time feels... wrong. Stretched thin.

If I'm going to keep searching for any technology that could help Cortana see what I see, I might have to double back later to where the recon unit nearly killed me. Scavenging whatever's left of it could be worth the risk—assuming whatever cut it down hasn't already cleaned it out. I'll have to run the idea by Cortana, though. She'll probably think it's too risky, but with what little we've found so far, it might be our best chance.

One saving grace, at least, is the quiet. No gunfire. No explosions. Just... nature. The faint rustle of the wind through the crumbling buildings, the distant call of a bird I can't place—it's all I've heard since leaving the fence. It's strange, though. This part of the city almost feels untouched by the fighting. The silence is eerie but comforting, in a way. Like this little pocket of the world has been forgotten by everyone but me.

Making my way to the next building, I pause at the entrance, peering inside. It's no different from the last one: destroyed, hollow, stripped bare. This one doesn't even have so much as a splinter of furniture left. It's just concrete walls with holes punched through them, like the skeleton of something long dead. If anyone else scavenged this place, they took everything. Not even scraps remain.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, I step inside for a quick look around anyway, more out of stubbornness than hope. But it's exactly as it appeared from the outside—empty. No tech. No tools. Nothing I can use. It feels like every step I take in this city leads me further from answers, from solutions.

I lean against the wall, closing my eyes for a moment. I can't keep wandering around blindly. I need a plan. Supplies are critical—I can't exactly power through this empty-handed. Maybe I should focus on finding plants or something edible. There's greenery growing everywhere; surely some of it has to be safe. It's not much of a solution, but it's better than chasing after tech that doesn't exist in places that have already been picked clean.

And yet, the thought of heading back to the fallen recon unit lingers in my mind. Its remains might hold something useful, something Cortana and I can repurpose. It's a risk, but isn't everything now?

I need to make a decision soon.

"She's going to hate this," I mutter under my breath, my voice barely audible as if saying it too loudly might summon her disapproval. But no matter how much Cortana is going to lecture me on this later, I still think it's the right call. The wreckage of that recon unit might hold something we can use—something we need.

I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck before adjusting the grip on the pipe in my hand. "She's gonna kill me," I add softly, the weight of the decision settling over me like a heavy coat. Turning back the way, I came, I begin retracing my steps, every muscle in my body on edge as I strain my ears for any sounds—anything that might suggest the fighting hasn't fully left this part of the city.

The trek back feels shorter this time, though no less tense. Every crunch of gravel beneath my boots feels deafening, every shadow a potential ambush. But the silence holds. No distant gunfire, no heavy thumps of explosions—just the quiet hum of nature reclaiming the ruins. Still, I don't let my guard down, my grip on the pipe tightening as I approach the area where I encountered the robot.

The building I had fled from looms into view, the jagged tear in its wall like a scar carved into its side. I slow my pace, lowering myself into a crouch and sticking close to the crumbling walls. My breath is steady, but my heart feels like it's trying to hammer its way out of my chest.

The closer I get, the more deliberate my movements become. My eyes flick between the alley ahead and the gaps in the building's structure, my ears straining for the faintest sound—a scrape of metal, a distorted voice, anything to suggest I'm not alone. But there's nothing. No signs of movement. No echoes of the battle that had once raged here. Just the eerie quiet of an abandoned warzone.

I reach the edge of the alleyway where I'd first slipped through. This time, instead of heading back inside through the door, I take the longer route, circling around to the back of the building. The overgrowth is thicker here, trees twisting their roots into cracks in the pavement, their branches spilling into broken windows like nature's version of scaffolding. It's unsettling how much life has reclaimed this dead city, as though the buildings themselves are being consumed, digested into the earth.

I crouch lower, moving carefully as I approach the area where the recon unit had torn through the wall. The jagged hole gapes wide, the edges crumbling further under the weight of time. Peeking around the corner, I hold my breath and survey the scene.

It's quiet. Too quiet.

The recon unit is still there, sprawled lifeless against the rubble, its metallic frame gleaming faintly in the filtered light. A jagged hole splits through its chest where that blade had pierced it, the edges scorched and twisted. Sparks no longer sputter from their severed wires; whatever energy had once coursed through it is long gone.

I wait a moment longer, crouched and motionless, scanning for any signs of life. The area seems untouched, as though the scene had frozen in time since I fled. Whatever—or whoever—had destroyed the recon unit clearly hadn't come back to scavenge it. That, or they didn't care about whatever was left behind.

My gaze flickers to the surrounding buildings, the shadows they cast stretching like jagged teeth. No movement. No sound. Just the faint rustle of leaves and the soft creak of metal as the wind brushes against the recon unit's broken frame.

