House of Rand

by Jakeros

Caelus disappeared without a trace one day, leaving March and the rest of the Express devastated... until he suddenly turns back up a month later. But why does he look older, and what's this about an alternate reality? But what March really wants to know is: why is Bronya's mother alive and why is she so close to her friend! AU. Eventual CaelusxCocolia. Cover art by PenTipBreaker.

19. Chapter 17

2025. Heh. What a year am I right?

Alright, before we get going, I need to set the record straight. They've since calmed down admittedly but this is going to be a little tangent so if you are just here for the story, feel free to skip this.

As for any potential "artists" that are reading this, I'd prefer if you didn't. Please read on and understand where I'm coming from.

[Incoming mini rant]

Let me be clear.

I appreciate your enthusiasm for wanting to make art for my story, but I am not interested. I am actively working to get through my final year in college, therefore do not have the means to commission anybody (else).

So please, STOP pming me about commission offers. I cannot pay for them, so don't waste your time. I will let you know if I have the means to but until then, understand that any and all commission offers I receive on this account from this point on will be deleted immediately.

Now, if you have story ideas you'd like to share, please pm me or hit me up on Discord. I'd love to hear them.

But don't come and try to sell me something. I am a writer first and a customer second. Do not make the mistake of thinking you can make an easy buck off of me.

I. Am. Not. Interested.

[End of mini rant]

*ahem*

Sorry about that, but I really needed to get that off my chest. While I appreciate the interest in my fics, it just gets frustrating to get nothing but offers as correspondence. If it's not on DA, it's here. (-_-)

Well then, let's get to it. Welcome to quite possibly the most critical chapter of this entire story. This chapter is where I really start to mold this barren snowscape to my liking, so expect a lot of world building and a lot of exposition - apologies in adavance. Creative liberties shall be taken here, just as I did with Court Adjourned.

Without further ado: It's time to shed some light on Belobog's buried past, and the origin of the Supreme Guardians.

Oh, two things! First, as of time of writing, we are sitting pretty at 103 follows and right at 89 favorites overall for this story. You guys are awesome and make every chapter I put out worth the hassle and the nightmares (kidding! mostly)

And lastly a personal thank you to PenTipBreaker for drumming up this awesome new cover for the story. Certainly better than anything I could come up with! XD

\Note at the end, let's begin/

Read, review, enjoy! (The longest chapter I've ever written)

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Honkai Star Rail is property of Hoyoverse. I own nothing.

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"dialogue"

"call"

system

:text:

"altered"

"mental conversation"

"flashback"

SOUND EFFECT

/dream/

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The echo of heavy, metallic footsteps reverberated through the darkened corridors.

Caelus pressed himself against the cold steel wall, heart pounding in his chest as he peered around the corner.

The imposing security automaton stalked the hall like a mindless predator, its partially rusted frame hissing with every movement. Glowing red optics scanned the debris-strewn floor, searching, hunting.

Then, a mechanical whir. A click.

The robot's head snapped in his direction.

Shit.

The automaton let out a shrieking roar, the servos of its drill screaming to life as it lunged forward.

Caelus didn't wait—he bolted, boots slamming against the metal floor, breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The hall trembled with each of the robot's thunderous steps, the weight of its pursuit shaking rusted panels and sending dust loose from the ceiling.

A blast of energy ripped past him, scorching the wall ahead and filling the air with the stench of burnt metal.

Another shot came quickly—much closer this time.

Sparks erupted around him as the robot rained destruction down the corridor. Caelus ducked, rolling over a fallen beam just as a clawed appendage smashed into the ground where he had been a second earlier.

Move, move, move! He thought frantically, climbing to his feet

He spotted an emergency bulkhead up ahead, the door half-jammed open, leading into another room.

Another beam tore through the corridor, and Caelus felt the searing heat graze his shoulder. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself forward.

Ten feet...

Five feet.

The robot's claw lashed out, inches from his back—

Caelus dove, hitting the ground hard and sliding beneath the half-open door. He rolled onto his back, breathing hard as he watched the automaton charge straight for him—

Only for the bulkhead's emergency failsafe to slam shut, sealing the armored menace behind inches of reinforced steel.

For a moment, only silence.

Then, the screech of metal as the robot slammed into the door, denting it outward but little else.

Caelus exhaled, forcing himself to his feet. He listened carefully, waiting to hear the heavy footsteps of the automaton move away before he headed back to the door. It opened with a touch of the hand, allowing him to peek out to see if the coast was clear.

No sign of it… for now at least.

But that trend wouldn't stick around. It would be back and if he didn't find the old man soon, his luck would run out.

Yet, the question that had been haunting him since learning what this place was tore at him all the fiercer:

What did this place have to do with the Supreme Guardians…?

/Earlier that day…/

"What do you mean it's not ready yet?!"

Gregor didn't even look up, just kept fiddling with a rusted-out gear, his fingers black with grease. "Exactly what I said, runt. Don't have the parts."

Caelus scowled. "And you couldn't have told me that yesterday?"

Gregor snorted, puffs of smoke wafting up from his mouth. "Didn't know yesterday. Found out this morning. And bitching about it ain't gonna change a damn thing."

"If it's money you need, I can—"

"It's the damn parts I need, punk!" Gregor's roar shook the walls, and for a second, Caelus swore he could feel the heat of it. "Caravan's coming through later today—dunno when, don't care. They might have what I need. You want your shit fixed? You wait. Now beat it."

Caelus bit back a retort, his fists clenching at his sides. But there was nothing to do but wait. He threw Gregor one last glare before storming out, slamming the door hard enough to make the tools rattle on the walls.

"No luck, huh?" Lowen drawled as Caelus stormed out of the workshop, his boots scuffing against the dirt road.

The only response was a low, irritated growl.

"So," Lowen continued, undeterred, "what's the verdict?"

"He doesn't have the parts," Caelus spat, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "And apparently, it never occurred to him to check his stock before taking the job. You'd think a so-called professional would at least have thought that far ah—" He cut himself off, jaw tightening as he realized Lowen was just staring at him. "WHAT!?"

Lowen flinched, barely noticeable, but enough to make guilt creep into Caelus's chest. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before shaking his head. "Sorry. Didn't mean to snap. It's just—" His voice wavered, temper simmering just beneath the surface. "I'm so sick of this."

He kicked a loose stone, watching as it skittered down the street. It wasn't enough to shake the irritation clinging to him like dust, but at least it gave his hands something to do besides throwing punches.

"Rough night?"

Caelus blinked, caught off guard by Lowen's guess. "How'd you guess?"

Lowen gestured toward the discarded blanket lying in the dirt. "The blanket I lent you was on the ground—like you kicked it off in your sleep. Otherwise, you'd have been wrapped up in it tight."

Caelus stiffened, realizing Lowen had no clue about the Stellaron's constant warmth. He just nodded, letting the assumption stand.

"Must've been one hell of a nightmare," Lowen mused, nodding to himself.

"Yeah..." Caelus murmured, his mind drifting back to the visions that had haunted his sleep.

Why had he seen all that? For what purpose?

"Wanna talk about it? I'm all ears if you need to get something off your chest."

"Did I ask for a therapist?" Caelus snapped, the words coming out harsher than intended. Lowen flinched, and guilt coiled tight in Caelus's gut. He exhaled through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry. Didn't mean to bite your head off. I just..." He sighed. "I appreciate the offer, but you'd think I was crazy."

"Try me."

Caelus hesitated, a brief war waging in his mind. Finally, he took a shot in the dark. "Those remnants we talked about yesterday—have they ever... done anything?"

Lowen frowned. "Done anything? Hm. Not that I've seen, no. Then again, I haven't been around as long as some of the others have." He looked like he wanted to say more but held back, choosing his words carefully. "But the Elder might know. You oughta talk with him before you leave."

This again.

If it hadn't been obvious before that Lowen looked up to the man, it was crystal clear now.

"We've been over this already," Caelus said, exhaustion creeping into his voice. "I can't just waltz in and see him—you know that."

Lowen grinned, something conspiratorial gleaming in his eyes. "That's true for most people, yeah... but lucky for you, we're acquainted."

Against his better judgment, Caelus's interest was piqued.

"How would that—? Wait a second."

The pieces clicked into place like a lock snapping shut. Lowen had mentioned searching for medicine. Uleg had tried—practically begged—him to abandon that reckless scavenger hunt in the wastes. And if the Elder was the only one in need of such care, then that left only one conclusion.

"You're the one looking after the Elder, aren't you?"

Lowen grinned, looking oddly proud. "Got it in one, friend. I've taken it upon myself to care for him, seeing as the rest of the village seems perfectly fine letting him waste away."

Caelus stared at him, something uneasy stirring in his gut.

A part of him wanted to argue—to say that maybe the villagers weren't callous, just... accepting.

If the Elder was old and sick, then forcing him to linger in suffering wasn't kindness—it was cruelty. Maybe they were trying to let him go, to face the inevitable with dignity and plan for the future.

But Lowen wasn't. He was fighting it.

"Even so…" Caelus hesitated, then pressed on. "If he's that sick, is it really worth burning through what little you have to keep him alive?"

The shift in Lowen's expression was immediate and jarring. The friendly glimmer in his eyes vanished, replaced by something cold and hostile—something that reminded Caelus too much of the way the villagers had looked at him.

"You're starting to sound like everyone else who's already given up on him," Lowen said, his voice dark, edged like a knife.

Caelus squared his shoulders, refusing to back down. "You told me yourself—resources are barely enough to keep the village going. Even if it's the head of this place we're talking about, would he want you prioritizing him over the others?"

The question struck a nerve, clearly.

"What do you—!?" Lowen's voice shot up, raw and unrestrained, before he bit down on his frustration. He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to take measured breaths, reining in his temper. When he spoke again, it was quieter—but no less resolute.

"You're right," he admitted, "but it's not that simple either. You don't know him like I do. He hasn't survived this long just because of medicine. He's held on because there's something he still has to do." Lowen's jaw tightened, his eyes burning with conviction. "And I've made it my mission to make sure he gets that chance—even if it means risking my life out there."

His devotion was unwavering, carved into him like stone. And in a way, Caelus couldn't help but admire it. But that kind of loyalty carried its own dangers.

Still, he wasn't going to get anywhere arguing.

And really, he was curious about the Elder as well. It was possible he had met or at least knew of an expedition that came here in the past. With his phone still out of commission, then it was rapidly becoming the only real avenue he could go down.

"So you're saying," Caelus started carefully, "that you could set up a meeting? Even though I'm a complete stranger?"

Like a switch flipping, Lowen's guarded stance melted away, replaced by his usual easygoing grin. "I've got a good feeling about it, yeah." Then he shrugged, amusement glinting in his eyes. "And don't worry about being a stranger. He's not as closed-minded as the rest of the grouches around here."

VRR! VRR!

A low, insistent buzzing came from Lowen's pocket. With a muttered curse, he fished out his phone, squinting at the screen. "Uleg? Ugh, what does he want now?"

A few quick swipes and taps later, whatever he saw made his eyes nearly pop out of their sockets. "Shit! Not again…"

Caelus arched a brow. "Problem?"

"Sort of," Lowen muttered, already stuffing the phone back into his pocket. "Look, I hate to leave you hanging, but I gotta go handle something. I think I can still get that meeting with the old man by the end of the day, though."

"Don't stress yourself over it," Caelus said, watching him carefully. There was an edge to Lowen's urgency that concerned him but it also wasn't his place to pry. "Just take care of things. I can manage on my own."

And maybe, with Lowen gone, he'd finally have a chance to look into those remnants from his dream—to see if they were more than just landmarks.

"All right… Oh! Before I forget-"

Lowen dug into his pocket, fishing out something before holding it out to Caelus. The moment Caelus registered what it was, his eyes went wide.

"You have another phone?!"

Lowen chuckled at his reaction. "Bit worn down, sure, and definitely out of date, but it still works. Figured you could use it till yours gets fixed. Consider it an overdue thank-you for saving my hide yesterday."

Caelus all but snatched it from his hands, thumbing the power button with barely contained excitement. A flicker of light. A boot-up screen.

It worked.

His relief was palpable.

Then the home screen loaded… and his excitement dimmed just a little.

The interface was ancient, clunky compared to what he was used to. None of the apps he was familiar with were with it, not even an omni-synthesizer.

Still, the weight of the device in his palm, the reliable hum of its circuits—it was enough to make him exhale in satisfaction. It wasn't his, sure, but it was something.

"Thanks. Wait hang on, let me add you as a contact just in case something comes up," Caelus insisted, opening the chat app only to pause. "Tilda? Who's—?"

Caelus's question died in his throat the moment he saw Lowen's face. The sheer misery scrawled across the man's features left him at a loss. The man who had always carried himself with easygoing confidence now looked like a specter of himself, hollowed out by something far older than time.

"Oh…" Lowen forced a weak chuckle, though it barely made it past his lips. "Guess I never cleaned that out, huh?"

He tried for a smile, but Caelus knew a real smile when he saw one. This wasn't it.

This was the first forced one Lowen had given him since they met.

"I can hide it," Caelus offered carefully. "If you don't want me to ask about it."

Lowen shook his head. "No, no, it's fine. Just… caught me off guard is all. I didn't think I left anything on that old relic, but…" He exhaled sharply, shoulders sagging. "Tilda was… my fiancé."

Was.

Caelus swallowed. "You mean…?"

Lowen nodded, the pain in his eyes unmistakable. "Yeah. She was taken by the Corrosion some years back." His voice was steady, but there was something raw beneath it, something jagged and unfinished. "After I left my village, she was all I had left back then. And when I lost her… I wandered out into the wastes. Didn't pack anything neither—just walked straight into the yawning, frigid dark, waiting for some spawn to tear me apart… I hoped for it actually." A bitter chuckle escaped him. "Never happened, obviously. But some days, I wonder if that would've been the lesser of two evils..."

Caelus didn't know what to say.

What could he say? To hear someone as bright, as relentlessly alive as Lowen sound so broken shook him to his core. How had he clawed his way back from that kind of despair? What force had been strong enough to pull him from the abyss?

Maybe we're not so different, Caelus thought.

"…so that's when you found the Elder?" he asked, voice softer now.

"Sort of," Lowen muttered with a shrug. "He'd tell it better than I ever could, but yeah. I owe him my life. And then some." His expression hardened, conviction settling in like armor. "That's why, if everyone else wants to abandon him—fine. Let them. But I won't. If he's hellbent on living, then I'm just the same with keeping him that way for however long he wants."

The silence between them felt heavy, thick with things left unsaid. Then, sensing the weight of his own words, Lowen cleared his throat and shook himself off.

"Anyway, I'll send you my details," he said, forcing a lighter tone, "And there. Ok, I gotta run. Try to stay out of trouble, yeah?"

Even with that bombshell still ringing in his ears, Caelus found enough will to aim a flat, unimpressed glare his way.

"Take your own advice for once, for both our sakes."

And like the switch had been flipped, the Lowen he knew just laughed, full and unbothered, before vanishing around the bend with a wave.

With Lowen gone, an unexpected loneliness settled over Caelus like a heavy cloak.

It was strange—after so many months of traveling alone, he should've gotten used to it. Yet having a familiar voice, a steady presence, had made the weight of his journey just a little easier to bear. And now, with that comfort stripped away, his mind turned on him.

The thoughts he'd been keeping at bay—pushing down, burying under conversation and movement—came flooding back, relentless as the tide.

Getting stuck here, everyone he'd buried at Yakarich and most of all, he couldn't shake the dream.

The path. The remnants. The specter especially.

A more rational part of him argued that chasing a vague dream like this was a waste of time. It wouldn't tell him how he got here. It wouldn't give him answers, wouldn't point him back home.

And yet…

Even as his mind battled itself, his feet carried him forward, retracing the steps he had taken.

Along the way, remnants jutted out from the earth like the broken bones of a long-dead giant, their eerie presence sending a shiver through him. He wanted to reach out, to see if they would react the same way they had in the dream.

It took everything in him not to.

If something did happen, there would be no way to explain it. The villagers already eyed him with suspicion, and even Lowen—about the only friendly face around here—wouldn't be able to talk their way out of that kind of mess.

Still, his thoughts wandered back to the one who had led him through that strange, shifting place.

The figure—the specter.

What were they?

And why did it feel like they were waiting for him?

But why him?

Was it because of the lance? That seemed the most obvious answer, but the weapon hadn't belonged solely to Alisa Rand. Cocolia had wielded it too during their battle, so her presence was just as deeply etched into its history. And yet, she'd merely taken it; she hadn't been chosen by it. Not in the way he had.

The only reason he'd been entrusted with its true form was because Qlippoth had intervened, guiding him to commune with the echoes of the past Guardians.

A moment of fate. A twist of circumstance. Nothing more.

Then why did it feel like something far greater was at play?

The remnants of the past Guardians had spoken to him before, but this—this was different.

This wasn't just memory lingering like dust in forgotten ruins. This was something active, something watching.

And whatever it was, he had the sinking feeling it lay beyond that door.

If it existed that is.

Before long, Caelus found himself on the outskirts of the village, his feet moving as if pulled by an unseen force. His breath hitched as his gaze landed on something that sent a jolt through his system—the passage.

It was nearly identical to the one from his dream.

His pulse quickened.

If everything lined up, then this path should lead deeper into the mountain, winding its way through shadowed corridors until—until that dead end. The same place where the Professor had stopped. Where the specter had led him.

And yet, unlike in the dream, the pull toward it was even stronger.

Insistent.

Demanding.

He took a step forward—

"HEY YOU! GET THE HELL AWAY FROM THERE!"

The barked order shattered whatever trance had taken hold of him.

Whipping around, Caelus found himself staring down a wall of guards, weapons trained on him as if he were some kind of threat. Their expressions were cold, unreadable—except for the underlying wariness.

No, he realized with a sinking feeling, not wariness. Fear.

"W-wait, I wasn't trying to—"

A familiar, gravelly voice cut through the tense air. "Ah, you again, stranger."

Uleg shoved his way to the front of the group, his perpetual scowl deepening as he looked Caelus over with thinly veiled disdain.

"You know this whelp, Uleg?" one of the guards muttered, though his weapon remained fixed on Caelus.

"Of sorts, yeah," Uleg grunted. "And I know he's at least the type we're used to dealing with." He shot Caelus a hard look before turning back to the others. "I'll handle this. You lot, back to your posts."

There was some hesitation, a few lingering glares, but one by one, the guards relented, lowering their weapons and dispersing.

The tension in the air didn't ease, though—it simply shifted, coiling around Uleg like a storm waiting to break.

The old guard exhaled through his nose, giving Caelus a once-over. "I trust you know better than to go poking around restricted areas, stranger."

"Restricted?" Caelus asked, feigning ignorance. "Why's it restricted?"

Uleg's stare hardened. "That's none of your business." His tone was clipped, a warning in itself. "And I thought you'd be long gone by now, what with your phone getting fixed."

"Gregor didn't have the parts. Said it'll be ready by tonight."

The older man muttered something under his breath before rubbing at his scalp in frustration. "Then find somewhere else to wait it out. This place is off-limits. Not just to you—to everyone."

That only made Caelus more suspicious.

"Why?" He tilted his head slightly. "What's down there? Fragmentum corruption? If it's that bad then the Guard should-"

"All you need to know," he growled, getting into Caelus's face, "is that it's off-limits."

Uleg's expression didn't change, but something in his posture stiffened.

"I'll let you off this time, but don't test me, stranger. If I catch you sniffing around here again… we're gonna have a problem and you'll see firsthand why I'm good at solving them. Got it?"

There was no need for threats when the intent was written so plainly in his tone. Uleg didn't deal in empty words—Caelus had no doubt the man would make good on his promise.

With that, Uleg turned on his heel and strode off, signaling the conversation was over.

Caelus lingered for a moment, casting one last look at the passageway, then at the guards who still watched him from a distance, their hands resting far too comfortably on their weapons.

With a sigh, he pulled back, slipping just far enough out of sight to sit and think.

As much as he wanted to get down there, picking a fight with Bergstadt's guards wasn't the brightest idea. Anyone else, he might have called their bluff.

But Uleg?

Caelus had the distinct feeling that if he tested the man's patience again, he wouldn't be walking away unscathed.

There was nothing for it.

With a sigh, Caelus dropped onto the comfiest-looking rock he could find, stretching his legs out and leaning back against the rough surface. The moment his weight settled, he pulled out the phone Lowen had given him, idly flicking through the menus. It was sluggish, outdated, and missing half the features he was used to—but then, his thumb landed on something familiar.

His lips twitched into a grin.

Well, maybe it's not all bad.

With a few taps, he loaded up one of the games stored on the device. It wasn't much—nothing cutting-edge, nothing fancy—but as the pixelated screen flickered to life, something in his chest eased.

For the first time in what felt like ages, the stress, the uncertainty, the weight of everything melted away.

Blip. Blip boop.

Beep. Beep beep.

The sounds filled the quiet air, bright and rhythmic, pulling him into a world far simpler than his own.

He lost track of time, fingers moving on autopilot, mind slipping into the comforting lull of gaming. Nobody disturbed him, no wary stares or unwanted questions.

Just him, the game, and the steady rhythm of button presses.

If he closed his eyes, he could almost feel himself back on the Express, sprawled out in his room, the familiar thrum of the train humming beneath him. The low, steady vibrations, the distant sound of footsteps in the hall—March, probably, lingering outside his door. Any second now, she'd knock, arms crossed, pretending to be annoyed that he was wasting the day away.

She'd drag him to lunch, make some snarky comments about how he'd turn into a zombie if all he did was hang out in his room all day.

For a fleeting moment, it felt real.

CREEEAK... CRASH!

Caelus snapped back to reality, heart pounding.

"What the blazes was that?!" someone shouted from nearby, their voice barely cutting through the rising chaos.

"Get moving! Find out what the hell that was!" Uleg's barked orders rang out, sharp and commanding, as the guards scrambled into motion.

Caelus's eyes darted around, scanning the area for the source of the commotion. Then he saw it—an elderly man, frail and hobbling, making his way toward the restricted passage.

What the hell is he doing?

The guards hadn't spotted him yet, but if he went any further—if whatever was down that tunnel was dangerous—this could turn ugly fast.

Without thinking, Caelus pushed off his makeshift seat and sprinted toward the old man, catching his arm just as he neared the entrance. "Whoa there, where do you think you're going?"

The man grunted, making a feeble attempt to shake him off. But then—

Their eyes met.

Recognition flashed across the old man's face, as if some hidden truth had unraveled before him. His gaze bore into Caelus—not with fear, not with surprise, but with certainty.

Before Caelus could even process it, a sharp command rang out—

"You there, STOP!"

His head snapped up.

The guards had seen them.

"Best we don't get caught right now, boy," the old man murmured, his voice low and knowing.

Then, without warning, he wrenched free.

"Hey, wait—!" Caelus reached for him again, but the man was already moving, slipping into the passage like a ghost.

Dammit!

Behind him, boots pounded against the dirt.

"HOLD IT!"

Caelus didn't think—he moved.

Bolting forward, he ducked into the tunnel just as Uleg's voice thundered behind him: "I swear to Qlippoth, kid—another step further and I'll shoot!"

The threat sent ice down Caelus's spine, but—nothing. No gunfire. No sharp crack of a warning shot.

His chest heaved, his pulse roaring in his ears as he kept running, deeper into the dark, after the old man who had vanished into the unknown.

It didn't take long for Caelus to catch up. The old man was braced against the cave wall, doubled over, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths. Even if this whole mess was partly his fault, Caelus couldn't ignore the twinge of concern that surfaced. Carefully, he approached.

"You okay?"

"Yes… yes, my boy," the old man wheezed, but there was a grin stretched across his face, like this was all some grand adventure rather than a near-brush with death. "This body of mine isn't what it used to be, that's all. Give me a moment, and I'll be well again."

"We may not have a moment if the guards decide to chase us down here."

To his surprise, the old man merely waved him off. "Bah, not to worry. They know better than to come down here without good reason, and a couple of strays like us? Hardly worth their trouble."

Caelus frowned. That should've been reassuring, but the confidence in the old man's voice sent a suspicious tingle down his spine.

"How do you know that?" he asked, voice edged with curiosity.

The old man chuckled, his eyes twinkling with something unreadable. "Let's just say… I've been here longer than most."

That didn't answer anything. If anything, it only raised more questions.

"So what is down here?" Caelus pressed.

The old man's grin widened. "What indeed? What say we find out together? We've come this far, after all."

Caelus exhaled sharply, already turning back toward the way they'd come. "All we'll find is a den of Fragmentum corrosion and Aeons know what else. We're better off heading back to the village."

The old man scoffed. "Who are you trying to fool, boy? Because it sure isn't me." His voice took on a knowing lilt. "You may have chased after me, but that's only half the story. You want to know what's down here. Perhaps even more than I do. Given your situation, that is."

That made Caelus stop. His eyes narrowed.

The old man just smiled, like he'd already won.

"And of course," he continued, almost casually, "if you do decide to leave, I can't promise I'll do the same. I am rather prone to wandering, after all. Who knows? I might just cause another… mishap."

Caelus could leave. He could turn back right now, walk straight into Uleg's hands, and take the inevitable earful. No need to risk himself for some unknown. It wasn't his problem.

But he'd told himself the same thing when it came to Tobias. To Grim Fang. To every stranger he'd crossed paths with who had needed help.

He sighed. "Fine. But you're sticking to me like glue, old man. No wandering off."

"That's the spirit, my boy!" The elder clapped him on the back with surprising strength. "Let's get a move on shall we? Do be mindful of any leftover traps, of course. But anything worth doing is hardly ever simple."

Caelus wasn't so sure.

And yet, somewhere deep in his gut, he couldn't shake the feeling that—for better or worse—the old man was right.

VRR! VRRR!

The sudden sensation nearly made Caelus trip, realization settling in once he recognized the source. Producing the phone Lowen had given him, he found a chat bubble with the picture of the man blinking in the corner, quickly opening up the log.

:Caelus! Where are you?:

He quickly drafted a response, sending it off to Lowen.

:Some strangle old man managed to cause some chaos and get past Uleg and the guards at the restricted area. I'm with him now.:

:Wait, restricted area? We had something like that here? Hang on, I'll find Uleg and get the rundown. And about that old man... mind snapping a quick pic of him? I might recognize him.:

Caelus barely had time to blink before realizing the old man was gone.

What—? He spun in place, scanning the dim tunnel, but there was no sign of him. Just the gaping dark ahead and the distant echoes of his own breathing.

"Where did he—? Dammit!"

Jamming the phone into his pocket without another thought, he took off down the passage, his voice bouncing off the stone walls. "Hey! Old man! Where'd you go!"

Nothing. Just the hollow ring of his own words chasing him back.

A knot of unease coiled in his gut.

He'd mentioned traps. If the stubborn old fool had set one off—

He shut the thought down before it could sink its claws in.

"If you can hear me, stay put!" he called, picking up his pace. His pulse thrummed in his ears, but his steps remained careful, his eyes scanning every inch of the ground ahead.

The deeper he went, the more signs of danger surfaced. A subtle indentation in the floor—a pressure plate, definitely. A scorched streak along the cavern wall—proof of something bad having happened here before.

But he hadn't triggered anything. Yet.

Then, just ahead—movement.

The old man's silhouette came into view, hunched but unwavering, pressing forward.

Caelus exhaled sharply, relief mingling with frustration as he quickened his pace. "Hey! Didn't I tell you to—"

His voice cut off.

Everything stopped.

The world around him blurred into the background as his eyes locked onto the sight before him.

A door.

Not just any door.

The same door.

The one from his dream.

Massive, ancient, embedded in the cavern wall like it had been waiting for him specifically. The design—intricate and perfectly preserved—were exactly as he remembered. Even the air felt different here, heavier, charged with something just beyond comprehension.