I exhale slowly, forcing myself to step closer. The pipe in my hand feels heavier now, though I know it's just my nerves playing tricks on me. Every step feels like a gamble, every creak of the ground beneath my boots a potential warning. But the robot doesn't move. The shadows don't shift. The silence holds.

Kneeling beside the recon unit, I glance over the wreckage, my eyes darting between its exposed circuitry and the torn sections of its body. The blade wound through its chest is jagged and deep, the metal warped outward as though whatever struck it had been impossibly sharp and driven with immense force. Whoever—or whatever—did this wasn't human. That much is clear.

As I crouched beside the lifeless husk of the recon unit, that strange, familiar feeling washed over me again—the pull of the Celestial Forge. It was subtle at first, like a faint vibration deep in my chest, but it quickly grew stronger, the sensation impossible to ignore.

I clenched my fists, steeling myself against the strange tide rising within me. Whatever force was behind the Forge, its workings were as mysterious now as they were the first time I'd felt it. Sometimes, it was relentless, flooding me with knowledge back-to-back. Other times, it was silent, as if it had forgotten I existed. This time was different, though—this time, I felt like I had some semblance of control.

The pull grew stronger, the sensation nudging at the edges of my consciousness, trying to drag me back to that celestial plane of stars and constellations. But unlike before, I realized I could resist it. The Forge didn't feel as insistent this time; it was almost as if it was giving me a choice. I could feel the knowledge waiting just on the other side of that pull—an offer extended, but not demanded.

I hesitated for a moment, my hand resting on the cold, battered frame of the recon unit. I could ignore the pull, I realized, and the knowledge would still transfer. Maybe not as vividly, not as all-consuming, but it would come. That felt like the right course of action—I couldn't afford to lose myself in the Forge right now, not with the risk of danger still looming over me.

Taking a deep breath, I focused on the sensation, willing myself to stay grounded in the here and now. The celestial pull faded, but the knowledge came anyway, flooding my mind like water seeping into cracks.

The images and concepts came quickly, overwhelming at first but settling into something sharp and clear: Titans. Massive, incredibly complex machines. They weren't just vehicles; they were engineered wonders, created for war yet built to last. Titans were more than machines—they were partners, equipped with AI that held a spark of will, forming bonds with their pilots that went beyond mere programming. The Forge whispered secrets to me about their inner workings, their maintenance, their flaws. My mind had been rewired to see them not as tools, but as enduring companions. I knew how to keep them running, not just for years but for lifetimes, tweaking and shoring up their mechanisms with the precision of a master mechanic and the care of a steward honoring a sacred bond.

I exhaled sharply, the knowledge settled into place. My chest rose and fell as I processed what the Forge had given me. "Titans," I murmured aloud. I didn't know exactly what they were—my world had no equivalent—but the memories, the blueprints etched into my mind, were crystal clear.

This wasn't just an abstract theory. The principles of Titan repairs were already bleeding into my understanding of the machine before me. My eyes flicked to the hole in the recon unit's chest, the jagged edges warped and scorched from the sword strike. As I studied it, I realized the Forge had given me more than just a new skill—it had shifted the way I saw machines entirely. The way its joints connected, the layout of its circuits, the structural stresses on its frame—all of it was suddenly clearer, like I'd been handed a key to understanding its design.

"This might actually be useful," I muttered, a faint spark of excitement cutting through my unease. I didn't have a Titan to work on—whatever those were—but I had this broken robot. And now, I had a better idea of what to look for.

Gripping the pipe tighter in my hands, I moved toward the jagged tear in its chest. The edges were sharp, the metal twisted in strange, almost organic patterns. The wound wasn't clean—whoever had wielded that sword had driven it through with brutal precision, but there was still enough of the robot's inner structure intact to give me hope.

Planting the end of the pipe against the edge of the tear, I leaned my weight into it, using it as a lever to pry the chest cavity open. The metal groaned in protest, but it gave way slowly, the edges bending outward enough to give me a better view of the interior.

As I worked, my thoughts drifted to Cortana. She'd hate this. She'd hate that I'd come back here, that I was digging through the remains of a machine that had nearly killed me. I could almost hear her sharp, exasperated voice in my head. "You're doing this without a plan, without backup, and without any consideration for your own safety. Brilliant. Truly brilliant."

I smirked despite myself, but the humor didn't last long. She wasn't wrong. This was dangerous, stupid even. But if there was even a chance, I could find something here to help her—something to make our survival a little less impossible—it was worth the risk. I'd just have to endure her inevitable scolding later.