His pocket buzzed, his phone vibrating wildly, but he barely registered it.

His heart was already hammering too hard.

It was real.

All of it.

Looming before him like some silent, all-knowing sentry, the door seemed to stretch impossibly higher the longer he stared. Against the jagged, uneven rock of the cavern walls, its sleek metallic surface was wrong—a gleaming aberration where no such thing should exist. It belonged onboard a starship, not buried beneath a forgotten village.

How?

How long had this been here? How had no one ever found it—no one except him?

Wait—

The old man.

"As I suspected… you truly are a stranger here."

Caelus whirled.

The old man stood just behind him, watching with a look that sent a chill down his spine—calm, steady, knowing.

His mouth felt dry. "What is this place…?"

"That is quite the question," the old man mused. "I have spent decades trying to unravel that very mystery… to no avail." He exhaled, almost wistful. "And I was not the only one. Yet, in the end, I alone remain."

Something clicked.

Caelus took a half-step back, his mind catching up to what his gut had already realized.

The Professor.

It had to be him.

Caelus's voice came slow, careful. "Is this why the village keeps this place restricted?"

The old man—the Professor—didn't answer. He simply turned and strode toward the door.

"Hey, be careful!" Caelus called, stepping forward instinctively. "There could still be traps!"

"There are none," the Professor replied calmly. "Those who built this place believed the earlier ones would be deterrent enough—even for the most persistent. In their hubris, they were certain no one would make it this far." His gaze flicked back toward Caelus. "Only the desperate ever would." He smiled, something distant and knowing behind it. "And desperation… is not something unique to me."

Caelus frowned. "What are you saying?"

The Professor studied him for a moment before chuckling softly. "I have met many like you before, young man… but none who carried the hunger that you do." His eyes gleamed with something unreadable. "That is why I have decided to let you test a hypothesis of mine."

Then, without another word, he stepped closer to the door—stopping just shy of it.

For a breath, nothing happened.

Then—

VREEM!

From the apex of the door, a thin slit appeared, a cone of blue light spilling outward. It traced a sharp, unwavering line down the center before lancing forward—so fast Caelus barely had time to react.

The Professor stood still as the light passed over him, running harmlessly across his body before flickering out.

A moment of silence followed.

"ACCESS DENIED." The tinny female voice rang through the cavern, sterile and impassive, yet so familiar that Caelus jolted in place.

That was the kind of response he'd expect to hear aboard Herta's Space Station—not in a forgotten cavern buried beneath rock and time.

A sigh escaped the old man. "As I suspected. Even after all these years… the result remains the same."

Then, slowly, he turned to Caelus, a quiet expectation in his gaze.

"Now… come here, boy."

Caelus hesitated.

Just because the door hadn't done anything to the Professor didn't mean it would extend the same courtesy to him.

He wasn't afraid for himself—whatever was behind this thing, he could handle it.

What worried him was the old man. If something went wrong, if this turned into a catastrophe, the Professor would be caught right in the middle of it. Worse, it might even extend past them and to the village beyond.

That said…

His gaze flickered over the towering structure, its sleek, unnatural surface standing in stark contrast to the rough, uneven cavern walls. The intricate etchings, the unnatural glow—it all bore an eerie resemblance to the remnants jutting out of the village.

Swallowing hard, Caelus stepped forward.

The Professor said nothing, only watching as the young man positioned himself beneath the slit in the door.

For a long, tense moment, nothing happened.

VREEM!

A film of brilliant blue light burst from the apex of the door, cascading down toward him. Caelus closed his eyes, inhaling slowly as the scan washed over him. It would be over in a few seconds... if nothing went wrong.

"TRACE OF SUBJECT ONE-ONE-FIVE-SEVEN DETECTED. EMERGENCY LOCKDOWN OVERRIDDEN."

Caelus's eyes snapped open.

What?!

He barely had time to process what he'd just heard before the Professor let out a sharp breath beside him. "This is…" the old man whispered, eyes wide as saucers.

Before either of them could say another word, a low hiss filled the cavern.

"Get back!" he barked, already summoning his bat with a flicker of thought. The Professor didn't argue, stepping away just as Caelus twirled the weapon in his grasp, bracing himself.

The door let out a deep, mechanical groan. Then, with a slow, deliberate collapse, its massive structure began folding in on itself, panels sliding seamlessly into hidden crevices carved into the walls.

A breath of stale air rushed past them, thick with dust and the scent of something long forgotten.

"ALERT! EXTENSIVE FRAGMENTUM CORROSION DETECTED. CONTAINMENT PROTOCOLS INITIATING. LOCKDOWN COMMENCING."

The words rang through the chamber like a judge's final verdict.

"I cannot leave it at this—not now!" the Professor suddenly shouted. Then, before Caelus could react, the old man ran for the door.

"HEY, WAIT—!"

Too late. The Professor had already slipped through the rapidly narrowing gap, vanishing beyond sight.

"Damn it!"

Caelus's mind raced. If that door shut completely, there was no telling when—or if—it would ever open again. The Professor would be entombed in there, lost forever, and no one would even know.

His teeth clenched.

Even if he ran now, he wouldn't make it in time before that door sealed back up.

He had seconds to act.

His grip tightened on his bat as a wild, reckless idea sparked to life.

No time to think. Just move.

With a fierce grunt, he cocked his arm back and hurled the bat with everything he had. It spun wildly, a blur of motion, before slamming dead center into the shrinking doorway, propping it open.

THUNK!

The mechanism shuddered, unprepared for the sudden interruption.

"Hah! It worked!"

CRACKLE!

The bat sparked and sizzled, glowing hotter and brighter as energy arced across its surface.

Caelus paled. "Right. No time to celebrate."

Bracing himself, he took off in a dead sprint.

The door was closing fast, his weapon groaning under the pressure.

With a fierce cry, he dove, reaching for the bat mid-air, snatching it just as he tumbled through the threshold.

SLAM!

The door sealed shut behind him.

Caelus lay there for a second, panting, heart hammering against his ribs.

"Too close that time," he muttered with a shaky chuckle. Then, glancing down at his bat, his amusement faded. Hairline fractures ran from tip to handle, glowing faintly with residual energy.

He winced. "Sorry, buddy." Giving it a consoling pat, he stowed it away so it could repair itself.

Only then did he take in his surroundings—and gawked.

The cavern outside had been harsh, jagged, and natural.

But this—this was something else entirely.

A vast, open antechamber of polished metal stretched high above him, its ceiling swallowed by the dim glow of artificial lighting. Beds of vegetation lined the walls, filled with flora he had never seen before—lush, alien, thriving in this impossible underground haven. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth, tinged with something almost metallic.

"Definitely a different world down here," he remarked, pushing himself to his feet.

His gaze swept the area.

No sign of the old man.

His stomach twisted. "Hey, old man!? You around here!"

Silence.

He exhaled sharply. "Figures. If I had an extra set of hands, none of this would've happened."

Then, he remembered—Lowen.

His phone had been vibrating earlier, but in the chaos, he'd ignored it. Pulling it out, he scrolled through the notifications.

Dozens of missed messages.

Lowen had been blowing up his chat, demanding to know where he was, what the hell was happening in the restricted zone.

Now I know why.

Caelus quickly typed out a response, adding an apology for not snagging a picture of the old man. He hit send.

Error: Message Not Sent.

Frowning, he tried again.

Error. Message Not Sent.

"Should've guessed as much," he muttered, tucking the phone away.

Whatever interfered with his connection, it wasn't about to fix itself any time soon. And with the entrance now encased in some sort of protective energy shield, escape wasn't an option—not that way, at least.

Which meant there was only one choice left.

"Nothing ventured…"

/Now…/

"…nothing gained," Caelus spat, glaring at yet another blocked off door. "Me and my big mouth."

He'd lost count of how long he'd been trapped in this seemingly never-ending labyrinth, one that had a territorial security automaton wandering at that.

Normally Caelus would've taken the thing on like all the others, but this thing was different from them.

It eerily reminded him of a worn down, skeletal version of Svarog with a notable difference. For instance, in exchange for the bulky armor that Clara's guardian had, it was more streamlined and sleeker. But the most glaring change was that unlike Svarog, this automaton's entire right arm had been replaced by a drill.

Not only was it faster than him – stronger too – but it was built to take punishment. In the first real encounter with it, Caelus had practically pummeled the thing with his bat only for it to shrug off the blows and dropkick him down a hall. His chest still ached from that blow, one that reminded him of a very painful lesson: he couldn't waste time trying to fight this thing, not when someone else was counting on him.

That left him with picking his way through the complex, shifting through abandoned rooms with smashed up terminals and ruined labs. Whatever this place had been, there was next to no remnant of it save for its lone murderous occupant.

He just hoped the old man had found somewhere to hunker down. If that thing found him first, it'd tear him to shreds.

His footsteps echoed like the tolling of a bell, each step bouncing off the walls, far too loud in the suffocating silence.

There wasn't a soul to be found—not that he'd expected one of course—but the emptiness did little to ease the tension winding through his chest.

The facility was too quiet, the air thick with the weight of something long forgotten.

Still, even through the unease, his eyes couldn't help but wander.

Sleek, spacious rooms stretched around him, filled with lush vegetation that thrived against all odds. Streams of water trickled through carefully maintained channels, the soft gurgling sound a stark contrast to the dead air.

Lynx would likely eat her hat to get a look at this place, he thought, picturing her wide-eyed wonder.

The thought was almost comforting. Almost.

Shaking the image from his head, he pressed onward.

Emerging into another corridor, he made his way toward a door at the far end and tapped the terminal beside it—only for the system to bark an angry response.

"ALERT. FRAGMENTUM CORROSION RATE HAS RISEN TO CRITICAL LEVELS. ALL NONESSENTIAL PERSONNEL PROCEED TO EVACUATION ZONES."

Caelus frowned.

Guess that explains why this place is a ghost town.

More importantly, it explained why the corrosion had never spread. In all likelihood, the facility had been sealed off all this time, trapping the corrosion inside preventing it from spreading to the rest of the mountain.

With a sigh, he readied his bat, about to take a swing at the door—when something caught his eye.

A door, slightly ajar.

A flickering light spilled from within, casting erratic shadows along the hallway floor.

Lowering his bat, he abandoned his current path and moved toward the opening, slipping through the gap as the door hissed apart just enough to let him inside.

The room was a wreck.

Overturned desks, scattered papers, long-dead monitors collecting dust. It was clearly some kind of office, but time and neglect had stripped it of function. The only sign of life—if it could even be called that—was the faint shimmer of light emanating from a terminal perched atop one of the desks.

Cautiously, Caelus approached, scanning for any active security measures.

Nothing.

Reaching out, he placed his palm against the screen—

BREEEEE!

A piercing wail tore through the air, so sharp and sudden that he recoiled, hands flying to his ears. The sound was wrong—like metal screaming, like something being ripped apart at a molecular level.

Then, just as abruptly, it stopped.

In its place, voices.

Faint, crackling, distorted—but undeniably human.

"…last night as well. There doesn't seem to be any end to it."

"That's our fabled bureaucracy at work. Even when the world is falling down around them, they still find the means to serve their own ends."

"Do they not realize what's happening!? We're being invaded! We're losing cities by the day! How can they waste time in the capital bickering over land disputes?! Those… monsters are slaughtering us in droves and nothing we've done has been able to hold them back!"

"That is why I had you meet me here."

"We can no longer leave the fate of our civilization in the hands of those incompetent bastards. If we continue down this path, all that awaits us is oblivion. I do not intend to sit idly by while reality simply burns around us."

Then—static.

The recording cut out, leaving only the dull hum of the terminal behind.

Caelus's mind reeled.

Had… had he just heard something from before the Eternal Freeze?

Everyone had told him that Jarilo-VI's past had been lost—that it had been swallowed whole when the frost took everything and if not that, then the Fragmentum itself.

And he had believed them. What little he had seen of this world had only reinforced that fact.

But now—

Now, the truth was staring him in the face, humming from the very walls around him.

This facility wasn't just abandoned. It had been hidden. Buried.

His pulse hammered as his gaze swept the ruined office, as if seeing it for the first time.

"If there's more logs like this…"

BREEEE!

"AGH—!" Caelus flinched as a piercing tone blasted through the room, rattling his already-frayed nerves.

Then—

"…Can you hear me…?"

Not the cold, robotic voice of the automated system. Someone else.

"I say, my boy, can you hear me?"

Caelus's head snapped up. "Old man? That you? Where are you? Are you alright?" His eyes darted around the room, searching for the source.

"Oh, good! You made it in. My worries were for nothing it seemed." The Professor's voice crackled through the intercom, his usual enthusiasm tinged with relief. "Not to worry, I'm safe—for now. But you have far more pressing concerns than my safety—that security drone is heading your way."

Caelus felt the blood drain from his face. Sure enough, the rhythmic stomping outside grew louder, each thud sending vibrations through the floor.

"Any ideas? Because the way out's sealed, and that thing punted me down the hall last time I tangled with it."

"Ah, but that's where I come in! I've managed to tap into the security systems, which include the doors in your section. Hurry—get to the exit, and I'll unlock it from here. There's a terminal in the next room; we can talk further there."

Caelus didn't need to be told twice.

He bolted toward the locked door just as the panel beside it let out a soft beep—the mechanism hissed, parting just wide enough for him to squeeze through.

WHIIIIR!

BANG!

Not a second later, the metallic shriek of the automaton echoed through the corridor, followed by the gut-wrenching sound of steel colliding against steel.

He didn't look back. Not until he was through. Not until the awful noises faded behind him.

Only then did he let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, his hands still clenched into fists at his sides.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he turned toward the room's central terminal, its screen already flickering to life.

"…Professor?"

The screen crackled, static giving way to an image of the old man—alive and well, speaking from another section of the facility.

"You're still in one piece, very good. You had me worried for a moment, lad. This facility is quite perilous."

Caelus gaped at him. A dozen sarcastic retorts fought to spill from his mouth, but he forced himself to breathe.

Now wasn't the time.

"We're both still breathing, and that's what matters," he muttered instead. "Now, we just have to get out of here."

"Get out?" The Professor's expression turned incredulous. "My boy, look around you! This is the single greatest discovery in centuries! To simply walk away would be—!"

"What's more important—your discovery or your life, Professor? Because you're liable to lose both here."

The old man hesitated.

"This place isn't safe right now," Caelus pressed. "Not with that thing stomping around. We need to get out of here. Once we're out, we get a hold of the Guard. They can handle that thing better than we can right now."

The Professor scoffed, his voice turning cold. "You hold the Guard in far too high esteem, boy. They wouldn't do what you think they would."

Caelus frowned, lifting an eyebrow. "…then what would they do?"

The old man's expression darkened. "They'd make sure nothing ever got down here again—by bringing the mountain down on top of it. To the Architects in the capital, it's much easier to bury the past than face it."

Caelus stiffened.

"The Architects have made it their mission to bury the past."

The Professor had said those very words in his dream.

His grip tightened.

"…either way," he said finally, shaking off his unease, "I'm not leaving you here. And I'm not keen on spending the rest of my days here locked up doing research we can't share with anyone. So, let's try to find some way to get out of here."

The Professor let out a long sigh. "It leaves quite the sour taste to hear such sound reasoning from someone so young." He rubbed his temple before nodding. "Very well. But we'll need to lift both the security lockdown as well as somehow deal with that rampant automaton before we can leave."

Caelus chewed the inside of his cheek, glancing around as his mind raced for a solution.

"Professor, does this facility have security clearance levels?" he asked, turning back to the terminal. "If this place was meant to be kept secret, wouldn't there be different tiers of access for whoever worked here?"

"Yes—yes! A facility of this magnitude would have clearance brackets based on personnel rank! Excellent deduction, my boy! Wait a moment—I'll check…"

The screen flickered as the old man's hands moved off-screen, working swiftly.

"Aha! Lad, if you have your phone handy, there should be a receptacle at your terminal. Plug it in for me."

Though a little puzzled, Caelus did as asked, slotting his phone into a small port beside the monitor. The terminal buzzed softly, lights flickering as data streamed through.

"Done! You now have Tier-3 clearance. The lowest rank sadly, but enough to open a few locked doors in this place."

Caelus arched a brow. "Any chance I could get an upgrade?"

"You'll need proper credentials to do that I'm afraid—likely from former personnel," the old man admitted. "And we'll need Tier-1 clearance to lift the lockdown."

Caelus cursed under his breath. "So we're on a scavenger hunt."

The Professor chuckled. "Afraid so. But according to the schematics, the dormitories are not far from your location. That might be a good place to start."

"Alright. Guess I don't have much of a choice."

"I'll monitor your progress through the security feeds—though some areas are completely dark on my end."

Caelus nodded, already turning away before something made him pause. A thought gnawed at him—one he couldn't ignore."…Hey, Professor," he said hesitantly, glancing back at the screen. "Do you have any idea what this place was?"

The Professor hummed, his expression thoughtful. "Even though we're inside, this place still guards its secrets zealously. I fully intend to scour whatever files this place has on hand but that will take time." His gaze shifted to Caelus. "Have you found anything?"

Caelus hesitated. His mind flashed to the recording—the voices of desperate men, the weight of something long buried.

He opened his mouth—then closed it.

"…nothing telling. Can't make a lot of sense of what all this means."

The old man studied him for a moment before nodding. "I see. Well, keep your wits about you, my boy. This place… is unlike anything else."

The screen flickered. The connection cut.

Leaving Caelus alone. Again.

He didn't know why he'd hesitated. It was obvious—painfully so—that this place was tied to the old civilization, and by extension, the Anti-Matter Legion's invasion. A facility of this scale wasn't just some relic buried beneath the earth for show.

It had a purpose. It had secrets.

But telling that to the Professor might do more harm than good at this point. The old man was already obsessed—his fascination running so deep it bordered on reckless if what happened earlier was any indication. If Caelus gave him even more reason to fixate on this place, would they ever leave? Would he even want to?

And what he had said was the truth in a roundabout way: he couldn't make sense of what he was seeing.

Still…

He couldn't shake the feeling that he was standing on the precipice of something huge.

There was something here—something lurking just beyond his understanding, tugging at the edges of his thoughts like a half-remembered dream. Every fiber of his being screamed that the answers he sought were close. So close.

But just out of reach.

It was maddening.

With a sharp breath, he shook his head.

Come on Caelus. Focus. Let's get the old man out of here first, and with any luck hopefully avoid running into that hulking nightmare again.

---

"…The Riposte Initiative?"

"Yes. The Government won't have knowledge of what occurs here, and if we play our cards right, they never will."

"That's beyond risky. Keeping something like this from them could be considered treason."

"Treason is the least of the sins I am willing to commit in order to preserve our future—and I believe you feel the same."

"…The scale of what you're considering… How would we even find the personnel to—?"

"I already have the staff necessary. Save one." A pause. "And that's you."

"Me?"

"There are few people left with your qualifications that I can trust. If this initiative is to succeed, I need you."

"…What you're proposing… If I agree to this, how can you promise we won't become worse than the monsters slaughtering us?"

Silence.

"If we do this… if we defy the will of the Aeons themselves… how can you guarantee it will be worth it in the end?"

"Because it is the only choice we have. We do this, or our civilization becomes a mere footnote in galactic history. I need your answer."

The transmission fizzled out into dead air, leaving Caelus alone in the suffocating silence.

He slowly lowered himself into the chair behind him, staring blankly ahead, wide-eyed.

The Riposte Initiative.

He'd come across mentions of it before, but they had been nothing—scraps of data, fragmented sentences with no real answers.

This, however…

This was something different.

The weight behind those voices, the sheer conviction in their words—it unsettled him.

What the hell had they been doing here that could've angered the Aeons themselves?

His mind spun, grasping at the implications, but there was too much to unpack—and not enough time.

For now, all he could do was transfer the logs to his phone, hoping to salvage the data until his real phone was fixed.

Not that any of this would get him home any sooner.

He exhaled sharply, shaking the thought from his head before it could fester.

No. I can't think like that. I'll find a way. Somehow.

But first he needed to find the old man and get them both out of here.

That said, explaining all this to the village was going to be fun — Especially where Lowen was concerned.

Shaking his head, Caelus walked over and plucked his phone from the terminal's receptacle. "Hey, old man, I got the upgrade! Where to next?"

Silence.

Caelus frowned. "Old man? Professor you there?"

Nothing.

He exhaled sharply.

The Professor had mentioned that parts of the facility had gone dark, and the dormitories hadn't exactly been in pristine condition when he'd gotten there. He'd have to wait until he found another terminal.

Just as he reached the door, a familiar, dreaded sound sent a shiver down his spine.

THUD. THUD. THUD.

The heavy, mechanical footfalls echoed menacingly through the halls, rattling the ruined office like the hammer strokes of an executioner.

His stomach twisted.

"Really getting tired of that thing," he muttered under his breath, already ducking behind an overturned desk. He pressed his back against the cold metal, forcing himself to stay still. If the automaton decided to invite itself in, he'd have seconds to react.

The ground trembled with each step as the machine lumbered closer.

THUD. THUD.

The rhythmic, unyielding pace of a hunter tracking its prey.

Caelus held his breath.

It had stopped. Right outside the room.

A bead of sweat traced a slow path down his temple, but he didn't move. He didn't dare to.

Every instinct screamed at him to summon his bat, to be ready, but he fought the urge with everything he had.

One wrong move, one misplaced breath, and that thing would end him.

Wait it out.

The seconds stretched, thick with tension, each one dragging like the slow, excruciating tick of a countdown.

Somewhere deep within the machine, gears whirred. Servo motors clicked. The air was taut, an invisible noose tightening around him.

Get a move on, you big lug. Just get outta here already.

THUD.

The automaton shifted. Turned.

THUD. THUD.

The footsteps faded.

Caelus didn't let himself breathe until the sound had completely disappeared.

He exhaled slowly, rising from his hiding spot.

How the hell did that old man make it as far as he did without running into that thing?

Shaking off the thought, he slipped to the door, pausing a second before poking his head out.

All clear for now.

No telling how long that'll last.

He needed to get to the turbo lift.

Thankfully, nothing tried to impede him this time, and he reached the terminal without issue. With his upgraded clearance, a significant portion of the facility was now accessible.

All he needed now was someway to get Tier-1 clearance to lift lockdown and, with any luck, find a way to shut down that homicidal janitor.

Janitor? he thought with slight amusement at that notion. Given how diligent it's been... It's fitting.

Shelving that intrusive thought, his eyes flicked to the lift's destination list:

-Atrium

-Security Station

-Dormitories

-Proving Grounds

-Laboratory

Only the last two were unknowns—but whether or not they were worth investigating was another story.

The Proving Grounds seemed the most promising—probably where they had tested whatever the hell they were doing down here.

But as he tapped the selection—

ERROR.

The intercom blared to life:

"ALERT! EXTENSIVE FRAGMENTUM CORROSION DETECTED WITHIN PROVING GROUNDS. ENTRY RESTRICTED VIA LABORATORY ACCESS."

Caelus groaned.

Great. Should've figured it wouldn't be that easy.

THUD! THUD! THUD! THUD!

His blood ran cold.

"LABS IT IS! Come on, come on—!"

Nearly stabbing the selection for the Laboratory with his finger, he all but willed the doors to open faster.

Just as they slid apart, the rampant automaton barreled around the corner, its optics flaring wildly. And the awful whine of its drill hand pierced the air.

Caelus dove inside.

The doors sealed just as something massive slammed into them from the other side, denting the metal inward. Just as he climbed to his feet, he heard the awful whine of the automaton's drill rev to an ear-splitting decibel.

The lift lurched, carrying him deeper into the facility, the awful screeching from above fading as he descended.

Caelus swallowed hard, trying to quell the pounding of his heart.

As the lift slowed, the doors hissed open, revealing yet another dimly lit corridor. Caelus scrambled out, willing his heartbeat to steady itself, sucking in deep lung-fulls of air.

"Hopefully, I lost it this time." He shot the lift doors a glare as they sealed behind him.

"My boy, can you hear me?" The Professor's voice filtered through the intercom, laced with static. "I've been trying to reach you for a while now. Are you alright?"

Caelus exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Had another run-in with the Janitor." He forced a smirk. "Managed to get my clearance upgraded, though—one more to go and we'll be out of here."

"Well then! You are quite the resourceful lad—as I expected!" the old man praised. "Now, let's see where you've ended up… Oh, blast."

Caelus's smirk faded. "What's wrong?"

"I'm afraid I don't have clearance to access the systems in the section you've ended up in," the Professor admitted. "The antechamber you're in is the only place I can influence—the rest is sealed off on my end."

Caelus frowned. "Given what they might've beeen doing here, maybe that's a good thing. I might just find some big-shot's office down here, if not the head honcho's himself." His gaze flicked toward the entrance further down the hall.

"One can hope… but I advise caution all the same." The old man's tone turned grim. "What we've seen so far may only be the tip of the iceberg. And there is the matter of the corrosion in the Proving Grounds as well."

Caelus let out a dry chuckle. Nearly everything he'd expected about this world had been flipped on its head since he arrived here. What was one more surprise?

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it. In the meantime, find anything else about this place?"

"Precious little, sadly. All I've been able to gather is that this place was built some centuries ago and is believed to be entirely separate from the ancient government. I'll keep digging on my end but I have a feeling you'll have far more luck than I will, my boy. Look after yourself down there."

The PA cut out, leaving Caelus alone in the gloom once more.

His skin suddenly itched.

Not in a way that could be scratched away—not something physical.

No, this was different. Something wrong. A slow, crawling sensation beneath his skin, like static humming through his veins.

The door ahead let out a low, mechanical hum before releasing a sharp hiss, parting to the side with a smooth glide. Cold air rushed past him, carrying with it the stale, metallic scent of something long-abandoned.

Then—darkness.

Pitch-black. Thick. Smothering.

The moment he crossed the threshold, it swallowed him whole.

Caelus sighed through his nose and fished out his phone, thumbing the flashlight function. The beam pierced the void, illuminating jagged shapes and looming machinery, casting long, distorted shadows against the walls.

And along his path lay clusters of Fragmentum corrosion, sometimes embedded deep into the machinery itself. Given the power outage, it explained why the PA hadn't thrown a single warning about this place—it had been cut off. Severed from the rest of the facility, left to rot in darkness.

He needed to find an office—somewhere a head researcher might have kept their credentials. If that failed… well, he'd have to search each lab one by one and hope he came across the remains of a researcher or something.

Really hoping it doesn't come to that.

A dull hum suddenly filled the air—low, pulsing, like a heartbeat beneath the walls.

"—what is happening to them? This wasn't supposed to—"

The voice was sudden, sharp — echoing from nowhere and everywhere at once.

His breath hitched as a glimmering distortion flickered into view ahead.

Figures. People.

No—echoes.

Ghostly remnants of the past, ensnared by the Fragmentum's oppressive influence. Like with Cyrilla.

He stepped forward, slow, cautious, watching as the apparitions flickered like dying candle flames.

Two men stood by a broken terminal—scientists, judging by the long coats that hung from their shimmering forms. One was pacing, frantic, while the other hunched over the console, staring at something beyond Caelus's sight.

"It's up to fifteen now." The pacing figure's voice was strained, hollow. "How many more of these is the Director willing to put up with? What does he gain from these trials?"

The other scientist let out a harsh breath. "Only he knows that; and he doesn't tell us anything to begin with, only the Vice-Director."

"But at this rate—"

"It's out of our hands, you know that. All we can do is keep our heads down. Being in here is better than out there. Besides, they knew what they were signing up for."

The pacing scientist gritted his teeth. "They can't even function anymore! All of them exhibit the same pattern—exposure leads to mental instability, and that instability in turn leads to collapse. It doesn't matter who we put through the process. Men, women – they all break whenever that thing takes them. The only thing we haven't resorted to is the orphans and if rumor mill holds any merit, they'll be next."