The chest cavity opened wider, revealing a tangled mess of wires, circuitry, and metal plates. Most of it was damaged beyond repair, the delicate components fried by the sheer force of the sword strike. But as I sifted through the wreckage, carefully peeling back sections of warped plating, something caught my eye.

The head.

Its sensor "eye" was still intact, glowing faintly with a dim red light. The rest of the head was battered, the casing cracked in several places, but the primary lens seemed unharmed. An idea began to form in my mind, reckless but tempting. If I could detach the head, I might be able to salvage the camera. It wasn't much, but it was something. With a little ingenuity, maybe Cortana could rig it up to give her a visual feed.

I leaned in closer, inspecting the head's connection to the rest of the body. The joint attached to the neck was heavily reinforced, but I could see a few weak points—sections where the casing had split, exposing the screws and wiring beneath.

"This might actually work," I murmured, gripping the multi-tool from my backpack. The Forge's gift made it easier to map out what I needed to do, breaking the task into manageable steps in my mind. Disconnect the power source. Detach the mounting screws. Carefully severing the wiring to avoid frying the circuitry.

Of course, that was the easy part. The hard part would be convincing Cortana that I hadn't lost my mind in the process.

Finally, after carefully detaching the head, I stuffed it into my backpack alongside the wood, leaving no room to spare. Muttering to myself that this had better be worth the risk, I quickly left and began heading back to the solar panels. Exhaustion was creeping in now, making every step feel heavier. As I trudged along, I kept my eyes peeled for any plants that might be edible—berries, maybe, or anything that could stave off hunger later.

About halfway back, I spotted a small stream flowing under the collapsed highway. Now that I wasn't panicked and focused on escaping, I could actually take the time to notice my surroundings. Following the stream for a bit, I found exactly what I'd been hoping for: a few berry bushes. I let out a breath of relief and silently thanked the stars above. Kneeling down, I examined the berries. They looked edible but I'd Still, I'd have to test the berries later to be sure they were safe. Grateful for the small miracles, I carefully gathered what I could, tucking them into the last bit of space left in my already overstuffed backpack. Exhaustion weighed heavy on me, but there was a small flicker of pride in my chest—a sense of accomplishment, however minor, for finding something useful. It wasn't much, but it was a start. With my newfound supplies in tow, I pressed onward, eager to make it back to the fenced area and let Cortana know what I'd managed to scavenge.

The walk back felt longer than it should have, my steps heavy with fatigue. By the time I reached the solar panel array, the sun—unchanging as far as I could tell—still cast the same pale, washed-out light over the crumbling ruins around me. My legs ached, and the weight of my pack seemed to pull at my shoulders more with every step, but I pushed through. As I approached the control panel, I could see the flicker of lines of code scrolling across the cracked display. Whatever Cortana was doing, she was still hard at work.

Letting out a tired breath, I dropped my pack carefully onto the ground and called out to her. "Cortana, I'm back," I said, my voice hoarse but steady. "I managed to find a few useful things. Found some food, at least—hopefully enough to keep me from starving for a bit. Oh, and I found a stream," I added, rubbing the back of my neck as I tried to recall everything I'd noticed. "The water's running fast enough that, if I remember my survival basics right, it should be clean enough to drink. Probably."

For a moment, there was silence. Then Cortana's voice chimed in, calm but laced with faint amusement. "Well, congratulations on not dying of thirst yet. Finding a water source is good—great, even. But let's not get too excited until we know for sure it won't turn your stomach inside out."

I smirked, too tired to muster much of a comeback. "Noted. Maybe you can run some magical AI calculations on stream flow and purity while I'm out scavenging next time?"

"Unfortunately, I don't have a 'stream quality detection module' built in," she replied dryly, "but if we can get some power stabilized, I might be able to guide you through rigging a filtration system. Assuming you don't poison yourself in the meantime."

"Encouraging as always," I muttered, crouching down to dig into my pack. I pulled out the head of the destroyed recon unit and set it carefully beside the control panel. Its lifeless, hollow optics stared back at me, and I couldn't help but feel a faint chill. "Speaking of scavenging… I found this. Thought you might be able to make something out of it."

There was a pause, and I imagined Cortana's neural processes kicking into overdrive as she assessed the implications. "You brought back the head of the recon unit?" she asked, her tone teetering somewhere between intrigue and exasperation. "Well, that's… bold. I assume you weren't spotted while dragging it back?"

"Relax. The area was clear," I reassured her, though my voice carried more exhaustion than confidence. "Whatever sliced through it wasn't interested in sticking around, and I didn't see any other units nearby. The place was abandoned."