The scientist at the terminal clenched his fists, shaking his head. "I don't like it any more than you, but what other choice do we have? We sold our souls to the devil, and this place might as well be Hell."

The conversation fractured, breaking into static before another voice bled through.

"Subject 5731 lasted three minutes before rejection. Vital signs erratic, cognitive functions deteriorated within seconds. The curio's influence on subjects' mental state remains unpredictable." This time it was a woman's voice, clinical, detached. "It is my recommendation that the exposure window is minimized in order to prolong subject's stability."

Then came another: her colleague from the sounds of it.

"Your recommendations are pointless. We're sending them to their deaths and you know it."

"We're following protocol."

"Protocol?! Protocol isn't stopping them from coming out twisted! Have you seen them afterward? Have you heard them?"

"...Sacrifices must be made for the preservation of the future."

Her colleague man laughed bitterly.

"That's the same thing they said when they sent my sister in. If I'd known she would've ended up like that, I would've left her back at the camps. At least then she wouldn't be rotting away in a cell awaiting disposal."

The image fizzled. Vanished.

More whispers drifted past him like mist curling around his ankles. They came from everywhere and nowhere, entrapping him.

"Another failure—"

"—destabilized after 60 seconds—"

"—subject refused to step forward. She begged us not to make her—"

"—orders from the Director."

"—if only we knew more about it!"

The voices grew into an incomprehensible roar that grew louder and louder until he was forced to cover his ears in a vain attempt to block them out.

Then suddenly, blissful silence took hold.

Caelus gave a cautious peek, blinking a bit to readjust his vision when he saw it.

Far down the hall, untouched by the inky blackness, stood a blinding beacon of light.

Another ghost but this one seemed different.

Caelus's breath hitched.

With unsteady steps, he pressed forward, drawn in by the figure, by the wrongness of it all. He followed as the man strode into a devastated office, a hollowed-out relic of whatever had once taken place here.

And there—sitting at a desk—was another man.

The seated figure turned to the older man, his face expressionless but his posture spoke volumes.

"We've narrowed the selection even further, but there haven't been any further breakthroughs – if you could call it that."

That voice.

Recognition slammed into Caelus like a freight train.

It was him. The man from the logs. And if that was true… then the man standing before him—

"It's far from enough," the older man's voice cut through the air, gravelly.

"We're following your orders, Director." The other man's tone was sharp, edged with something unsteady. "And the methods are far from ideal. There's so much we haven't even begun to understand about that Curio. Never mind the absurdity of forcing people to become path striders—and only women at that."

Caelus's breath caught in his throat, his mind reeling from that little admission alone.

"For all that we've done over the years, we have only had one—one that could be called a success. Yet how many had to be sacrificed just so that one could come about?"

"It's far too late to have a change of heart, Vice-Director," the Director replied evenly. Unmoved. "The preservation of our future lies in the success of the Initiative."

The Vice Director said nothing at first, but after a moment, a bitter, broken laugh escaped him.

"Preservation?" The Vice-Director's voice trembled, not with fear—but with rage.

BAM!

The noise startled Caelus almost as much as what came next.

"Tell me then, just what is there left to save?! Our civilization is GONE! And with it, our livelihoods—OUR FAMILIES! All for what?! One broken child the masses are hailing as a savior. What about all the others we had to dispose of before then?! How many times did we place them in front of your little treasure, watching them vanish—only to get spat back out as broken, howling wrecks?! And what did you call them? Washouts."

The Vice-Director let out a shaky breath. "The only difference between us and them is that we were the ones standing on the other side of the glass, watching them fall apart in front of us!"

His voice rose, trembling with fury, with grief, with resentment long since left to rot.

"We preserved NOTHING—nothing save for your own insane aspirations! And even those let us down! All your work led us to was turning to the one thing historians throughout the cosmos have collectively deemed hazardous – all in the name of your so-called Preservation. Now look! The Legion may've been stopped, but at the cost of damning the entire planet to an eternal ice age!"

The Director said nothing; did nothing.

He simply stood there, letting the storm rage, waiting for the thunder to burn itself out.

The Vice-Director trembled. His breath was ragged, unsteady, a man who had held in too much for too long.

"You knew didn't you." The words were barely above a whisper. The Vice-Director palmed his face, his fingers digging into his temples. "You knew all along what they were after… and you let it happen anyway."

His voice turned hollow. "The Legion may've brought Hell with them, but you are the one that damned us. So tell me—" He lowered his hand, staring the man down. "Was it worth it? Playing Aeon to Jarilo-VI? Or perhaps the death of an entire civilization isn't enough to sate your ambitions. I need your answer, Director."

The Director remained silent, merely turning and walking away.

No argument. No defense. Not even a shred of regret.

He simply vanished from the room, fading from sight—just as the Vice-Director did moments later.

Leaving Caelus alone once more with the bombshell that had been dropped.

Forcing people to become path striders…

The truth behind the invasion several hundred years ago…

And…

His mind raced, thoughts spiraling in a thousand directions at once.

It was insane to think the curio they mentioned could be the same one—to think that it had been here all this time.

But if it was true—

If it was true—

He barely held himself together, forcing ragged breaths through gritted teeth.

He couldn't lose himself like this, not yet. Not when there was still something he had to do.

Everything else—the truth about this place, the curio, and all that entailed—

It could wait.

---

The Proving Grounds initially looked no different from the atrium at the facility's entrance—vast, towering, suffocating in its scale. The sheer emptiness made him feel small.

Yet, unlike the rest of the facility, this place was far from desolate.

It was chaos.

The facility's warnings had been correct—this was no-man's land. The Fragmentum had consumed the surrounding area almost completely, with the corruption twisting across the floor like gnarled, blackened roots, scaling the walls in jagged, malignant patterns. Very little of original ground was visible now.

But what really caught his attention was the literal horde of monsters lingering throughout the area.

Shadewalkers, Out-of-Spaces, Spawns, you name it.

Strangely enough, the only things not present were the searing and frigid prowlers but then again, he hadn't seen them once since ending up on this world.

The Janitor was here, too. And seeing it action was... awe-inspiring really. Watching the automaton tear through the abominations was oddly satisfying—almost cathartic, considering how these very creatures had once razed Yakarich to the ground.

It was merciless. Efficient. Unstoppable.

Every bit what it had been to Caelus each time he'd run into it.

A Shadewalker lunged—its claws screeching against the automaton's chassis—only to be ripped apart in a single, brutal motion. An Out-of-Space loomed, its jagged body creaking as it slammed a ball of ice into its target.

The automaton didn't even stagger. It snatched the monster mid-air, metal fingers crushing its body before hurling its shattered remains into the masses. As for the Out-of-Space, the automaton tanked another blow of ice before driving its drill through the blue pulsating core, eradicating it.

What spawns were left tried to flank it, crackling with fire and ice as if preparing for a diving run.

A quick burst from the automaton's pulse palm swept the area clean of their presence.

No matter how many Shadewalkers there were, no matter how hard the Out-of-Spaces pummeled it, or how many spawns harassed it – the machine refused to yield.

Even if the world it came from had long since fallen, it stood against the threat that threatened the new one.

And more importantly it made for one hell of a distraction.

Caelus slipped past the carnage, making his way to a large, rounded corridor overlooking the battlefield below.

From here, he could see everything.

The massive chamber stretched out before him, and at its very heart—

A colossal cluster of Fragmentum lay embedded at the chamber's base, its jagged core pulsing like a festering wound. The air around it shimmered, warped, as if reality itself recoiled from its presence.

And surrounding it—an entire colony of Fragmentum beings, easily dwarfing the ones fighting the Janitor. There had to be dozens of them down there at least.

"Guess that's the extent of the corrosion."

If all went well, he wouldn't even have to deal with that mess.

His eyes trailed upward, landing on a viewing booth at the zenith of the chamber, perched high above like an overseer's throne.

That has to be his office.

If anyone had top clearance, it'd be him. The one who had overseen all of this.

The second he got his hands on that clearance—

He'd make sure this place had nothing left to hide.

After he got the old man out first, of course.

Caelus hurried down the hall, boots pounding against metal as he ascended ramp after ramp, drawing ever closer to his goal.

Upon reaching the top, he found a handful of shadewalkers lurking near the entrance.

His bat manifested before he even thought about it, fingers curling tight around the grip. He fell upon the cadre of abominations like an unholy specter, his weapon a blur of motion as it cracked through bone, shattered limbs, and crushed whatever grotesque semblance of life they possessed.

It was quick. Brutal. Maybe even a little vicious in hindsight.

But he was done with roadblocks.

He wanted answers.

And whatever secrets this place held—they were behind this door.

The only problem? The terminal had gotten smashed during the melee, reduced to a mangled mess of wires and shattered glass.

Caelus clicked his tongue, dismissing the bat with a flick of his wrist. His other hand clenched—and the blazing lance ignited in his grasp. The weapon burned brighter than ever, its superheated tip pulsing with molten energy.

With a growl, Caelus drove the lance into the door's center.

Metal shrieked. The reinforced steel melted like wax, liquefying under the weapon's impossible heat. Slabs of slag dripped to the floor, hissing violently as they cooled rapidly.

Before long, the last barrier crumbled before him.

Caelus stepped through the threshold—and halted.

Unlike the rest of the ravaged facility, this room was untouched.

Everything outside had been ransacked, torn apart, overgrown with decay.

But here?

Not a single thing seemed out of place.

The office was larger than the others he'd passed, boasting an expansive mahogany desk positioned before a set of plush, worn sofa chairs. One wall was lined with tall, archaic bookshelves, their musty contents standing undisturbed, as though frozen in time.

If this wasn't the Director's office, then nothing was.

"Now, if I were a secret curio… where would I be kept...?"

He was sorely tempted to tear the place apart, rip through every drawer, every cabinet, every crevice.

But that would get him nowhere.

The Director wasn't the type to leave things out in the open—especially something as important as this.

No.

If there were answers anywhere, they'd be on the terminal sitting near the massive window overlooking the abyss below.

But something was desk's chair wasn't facing the terminal. Instead, it was turned toward the window, angled slightly—almost as if someone had been watching.

Curiosity gnawed at him.

Frowning, Caelus stepped forward and reached out, gripping the top of the chair to turn it around—

"GAH!?" He stumbled back, heart slamming against his ribs as his stomach plummeted.

For the first time since entering this forsaken place… He had found a body.

And judging by the ancient, brittle state of the remains—it had been here for a long, long time.

Caelus swallowed hard, his pulse throbbing in his ears as he forced himself to breathe.

After a moment, he inched forward.

Even after centuries of decay, the skeletal figure still sat rigidly in place, slumped slightly, like some macabre sentry forever waiting for something that never came.

Caelus searched the coat for identification, fingers hesitant—but nothing stood out at first glance.

Until he noticed a small bump beneath the fabric of the corpse's coat. Something was tucked in the inner pocket.

Summoning a breath, he reached out and carefully plucked the item free. It was a data shard.

His gaze flickered toward the terminal behind the desk. The screen was dark, dormant—but intact.

If this room had gone untouched for centuries, then maybe…

Caelus shot another wary glance at the corpse before stepping toward the console, scanning its interface.

There.

He slid the shard inside the slot, waiting for it the terminal to register its activity.

For a moment—nothing. Then, a weak flicker of light.

The terminal stirred, whirring softly.

Caelus held his breath.

SHWOOP.

The light died almost immediately.

"No—don't even think about—!"

WHIR.

The low whir of machinery sent his nerves into overdrive, his mind immediately jumping to the worst conclusion—had the Janitor somehow made its way up here?

But he needn't have worried.

At the corner of the desk, a hidden panel rose from the surface, emitting a faint glow. Turning sharply, Caelus watched as a hologram flickered to life behind him—an aged figure coalescing into view.

The Director. The same man he had seen down in the labs.

The figure exhaled slowly, the weight of time evident in his voice.

"…It has been almost ten years since the old world fell."

His tone was neither proud nor regretful—simply weary.

"In that time, something new has risen to take its place, though I cannot say whether it will avoid the failures of its predecessor." The Director's gaze turned toward the window, overlooking the abyss below. "More survived than I anticipated. When the Legion decimated the capital, I believed it would be the death knell for many. But life is persistent, even in the face of annihilation. Thus, we come to now."

A long pause followed, then a sigh. "Many have called me a monster for what I have done. Perhaps they are right." His voice was distant, like a man speaking not to an audience, but to his own ghosts. "To be honest, the concept of empathy… it feels foreign to me now. I know I wasn't always this way. Once, I was a man of science, a seeker of knowledge, devoted to unraveling the universe's mysteries."

His expression darkened. "That path led me to the curio."

The image wavered slightly as the Director turned, beginning to pace—his ghostly form ignorant of the corpse that now occupied his chair.

"At first, no one knew what it was. A simple artifact that we uncovered in an old ruin—a treasure, destined to be locked away in a museum, admired but never truly understood. That changed when the first legionnaire was dug up. The thing slaughtered my colleagues like they were insects. It took three striders to bring it down at the time."

He paused, as if reliving the memory. "What could we do when an entire army of them arrived on our doorstep?"

His shoulders sagged.

"In less than a year, we lost more people than in all the wars of our past combined. They were ruthless, unconcerned with petty concepts like discrimination or innocence – and my hometown was among the first to fall. I remember realizing—" he exhaled sharply, "—that their movements were not random. They were following a pattern. And at the center of that pattern… was the curio."

The Director stilled.

"For whatever reason, the Aeon of Destruction's own horde had deemed our people worthy of a genocide as recompense." His voice turned bitter. "I knew we could not allow them to claim it. Even if it meant defying the government. Even if it meant defying the Aeons themselves."

A grim chuckle escaped him, dry and humorless. "That night, when I took it from the museum it had been sentenced to – when it finally activated, I gained something... and lost something in equal measure."

He looked down at his hands, as if searching for something long gone. "The curio was a door. A passage. A revelation. It granted me knowledge beyond comprehension… and in exchange, it destroyed the man I once was."

The figure turned toward the chair, and for a chilling moment, it almost seemed as if he merged with the skeleton resting within it.

Caelus's skin prickled at the sight of it.

"People curse my name for what I had them do. They call me a devil, a butcher, a traitor. Perhaps they are right." His voice softened, barely above a whisper. "But I ask you, without what we accomplished here, would there be a future at all? We faced certain annihilation if we did nothing."

He shook his head. "There were failures. Sacrifices. Far too many of both. But from those failures… we crafted a masterful riposte."

A shadow flickered in the corner of the room. Caelus turned, and another figure materialized just in front of the desk. Unlike the Director's image, this one was distorted—mangled and fragmented, as if the recording itself had decayed over time.

The Director exhaled softly, as if recognizing them.

"You already know this, don't you 1157?" His lips curved into something resembling a smile. "Or… should I refer to you as Madam Guardian now?"

Caelus's pulse spiked.

Madam Guardian.

There could've been only one person back then who would've been called that...

The flickering figure stood motionless, an unspoken tension thickening the air.

The Director sighed. "I know why you are here. I had wondered when the Architects would finally send someone to uncover the skeletons buried beneath this world. It's not lost on me, you know? Having my greatest achievement turned against me."

The distorted image shifted. The silhouette of an arm moved, as if reaching for something—likely a weapon.

The Director merely smiled. "There is no need for that. I have already taken the necessary precautions. All the burdens born here shall be mine to bear."

Then—he coughed. Violently. He swayed, gripping the chair for support. "…ugh. It's working quicker than I anticipated." His voice, already weary, grew faint. "Before I take my leave, humor me."

He met the flickering woman's gaze, eyes heavy with exhaustion.

"This peace you have brought… it is nothing but a respite. That thing you have parlayed with—" he sucked in a breath, "—will surely lead the next generations to ruin. Tell me, 1157… is the risk worth it?"

The Guardian stood motionless. A phantom, silent.

The Director chuckled weakly. "A similar question was asked of me once, you know. And like you, I didn't answer." He leaned back, his breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. "…I suppose it matters little now. The die is cast. All that remains is to watch the board. In the meantime-"

Something materialized on the desk.

Time stopped in that moment for Caelus.

The curio - the exact same that Cocolia's shadow had destroyed in Herta's archive.

His breath hitched, his pulse roaring in his ears.

The Director exhaled one last time, voice barely a whisper. "T-take it. I have no more use for it. But I w-would… rather not see it rot here. What you d-d-do with it... is yours to decide… as is the fate of this world."

His body slumped forward, head dipping toward his chest.

Silence reigned afterward.

The Director was gone and Caelus could only stare, equal parts horrified and mesmerized.

The thundering of boots drew him back to reality, turning to find another figure had joined them. "Madam Alisa, we have completed a thorough sweep of the facility as you instructed. All pertinent data regarding the Initiative has been obtained. What would you have us do?"

The Guardian, no, Alisa Rand stood still for a moment. Then finally, Caelus heard the woman's voice. "Seal this place. Like the others."

"…and the traitor?"

"Leave him. This shall be his tomb."

The soldier hesitated. "But the—"

"Dismissed."

"…as you command."

The soldier departed, leaving the guardian alone with the deceased Director.

For a long, quiet moment afterward, Alisa did not move. After what felt like an eternity, she stepped forward, stopping just in front of the Director, turning the chair so that it was now facing the window.

Afterwards, she walked over and reached for the curio. She lifted it in her hands, inspecting its surface, running her fingers along its edges. Then, with one last glance at the Director's lifeless form, she turned and walked out of sight.

The recording cut out.

Caelus stood frozen.

The weight of what he had just witnessed pressed down on him like an avalanche.

Alisa Rand... the first supreme guardian had been here, in this facility – and not just that. She had been made here, crafted to become what she would go on to be. She was the reason this place had been forgotten until now and it had likely been her specter he'd encountered, leading him here in the first place.

But more importantly-

The curio. It was real. It had been here!

And Alisa Rand had taken it.

That thought alone should've demoralized him. He knew next to nothing about Alisa Rand herself beyond what people spoke about her, and how she supposedly perished.

But...

Even if that's true, even if she vanished like a ghost after this... I know the truth now.

The curio was here on Jarilo-VI – somewhere. And if Alisa Rand's words were correct, that meant there were more facilities like this scattered across the planet.

If he could just retrace her steps, then maybe… maybe he could learn things about her that no one ever did, including her secrets – places only she would know about.

Places to hide something as important as a curio that the Aeon of Destruction would want.

The spark of hope that had begun to die a slow demise suddenly sprung back to life in his heart, brighter than ever.

Turning back to the terminal, Caelus moved fast.

There was no time to sift through the data—he could do that later. Right now, he had one priority. His fingers flew over the interface until he found what he was looking for.

One press of a key was all it took.

A shrill beep rang out before the automated system blared through the speakers:

"TIER-1 CLEARANCE OVERRIDE ACCEPTED. LOCKDOWN OVERRIDDEN."

Caelus let out a breath of relief. It was done. "Alright, now let's see about those—"

WHIR!

The low, mechanical whine sliced through the air like a death knell.

Caelus's stomach dropped. His head snapped up—just in time to see the automaton lumber into the room with him, its armored gaze locked onto him, its arm raised.

C-CRAP…!

The beam from its palm fired.

He had barely enough time to summon his lance, bracing as the superheated blast slammed into him, the force hurling him backward.

Glass shattered.

Air rushed past him as he plunged through the broken window, momentum spinning him midair.

The pit below raced up to meet him.

Caelus barely managed to twist his body before he hit the ground—hard.

A sharp, searing ache shot through him, but the power of Preservation pulsed within his veins, dulling the worst of the impact. He gasped for breath, forcing his eyes open just in time to hear—

BOOM.

Something landed nearby, sending tremors through the pit.

A low, inhuman chorus rose in response—hissing, snarling, yowling.

Caelus let out a sharp exhale, bracing against the dull throb in his bones. One knee down, one hand pressed into the floor. Lifting his head, he cast a baleful, amber-eyed glare at the machine that had hounded him every step of the way.

The automaton towered over him, completely unbothered by the growing swarm of Fragmentum creatures slowly congregating around them. Its drill arm spun to life — a vicious, grinding whine that sent sparks flying as metal clashed against itself.

Caelus's jaw tightened.

He had tried to avoid fighting this thing, knowing full well the carnage it was capable of.

But running wasn't an option anymore. If he fled now, there was no telling if it would go after the Professor next. And with the lockdown over, there was nothing stopping it from extending that same courtesy to the village above.

There was nothing for it.

Caelus exhaled slowly, steadying himself as he rose to his feet. "Fine then..." His grip tightened around the shaft of his lance, embers flickering to life along its length, licking at the edges like a beast eager to be unleashed. Across the battlefield, the automaton's drill whined—a high-pitched, grating screech that merged with the unearthly howls of the Fragmentum horde.

The air between them tensed, a silent countdown to carnage, until the first move was made.

The Janitor lunged, propelling itself skyward, drill poised to impale. Caelus barely had a moment to react before it came screaming down, intent on driving him into the dirt. He threw himself back just as the machine crashed into the ground where he had stood, its drill tearing deep into the earth—only to get stuck in the process. A rare opening. Caelus surged forward without hesitation, his blazing lance an extension of his will, aiming to skewer the machine in one decisive strike.

The weapon bit deep, molten light searing into ancient armor. But it wasn't enough. The damage, though significant, did not fell the machine. It twisted its head up, its single, hellish red eye locking onto him with renewed malice, the glow within intensifying as if his attack had been a personal offense. Caelus braced himself to strike again, but the Fragmentum surged forward, their wailing cries announcing their arrival before their twisted forms could reach him.

Frost and Flame spawns darted in, forcing him to retreat, to pivot. He dismissed his lance in a crackling burst of energy, calling forth his bat instead as defense. A spawn dove toward him, only to be obliterated in one brutal swing. With a follow-up strike, arcs of Destruction cleaved through the others, scattering them from the sky in bursts of otherworldly energy.

The immediate threat neutralized, he turned back to the Janitor, only to find it dealing with its own swarm of Fragmentum. At first, he expected the machine to tear through them effortlessly, but then he noticed something.

It was slowing down.

Caelus narrowed his eyes.

Even as it ripped its enemies apart, its once-fluid movements grew sluggish, almost hesitant. It wasn't until the last out-of-space exploded against its back in a fiery detonation that the truth revealed itself. A single glowing pylon emerged from its shoulder, venting steam in thick, hissing clouds.

Realization dawned on Caelus. It hadn't been invincible—it had merely been absorbing every attack he'd thrown at it, storing the energy within its ancient frame. And now, it was overheating.

Caelus smirked devilishly.

Summoning his lance once more, he watched as a pair of shadewalkers momentarily occupied the Janitor, its drill arm swiping sluggishly at their fleeting forms. The moment its attention wavered, Caelus moved. He surged forward, driving his lance into the machine's exposed side, flames erupting along the point of impact.

The Janitor shrieked—a piercing, mechanical wail that rattled the battlefield. Steam billowed in thick plumes from its pylon, its metal frame groaning under the strain. Seizing the moment, Caelus leapt, his bat materializing mid-air. He twisted his body and swung, bringing it down upon the vent in a devastating arc.

The ancient machinery caved in with a sickening crunch, the force of the blow sending a shudder through the Janitor's entire frame. It reeled, its drill-arm swiping wildly in retaliation—but the weapon no longer spun.

Its deadliest tool was crippled, but that didn't mean it was finished. If anything, it now saw him as the true threat rather than the encroaching horde of madness around them.

The Janitor lurched forward, relentless, closing the distance between them with alarming speed.

Caelus exhaled sharply, keeping just ahead of its reach. Despite the hectic situation he found himself in, a thought flickered through his mind.

If Svarog had ever fought like this back when we faced him, we wouldn't have stood a chance.

Each time Caelus stepped back, the Janitor's fist came crashing down, leaving craters in the floor where he had stood moments before. Then, with a thunderous stomp, the automaton sent him skidding backward. He dug his lance into the ground, using it to steady himself just in time.

A swarm of spawns descended upon the machine's back, shrieking as they prepared for another assault—only to be sliced apart by a concentrated beam from its outstretched hand. Yet, the damage had been done. The automaton faltered, its knee striking the floor as another pylon jutted from its arm, glowing with excess heat.

Bringing forth his lance once more, Caelus didn't hesitate. He surged forward, his lance burning bright as he drove it straight into the exposed pylon. The impact shattered the vent, sending sparks cascading through the air. The Janitor screeched in mechanical agony and lashed out with its beam hand. A few erratic bursts crackled through the air before, with a final, violent detonation, the limb erupted in a fireball, effectively destroying its last major offensive weapon.

There should be at least one more, Caelus mused, watching the automaton, waiting for its next move.

Despite everything, despite the overwhelming damage, the Janitor still functioned. A testament to the craftsmanship of the old world, a relic of an era where machines were built to endure the impossible.

Then came the next wave.

Shadewalkers—incineration variants—led the charge, their flaming halberds searing through the air as they struck the Janitor's limbs. Superheated metal bit deep into its armor, yet the titan of steel shook them off like gnats.

Those that turned their attention to Caelus fared no better. Their movements were predictable, their attacks sluggish in his eyes. He dispatched them with ruthless efficiency, his bat smashing through their twisted forms as he forced his way back toward the automaton.

The Janitor, finally free of its harassers, raised its drill arm and brought it down to clash against Caelus's lance. Sparks and embers erupted where their weapons clashed, lighting up the battlefield in a chaotic display. The standstill shattered moments later as a pair of stormbringers loosed volleys of concentrated wind energy. The sudden blast sent Caelus reeling backward, forcing him to shift focus.

He landed in a low crouch, eyes snapping to the stormbringer that had chosen to challenge him.

Caelus smirked dangerously. "Been meaning to pay you guys back for earlier," he muttered, recalling the harrowing chase through Yakarich's forests.

The creature snarled in response, notching another arrow of condensed wind. It loosed the bolt, but Caelus moved at the last second, weaving around the attack. His lance carved a glowing arc across the floor as he closed the distance. The stormbringer barely had time to react before he drove his weapon through its body, disintegrating it into nothingness.

As its remains faded, Caelus turned his gaze back to the Janitor. The automaton had found its own stormbringer to contend with, though its methods were far from elegant. The monster's wind volleys barely fazed the mechanical behemoth as it tromped towards the centaur-like being. When it realized the threat the Janitor posed, it tried to retreat—but too late. The Janitor seized one of its legs in an iron grip and, with brutal efficiency, tore it clean off. The being shrieked in agony before a single, devastating stomp ended its pitiful existence.

Caelus used the opening to his advantage. He rushed in, driving his lance into the machine's back, channeling fire through the weapon with every ounce of strength he had left. The heat rose, and at last, the third and final pylon jutted from the back of the Janitor's skull.

LAST ONE! he crowed mentally, as he obliterated the exposed vent.

The explosion rocked the battlefield, sending the Janitor into a frenzied thrash. It staggered, its movements wild and erratic, its once-precise attacks reduced to the flailing of a cornered beast.

Then, like vultures sensing a wounded prey, the Fragmentum horde descended. They swarmed the crippled machine, clawing, shrieking, piling over it in a writhing mass of void-born chaos.

But the fight wasn't over—not for Caelus. The remaining Fragmentum turned their ravenous eyes toward him, closing in like a tide of nightmares. He steeled himself, raising his lance, preparing for the inevitable clash—

Until a glow from the distance froze him in place. Lightning crackled through the air, illuminating the battlefield with an ominous radiance. A pressure, immense and suffocating, settled over him.

His eyes widened.

Oh, shit!

Instinct took over. He spun his lance so the tip was facing the floor and slammed it into the ground, pouring every ounce of the Preservation's power into his body. The glow from the writhing mass intensified, swelling into something blinding, something colossal.