"Lucky you," she replied, her tone still skeptical. "Let me guess—you're hoping I can turn this into some kind of visual interface?"

"That's the idea," I said, leaning back on my heels. "Figured we might be able to rig its camera or optics into a feed you can use. I mean, you said yourself you need some kind of visual setup. This seemed like a good place to start."

Cortana's voice softened slightly, though there was still a wry edge to it. "I'll admit, it's a clever idea. And as far as scavenging goes, this isn't the worst thing you've brought back. Give me a moment to analyze the hardware—assuming it's not too damaged, I might be able to repurpose it."

I watched the lines of code scrolling across the control panel as she worked, her focus clearly shifting to the recon unit's head. The hum of the terminal filled the silence, and I let my shoulders relax for the first time since setting out. The exhaustion hit me in waves now that I was standing still—my legs felt like lead, and my arms ached from hauling the scavenged materials.

"While you're at it," I said, forcing myself to stay upright, "I grabbed some wood scraps, too. Nothing major, but maybe enough to patch up some shelter or get a fire going later."

"Resourceful," she commented, her voice distracted as she continued her analysis. "Though I'd recommend you save any structural materials for actual construction. A fire's nice, but it won't keep the rain off your head."

I nodded absently, my mind wandering as I stared at the control panel's faint glow. The day's events played back in fragments—the trek through the ruins, the brush with starvation, the distant echoes of fighting. Even now, there was a gnawing unease in the back of my mind. The city felt too quiet, too still. Something about it didn't sit right.

"You're awfully quiet," Cortana said suddenly, breaking through my thoughts. "What's going on in that overworked brain of yours?"

"Just… thinking," I admitted, my voice low. "About how quiet it is out there. No gunfire, no recon units, nothing. It's like the city just… stopped."

Cortana's response was measured, thoughtful. "You've noticed it too, then. The lull in activity. It could mean a lot of things—maybe the fighting moved elsewhere, or the factions pulled back to regroup. Or maybe something bigger is happening that we're not seeing yet."

"Bigger?" I repeated, frowning. "Like what?"

"Hard to say without more information," she admitted. "But in my experience, silence in a war zone is rarely a good thing. It's usually the calm before—"

"Don't say it," I interrupted, holding up a hand. "I'm not in the mood for ominous foreshadowing."

"Fair enough," she said with a faint chuckle. "But keep your guard up. Whatever's out there, we're not in the clear yet."

I leaned back against the control panel, closing my eyes for a moment. The weight of the day pressed down on me, and I couldn't help but wonder how long I'd be able to keep this up. Surviving in a ruined city with nothing but scraps and whispers of knowledge—it was starting to feel like an impossible task.

But then again, impossible tasks seemed to be all I had these days.

"So," Cortana said, her voice cutting through the heavy silence. "While I dissect this robot head, you should figure out what's next on your grand survival plan. Food, water, shelter—two out of three isn't bad, but it won't last forever."

I opened my eyes, staring out at the overgrown ruins beyond the fenced area. She was right. As much as I wanted to rest, there was still so much to do. Shelter. A base. Something that could last longer than a single night.

"Yeah," I murmured, straightening up. "I'll get on that."

And with that, I turned my attention back to the task at hand. The fight wasn't over—not by a long shot.

The moment the knowledge hit me, it was like nothing I'd experienced before—sharp and overwhelming, but oddly… pleasant. Instead of the usual pull into the Celestial Forge's constellation platform, the information flowed into me right where I stood. It was as if I'd somehow sidestepped the usual ritual, letting the Forge inject the knowledge directly into my mind without the dramatic cosmic fanfare.

My head buzzed with a cool, soothing sensation, like a brain freeze without the sharp sting of pain. I had just enough awareness to note the difference—this wasn't a rush of disorienting heat or pressure. No, this was calm, precise, and methodical. It felt almost intentional, like the Forge had adjusted itself to my refusal to be pulled away.

And then the details began to take shape, crystalizing into concepts I could grasp.

The first surge of knowledge was primal, earthy, and visceral—monster crafting. The Forge whispered secrets of a world where monsters were more than threats to be fought or avoided; they were resources waiting to be harvested. Feathers, fur, scales, blood, bones—every part of a monster could be used to create something extraordinary. Weapons, armor, tools, potions, even architectural materials—if a craftsman was skilled enough, nothing went to waste.

The realization came with a sharp clarity: I didn't need to hunt these monsters. The Forge had already provided me with a lifeline. I could summon these materials on demand—a replenishing supply every month, tailored to the strength and rarity of the material. Fifth-class feathers? I could get a handful of those. First-class scales? I'd receive them by the ton. And even more tantalizing, the occasional magic core—a pulsing, glowing reservoir of magical energy—was part of the deal. It wasn't an endless supply, but it was enough to start creating something remarkable. The more I thought about it, the more potential it had. Monster flesh wasn't just raw material—it was a game-changer.