The radiant light erupted, the explosion deafening, a force of destruction so absolute it threatened to rip Caelus off his feet. His eardrums burst, his vision blurred, and the sheer shockwave threatened to throw him across the battlefield. He gritted his teeth, holding his ground with everything he had until, at last, the light receded.

Silence followed afterward.

Caelus risked a glance toward the battlefield—

And his breath caught in his throat.

The Janitor was gone. Not a trace remained. The Fragmentum horde? Erased. The twisted infection that had embedded itself into the arena's walls? Sterilized.

All that was left was a vast, hollowed-out crater, a scorch mark spanning the entire battlefield.

Had the lance's power failed to protect him in that moment, he would have been nothing more than a memory—just like them.

Memory... wait, NO!

Caelus's stomach twisted as realization struck like a hammer blow.

The terminal – the one that had been destroyed by the Janitor earlier.

All the records. All the data. Where the other facilities were. The truth behind this ruin. Every shred of knowledge that could have unraveled the mystery of this place.

Lost. Gone forever.

A surge of fury clawed at his chest, white-hot and blinding. His fists tightened, knuckles turning bone-white as his breath hitched. He wanted to scream, to curse, to strike something—anything—but he forced the rage down, wrestled it into submission with a deep, shuddering breath.

Whatever secrets this place had once held… They didn't matter anymore.

With the lockdown lifted, they could finally leave.

But that didn't mean this place was safe.

---

Caelus's boots slammed against the cold floor, carrying him through the deserted security floor. But unlike his fumbling about through the rest of the facility, he knew exactly where to go.

Down the corridor, a pack of shadewalkers clawed and snarled at a heavy door, their warped bodies writhing in the dim glow of flickering emergency lights. Whatever lay beyond had them fixated, their weapons scraping in a maddened frenzy against the reinforced steel.

His lance flared into existence, the white-hot edge slicing through the dark as he surged forward.

The cadre barely had time to react.

He moved like a storm, his lance a comet's tail of destruction, cutting through the creatures with precise, merciless strikes. Within seconds, all that remained were fading traces of energy, whispered echoes of what once was.

Caelus turned, heart hammering, pounding a fist against the door. "Old man! Open up! It's me!"

Silence answered him.

A cold weight settled in his gut.

Had he been too late?

Suddenly, the doors hissed open, parting to reveal the old man, seated at a large, dimly lit terminal.

"I never doubted you for a second, young man."

Caelus's brows furrowed.

There was something in the tone. Something distant. Detached.

"Lockdown's lifted," he said carefully, still watching him as he approached from behind. "We should get out of here."

He expected an argument - planned on it, in fact. But the Professor didn't argue, or even stall. If anything, he was eerily compliant.

There was some hesitation though—if just for a moment—as his fingers lingered on the edge of the console, before finally pushing himself to his feet. "Yes," he murmured. "That would be prudent at this point."

This isn't like him, Caelus thought.

But now wasn't the time to question it. "Stick close to me, got it? No wandering off this time."

Their journey back to the atrium took longer than expected, the urgency of their escape clashing against the old man's sluggish pace. Gone was the reckless energy that had driven him forward earlier. Now, he moved like a man feeling the weight of his years.

Caelus should have been relieved.

Instead, that nagging unease only grew stronger. What had changed?

Just then, voices echoed down the corridor, bringing Caelus to a halt, his hand going up to stop the old man from moving.

"…this place, and we don't even know if they're alive!"

"Then let me go look for them myself!"

His stomach lurched.

That's—!

"Uleg? Lowen?" he called out tentatively.

The argument ceased immediately.

"CAELUS?! Where are you?"

A wave of relief flooded through him as he emerged from the shadows, only to be met with a wall of hostile glares.

Uleg stood at the head of his men, his weathered face contorted in barely-contained fury, his stance stiff with authority.

Lowen, however, looked more stunned than anything, eyes darting between Caelus and the guards.

"YOU." The older man stormed forward, boots striking with a measured, deliberate weight, drawing his weapon on Caelus faster than he could blink - just like before. His men followed close behind, weapons already raised. "I warned you not to test me, kid. I told you if you didn't listen we were gonna have problems."

Before, Caelus might've done everything possible to diffuse the situation. He didn't want to cause problems if that could be avoided. But after a restless night, getting talked down by the same man in front of him, and having to navigate a long-lost research facility, on top of trying to save the old man that had gotten them locked in – and forced to fend of a homicidal, ancient automaton.

Reason had since taken a hike.

His grip itched for his weapon. Instinct roared, demanding he meet force with force, that he shove that arrogant tone right back down Uleg's throat.

With a flick of his wrist, his bat flared into existence, twirling once in his grip as his amber eyes locked onto Uleg's. "Oh, I remember. I also remember you saying you'd show me how good you were at solving them. Thing is, I'm also good at solving problems. Do you really want to make yours mine?"

Now some of the guards hesitated. A few even stepped back.

Uleg? He laughed. A dark, gravelly chuckle, devoid of amusement.

"Tch. A strider. Figures." He tipped his chin, eyeing the bat with something caught between distaste and mild irritation. "I should've figured you were one, wandering the wastes out there. No other kind of runt could've lasted as long as you had, never mind crawling out of this place alive. But if you think that shiny toy is enough to make me back down, boy—you're sorely mistaken."

"Uleg, what the hell are you doing!?" Lowen snapped, stepping forward—

Only to be shoved to the ground by one of Uleg's men.

The scavenger grunted, a mixture of anger and disbelief flashing across his face.

"Keep yer trap shut, runt. This ain't your business."

"No, but as it so happens, it is mine."

The words landed like a thunderclap. Not just Uleg, but everybody froze, their heads snapping toward the source of the voice.

Caelus turned, heart lurching as the old man stepped into view.

Lowen staggered upright, his voice cracking with disbelief. "E-ELDER…?!" The relief in his tone was palpable, warring with stunned confusion. "What… how did you—how did you even get down here?"

The Elder offered cheeky little smile. "I walked, lad."

"W-what—"

A raised hand silenced him. Then, the Elder turned, fixing Uleg with a measured look. "Now, Uleg. I'll thank you and your men to lower your weapons. There's no need for any of that."

Caelus saw the tension snap taut like a wire, and along with it Uleg's jaw clenching. He wisely kept his mouth shut, if only to keep the guard from snapping.

"Had it not been for this young man," the Elder continued, tone as calm as the eye of a storm, "this place would have been my tomb. I'd like it if you didn't treat him like a criminal."

Uleg's stare never wavered. "This is a restricted area," he said coldly. Measured. Controlled. "One you personally ordered sealed, old man."

Caelus blinked, looking at the Elder sharply. "Then why were you trying to sneak in?" he demanded. "Couldn't you have just ordered them to let you through?"

The Elder sighed, hands folding neatly behind his back. "Up until today, my directives held. Not even I approached, if only to keep some of the more adventurous youth from following after."

His eyes flickered toward Lowen, pointed, making the scavenger flush slightly.

"But today…" His gaze drifted past them, toward the ruinous corridor they had emerged from. Something distant crossed his expression. "…Today felt different."

Caelus remained silent, resisting the urge to swallow out of nervousness.

"Illness has clung to me for years. And yet, this morning, it eased—as if something was calling me back to this place. One final time." His voice softened, gaze settling on Caelus. "That is when I met you, young man."

Uleg scoffed. "Really? And what makes this stranger so special, anyhow? Besides the fact he's a strider."

The muzzle of his rifle didn't waver—still trained on Caelus's head.

Caelus held his breath.

"Well," the Elder mused, tone thoughtful. "It's as you said, Uleg. The lad's a strider. One aligned with the will of Qlippoth at that. Perhaps this place simply allowed those bearing that admittance. It only drives the point home that this young man is not our enemy."

Uleg's lip curled, but he said nothing. In fact he made no move to remove the gun barrel from Caelus's skull.

If it came down it, the trailblazer could deal with everyone there and make a run for it. But that'd only undermine what the old man was trying to establish.

Fed up with the guard's defiance, the Elder sighed. "Must I make it an order, guardsman?"

The tension cracked like brittle ice.

Uleg's teeth bared, anger rolling off of him in waves

For a single, terrible second, Caelus thought he'd do it and subtly prepared to push forth the power of Preservation.

But in the end...

"Tch." Uleg turned sharply on his heel, barking over his shoulder. "You lot! Form ranks! I want a tight formation on our way topside. MOVE IT!"

The guards scrambled, weapons lowered hastily, shifting into formation. The air remained thick, but the danger had passed.

For now.

Lowen wasted no time closing the distance between them, his boots kicking up dust as he hurried toward the two of them. His gaze flickered between Caelus and the Elder, scanning for injuries, for anything out of place. "Thank the Guardians you're both safe," he breathed, relief coloring his voice. "To think you ended up lost together—all this is not good for my heart!"

Caelus snorted derisively. "Getting lost with this coot wasn't exactly the plan."

Lowen shot him an aghast look, while the Elder merely chuckled, the sound rich with amusement.

"How long were we missing, anyway?" Caelus asked, rolling his shoulders.

"Couldn't you have just checked the phone I gave you?"

Caelus stilled.

Ah. Right.

A slow heat crept up his neck, and he scratched the back of his head. "Uh... it's a really long story."

The Elder's chuckle deepened, thankfully stepping in to spare Calelus the lengthy explanation. "A great many things happened down here, my boy," he said, stepping forward. "If you wish to hear of them, then let us leave this place first."

Lowen hesitated, casting one last, longing glance at the cavernous ruins around them. "But… isn't there anything you want to do here?"

A sigh erupted from the Elder, along with a weary, knowing smile. "There is a part of me that wishes to, yes," the Elder admitted. "But… I have come to understand that the world as we know it is not yet ready for its secrets to be unearthed." His gaze met Caelus's. "What we have learned, the lad and I, will suffice."

Lowen's expression shifted, his brow furrowing as he searched Caelus's face for answers. Whatever he found must not have satisfied him, because he groaned, rubbing his temple.

"Alright, fine then." Then, as if suddenly remembering something, he perked up. "Oh, that reminds me—Caelus, a caravan came through earlier with the parts Gregor needed. Might be worth checking in with him, see if your phone's fixed."

Caelus blinked.

His phone.

He'd completely forgotten about it.

The device had been the whole reason he'd stayed here in the first place. If not for that, he would've left. Would've wandered the wastes aimlessly, chasing a directionless path until either he stumbled into a fight he couldn't win…

Or until the Silvermane Guard found him.

And then what?

But that was then.

Now… everything was different.

He wasn't leaving with nothing.

---

Gregor didn't even glance up as Caelus stepped into the shop, the heavy scent of metal shavings and engine grease thick in the air. The mechanic hunched over his workbench, pipe clenched between his teeth, fingers working a stubborn bolt loose. "Take it you heard, eh?"

"About the caravan? Yeah."

Gregor didn't pause in his work. "That was hours ago, boy. Thought you'd be knockin' my door down the second it rolled in."

"I was busy with a few things."

This time, Gregor did look up, squinting at him through the curling smoke of his pipe. His gaze, sharp as a whetted blade, dragged over Caelus, taking stock of something unspoken. "…Something's different about you, runt," he muttered. "You're not as squirrelly."

Caelus just shrugged. "Maybe. But I doubt you care either way."

Gregor barked out a dry laugh. "That, boy, we agree on." He set his wrench down with a clang, reaching under the counter. "Anyways, your phone's fixed. Getting a hold of the replacement cost me an arm and a leg, so I expect—"

CHING.

The weight of a full bag of shields hit the counter, rattling tools and parts alike, cutting Gregor off mid-sentence. His eyes flicked down, then up, then back down again. The pipe nearly slipped from his lips out of shock.

"Will this be enough?" Caelus asked calmly, tilting his head.

Gregor pursed his lips, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke before snatching the bag and giving it a quick heft. "…Aye. It'll do." He set the phone on the counter, quite gently to boot. "Here."

Caelus barely heard him, his breath catching as he picked up the device. His fingers trembled, just slightly, as he pressed the power button.

The screen flickered to life. Everything was still there. His apps. His messages. His chat logs.

A lump formed in his throat. The urge to tap into his messages, to see their names, to hear their voices—it nearly broke him.

He exhaled slowly, tucking the phone into his coat. "It's good as new. Thanks, Gregor."

The mechanic snorted. "Spare me, brat. I did what you paid me for, nothin' more." He waved a hand dismissively. "Now if that's all, beat it. Got orders to fill."

Caelus smirked, turning on his heel. "Then if I need something else fixed in the future, I'll know just the old timer to turn to."

"Old—!?"

The rest was lost in a spluttering string of curses as Caelus ducked out, laughing all the way.

Lowen was waiting for him outside, arms crossed, shaking his head with a wry smirk. "You know he's never gonna let that one go, right?"

"I'm counting on it," Caelus replied, thumbing over the surface of his phone, savoring the familiar weight in his hand. It had only been a day or so, but it felt like a lifetime.

Lowen shrugged, pushing off the wall. "If you say so. Anyway, we should get moving."

"Where to?"

"The Elder wants to talk to you."

Caelus frowned. "Did he say why?"

"No, and that's what bothers me," Lowen admitted, his expression darkening. "But whatever it is, it's important. Come on, it's not far."

They moved through the village, the dirt-packed roads uneven beneath their steps. The gazes that followed Caelus were different this time. Before, he'd felt the weight of suspicion, the unspoken wariness pressing in on him from all sides. Now, it was something else—not quite welcoming, but not openly hostile either.

"They've changed their tune," Caelus remarked.

"They all likely heard about what you did. Word travels fast, especially around here," Lowen said. "I'd say you're well on your way to being part of the village, just like me."

Shame I'm not sticking around…

Soon enough, they arrived in front of a building smaller than Gregor's shop but bearing a more official air. The real difference, however, stood at the entrance.

Uleg. Flanked by two other guards, he regarded Caelus with a sneer, arms crossed over his chest. "Hmph. Seems you got your shit fixed, runt. Surprised you're still here."