Before I could fully process the implications of monster crafting, the second surge of knowledge slammed into me like a freight train, filling the gaps in my mind with an entirely new framework.

Magic and technology. For most people, these were separate worlds, like oil and water. They could exist side by side, but they rarely mixed. Yet the Forge had given me the insight to make them work together seamlessly, as if they'd always been meant to blend. I could take the intangible, unpredictable nature of magic and weave it into the precision of technology. The examples that surfaced in my mind felt absurd—and yet, I knew I could do them.

I could install a fictional operating system from a book onto a physical machine. I could take a fragment of magically generated tissue and grow a self-replicating swarm of nanomachines. The limits of what was possible felt distant, blurred by the sheer vastness of potential. I might not have been a magic user in the traditional sense, but I understood how to make it work for me in a way that most mages or engineers never could. Magic cores, enchanted materials, and circuits of glowing runes—I could see it all fitting together in perfect harmony, like gears in a clock.

The Forge wasn't just filling my head with knowledge; it was rewiring how I saw the world. Materials weren't just materials anymore—they were opportunities. The ruins of this city weren't just a crumbling backdrop; they were a treasure trove of resources waiting to be scavenged and transformed.

I blinked as the flow of information began to settle, my brain slowly adjusting to the two monumental revelations. My chest heaved with deep, steadying breaths as I leaned back against the rusted fence surrounding the solar panel lot, the comforting sound of Cortana's interface still humming faintly in the background.

"Two in one go," I muttered, wiping the sweat from my brow. "Guess the Forge decided to reward me for being stubborn."

"What are you mumbling about now?" Cortana's voice cut in, her tone tinged with curiosity. "You've been silent for a good thirty seconds. Did you zone out again, or are we talking cosmic brain dump number… what are we on now? Four?"

"Five," I corrected, though my voice was still shaky. "And it's not just one this time—it's two. Monster crafting and... uh, magic-tech integration."

There was a pause, and I could almost feel Cortana calculating how to respond. "Monster crafting?" she repeated, her tone skeptical. "You're telling me the Forge gave you knowledge about harvesting monster parts? For crafting what, exactly? A nice set of dragon-scale coasters?"

"More like armor, weapons, tools—practical things," I replied, ignoring her sarcasm. "It's not just about scavenging. I can actually summon the materials. The stronger the material, the less of it I get, but it's a regular supply. It could be scales, fur, feathers, even magic cores. And before you ask, no, I don't know how it works. It just… does."

"Of course it does," she said dryly. "Why wouldn't it? And the second thing? What was that about magic and tech?"

I hesitated, trying to distill the enormity of it into something digestible. "Basically, I can make magic and technology work together. Like… seamlessly. Think enchanted hardware, circuits made of runes, or turning magical energy into functional power for machines. The examples in my head feel impossible, but I know I can do them. The Forge gave me the tools—it's just a matter of using them."

Cortana let out a low whistle. "Well, that's certainly… something. Magic and tech playing nice? That's a game-changer. Assuming we live long enough to make use of it."

"Yeah," I murmured, staring at the crumbling cityscape beyond the fence. "Assuming we live long enough."

For a moment, I let myself imagine the possibilities. With the right tools and materials, I could create weapons that ran on magic cores, defenses that blended enchantments with solid engineering, and maybe even a way to rebuild this city into something livable. The knowledge was there, waiting to be used.

---

Author's Notes:

Hello again! If you didn't catch my note in Chapter 4, this is a bit of a reiteration, but I just want to say thank you so much for reading my story. Posting it has been both exciting and nerve-wracking for me. One of my biggest hesitations is that I've struggled in the past with sticking to writing projects. But this story has been different—it's really stuck with me, and I genuinely enjoy writing it. That joy is what kept me motivated to push through Chapter 5.

This chapter ended up being much longer than I originally planned, and while I could have broken it into multiple chapters, I felt it made more sense to keep it as one cohesive piece. I hope you've enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

I do have a small favor to ask: if you notice any inconsistencies in the story's information, I'd be incredibly grateful if you could point them out. Quoting them would be even better! I'm trying to improve my writing, and having the chance to go back and fix errors or inconsistencies would be a huge help. I do my best to catch them during edits, but I don't have a beta reader or editor—this is a solo effort.

Thank you again for your support and for joining me on this journey. Your feedback means the world to me, and I look forward to sharing more of this story with you!

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