Caelus didn't rise to the bait, which only made the man's scowl deepen.

"He's still inside, right?" Lowen cut in, stepping between them before the situation could escalate. "Last thing we need is for your guys to let another slip-up happen."

The two guards bristled at the insinuation, their glares turning on Lowen, but he didn't so much as flinch.

"We checked," Uleg growled, his tone like gravel. He gave a stiff nod to his men, who reluctantly stepped aside. "Go on in."

Lowen led the way, but not before Caelus locked eyes with Uleg for one long, tense moment. Then, without a word, he stepped inside. As the door shut behind them, Lowen let out a sigh.

"So it really was their fault the Elder slipped past them?" Caelus asked, though he already knew the answer.

"Yeah. Even Uleg didn't know what happened at first. There's always supposed to be a few guards stationed here. They're not just for protection—they keep an eye on him since he has a habit of wandering. But they got lax, went on break, and by the time they noticed he was gone… well, the rest you know."

Caelus hummed in understanding.

So that's why Uleg hates me even more now.

By going so far and above for the Elder, he'd humiliated them. He'd made them look incompetent and by extension, Uleg himself.

Not that Uleg's wounded pride was his problem.

Lowen gestured toward the hallway ahead. "Go on ahead. The Elder's waiting for you."

Caelus raised a brow. "You're not sticking around this time?"

Lowen hesitated at the door. His fingers twitched, clenching and unclenching at his sides. "I want to," he admitted, voice low. "And the Elder didn't say it was private or anything, but…"

Caelus studied him. The tension in his frame, the way his weight shifted restlessly from foot to foot. He sighed. "You want to go and look, don't you?"

Lowen met his gaze, his nod sharp and certain. "I managed to twist a few arms this time. I'm supposed to be meeting up with them near the entrance by now."

Caelus couldn't blame the guy, even if the idea was risky. A facility that old, even if the Guard had raided it long ago could possess resources that they'd likely need. Supplies that could mean everything to the village.

That could mean everything to the Elder.

Lowen clenched his jaw, frustration flickering in his expression.

Caelus exhaled through his nose, battling the conflict within. He wished he could spare the time to help him, but after this he intended to leave as soon as possible. But what if-

Wait a sec!

"Do me a favor—pull out your phone real quick. I've got an app that might help you."

Lowen blinked at the odd request but complied. Caelus did the same, holding his phone up next to Lowen's before tapping through an app.

A file transfer began.

After a few moments, Lowen squinted at the screen. "...Findie?"

"It's annoying, sure, but if there's anything left down there you're looking for, it'll find it."

"I can't just—!"

"Consider it a thank-you." Caelus cut him off with a grin. "For everything."

Lowen's mouth opened, but whatever protest he had died in his throat. He just stared down at his phone in awe.

Caelus clapped him on the shoulder, shaking him a bit to get his attention. "Coming here wasn't a mistake." Then, with a jerk of his chin, he motioned toward the exit. "Now go. I doubt those guys will be as patient as me."

That spurred Lowen into motion. With a final glance back, he rushed out the door—only for Uleg's barking voice to erupt from outside, scolding him the second he stepped past the threshold.

Caelus chuckled.

Lowen would be fine.

And so would he.

Caelus wandered deeper into the house, his footsteps muffled against the old wooden floors. The scent of aged paper and candle smoke lingered in the air, wrapping around him like a blanket.

He stumbled upon a room lined with artifacts—Belobogian in origin, their polished surfaces whispering stories of a world long buried. Some were familiar: old Silvermane insignias, faded banners, fragments of texts whose dialects had all but faded from common use. But what caught his attention most was the newspaper article pinned above the study, the paper yellowed with time, its ink slightly smudged.

The photograph beneath it showed a cluster of young men and women, their faces alight with ambition. At the forefront stood an older man, posture straight, eyes alight with the quiet confidence of a mentor leading his disciples. Caelus squinted, trying to make out the caption beneath it, but the years had stolen much of the text.

"Belobog's Prominent Class Sets Out to Uncover the World Left Behind."

Caelus turned sharply at the sound of the voice. The Professor, old man, Elder - he didn't know what to call him anymore - stood just behind him, his gaze fixed on the article. Though his words were steady, there was something else in his eyes—a distant, wistful glint, as if looking not at a faded image but at ghosts of the past standing before him.

"Sorry," Caelus muttered, stepping away from the study. "I didn't mean to snoop."

"All's fine, lad," the old man assured him with an easygoing smile, though there was a weight to it. "My students were the same, once upon a time. Always peering where they shouldn't, always hungry for the next great discovery." His fingers brushed the brittle newspaper edges with something close to reverence. "They were a rowdy bunch, yes, but brilliant. Exceptional minds, the kind that only come once in a generation."

A strange pang hit Caelus, a reminder of the voices he had seen—the specters that had shown him glimpses of lives lost to time.

"…Are they…?" His throat felt tight.

The Professor hummed in thought before shaking his head, taking a seat at the study. "Oh, not to worry. Last I heard, they all went on to live full, rich lives even if some got a little banged up along the way. Some even stayed in Bergstadt… though not forever." He sighed, his breath coming slower now, more labored. "Time is a crueler adversary than the Fragmentum. No blade, no strategy can outmatch it."

As if to prove his own words, a harsh cough tore from his chest, folding him over in his chair.

Caelus stepped forward in alarm, but the Professor weakly waved him off, catching his breath between ragged inhales.

"Agh… I'm fine, my boy. I may not have looked it back then, but even I am not immune to age's cruel toll."

So he really is dying...

Caelus clenched his fists. "You took a big risk going out like that," he chided, voice firmer than he intended. But damn if the old man hadn't grown on him in the short time he'd known him.

The Professor chuckled, though the sound was weaker than before. "Each step we take in this world is a risk, young man. I'd expect you to know that better than anyone." A pause. A quiet exhale. "But we're not here to discuss my recklessness."

"Then what are we here for?" Caelus asked, crossing his arms. "Lowen made it sound like you had something important to tell me."

The Professor's expression sobered, the glint of nostalgia fading into something heavier. "Aye," he admitted. "I would've told the boy, had he ever needed to know. But I pray he never does."

"He cares about you," he said softly. "More than anyone in that village, I think."

A small, sad smile touched the old man's lips. "And I him. He is the son I never had." He sighed, running a hand over his lined face. "Which is why I would rather not burden him with the shadows of the past - there are still ghosts of his own he has to face. Some truths should remain buried, lad. But you… you are different from him, in so many ways."

Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled something out and handed it to Caelus.

A small SD card.

Caelus frowned, turning it over between his fingers. "What's on it?"

The Professor leaned back, exhaustion evident in the slow, measured rise and fall of his chest. "That, I do not know," he admitted. "But when you lifted the lockdown, all of the encrypted files I had been locked out of were suddenly available. I transferred what I could to my phone before they could be sealed again."

Caelus's heart pounded in his chest. "Why give this to me?"

The Elder folded his hands atop his desk, his gaze knowing, as if the question itself amused him. "You wield the Blazing Lance, the same weapon once carried by Madam Alisa Rand."

Caelus's stomach dropped. His grip on the SD card tightened. "I don't know what you're talking about."

A dry chuckle left the old man's lips. "Lad, there's no need for pretense. The Proving Grounds' security cameras were surprisingly intact. I saw everything—your battle, your skill, the fire of Preservation itself emboldening your every move." He leaned back, the wood of his chair creaking under his weight. "I know not how you came to possess a relic that should be locked within the History and Culture Museum of the capital… but at this juncture, it hardly matters."

"How—" Caelus's voice cracked. His mind reeled, blood roaring in his ears. "How does it not matter?! The Guard could arrest me for this, couldn't they?"

"Without question. Some of the more zealous might even call for the death penalty—claiming you desecrated what many now consider a holy relic."

Caelus's breath hitched. "T-Then—"

"But," the Elder interrupted, "as I said, it matters little… because I have no intention of reporting you."

Caelus stared at him, disbelieving. His pulse thudded painfully against his ribs. "Why...?"

The old man exhaled slowly, his eyes half-lidded, heavy with the weight of years. "Because, lad, you saved me. You spared me from being forgotten in that wretched tomb, and for that, I owe you a debt. But even without that… my fate is already sealed."

The finality in his tone made Caelus's blood run cold. "Don't say that!" he insisted, taking a step closer. "Lowen's—he's looking for medicine. He hasn't given up on you."

A small, weary smile tugged at the Elder's lips. "That boy… his heart is too large for this world. But all the medicine in existence won't halt the inevitable. I am old, Caelus. My time is long past. Yours, however… has just begun."

The SD card in Caelus's grip suddenly felt heavier.

"I can only hope the truth you seek lies within," the Elder continued, nodding toward it. "The past, the secrets buried beneath the snow… you will be the only one to decide what comes of them."

Caelus swallowed, shaking his head. "Then shouldn't the Guard have this? They have the resources, the manpower—they could—"

"They could bury it," the Elder cut in, his voice sharp enough to slice through steel. His expression darkened. "Just as the Architects have done for seven hundred years."

Caelus clenched his jaw.

"Tell me, lad," the Elder continued, eyes locking onto him, pinning him in place. "You align with the will of Preservation, do you not? You are an idealist, much like my students once were." A pause. A breath. "But allow me to grant you an unfortunate truth—one you already know, yet refuse to accept."

Caelus felt it coming, the weight of the words before they even left the old man's lips.

"The Architects do not wish to learn from the past. They wish to forget it."

A silence stretched between them. The firelight flickered, shadows dancing across the Elder's weathered face.

Caelus licked his lips, his throat dry. "And… the Supreme Guardian?" His voice was barely above a whisper. "Is that still true?"

The Elder regarded him for a long moment, as if debating the answer himself. "In the past, I would have said yes. But Madam Katarina is… different."

Katarina.

The name sent a shudder down Caelus's spine.

Cocolia's mother...

His fingers twitched.

"However," the Elder continued, his voice turning grave, "there are many besides her who still align with the Architects' vision of a perfect Belobog. Going forward, lad, heed my warning—if you take nothing else from our conversation, take this:

Do not trust the Guard. They fight to destroy all enemies of Belobog. And if you are not careful—if you take a wrong step, if you draw too much attention—you will become one."

Caelus inhaled sharply. He remembered too well the cold suspicion in Gepard's eyes when they first met. The way Cocolia had turned the Guard against them—even her own daughter.

The Guard was not the problem.

The people leading them were.

The Stellaron had to have a hand in that.

Shelving that dark thought to the side, he forced himself to nod. "I'll take your words into consideration, Professor. I don't intend to get involved with them if I can help it."

The Elder's expression eased, just slightly. "That would be the wisest course." A pause. "You walk a road blessed by Qlippoth itself, yet many will not see it that way. That said… I would like to offer you a place here. If you should ever need one."

Caelus's stomach twisted.

"But from this day forth, he will no longer be known simply as 'the outsider."

The words rang in his head like a death knell, dragging memories to the surface—memories of that ruined, dead village.

Blood. Screams. Faces he had come to know, to appreciate… to lose.

His body shuddered before he could stop it.

The Elder noticed. "Lad?"

Caelus forced a breath, forcing the panic down, forcing his hands to stop shaking. "I… appreciate the offer," he managed. "But I can't. I'm sorry."

Bergstadt was not Yakarich. It was not the same. But he couldn't make that mistake again. He wouldn't.

The Elder studied him, and to Caelus's surprise, he didn't look offended. If anything… he looked understanding.

"The road you have walked is a hard one, my boy," he murmured, his voice quiet with something like sorrow. "And I fear the end is still far from sight."

"I know," Caelus whispered, nodding to himself.

The Elder exhaled slowly. "Even so… the offer stands. Even after I'm gone." He gave a knowing smile. "Lowen will see to it."

Caelus stared down at the SD card in his palm, its weight grounding him.

He had come here looking for a way to Belobog, hoping someone could point him in the right direction. That thought alone had kept him moving forward.

But now?

If he wanted to find the curio... If he wanted to get home... If he wanted to understand—

He would have to do it himself.

Yes… the fire inside him hadn't been smothered. If anything, it burned hotter than before.

He clenched the SD card in his fist, slipping it into his coat pocket before turning back to the old man. "If the road is long," he said, his lips curling into a smirk, "then I'd better hit it."

He hadn't expected this trailblaze to take him down this path.

But somehow, he was certain—

Those that called the Astral Express home would approve.

---

*splats*

Two... months. Two frigging months of rewrites, revisions and extensive late-night skull sessions just to pump this monstrosity out. I never planned for this to go this long but holy crap, this thing just wouldn't END. And here we are: over 20K words for a chapter. Jesus H.F Christ.

I would've had this thing done last month had I not decided to scrap the entire second half of the chapter and replace it with what we got. There were so many ideas I had for this but in practice they just didn't fit. Some of those might be used for future chapters of course since this place isn't the only one on Jarilo-VI.

And speaking of that... yeah, that's the reason I'm going with the whole Anti-Matter Legion's invasion. Yes I'm aware that someone like Herta can go bug - I mean see something like Nous whenever she wants, but does that apply for all the Aeons? Someone more familiar with the lore is free to bonk me over the head if I goofed here. But until then, the driving force behind that and now Caelus's future on Jarilo-VI is finding that curio.

On that note, I really, really hope I didn't go overboard with the audio logs. Surprisingly, it is extremely difficult to figure out how to work things like that in and not have them be boring and hell, maybe they're still boring. Hoyo certainly does a better job of it than me but then again they have entire teams of writers dedicated to this type of stuff. But I needed to work in the Riposte Initiative and their agenda somehow in order to keep this all going. It was a exposition-heavy chapter I confess but if you made it this far, thank you for sticking around for it.

The questions many of you have from this will be answered (mostly) in the next Interlude chapter which will be next. Yes, the Yakarich arc is officially finished. We're going back to the present for some shenanigans on Herta's slice of paradise and it'll be from Cocolia's perspective this time with a few flip-flops between other characters.

However, that will have to wait for a bit so I can update Whipped. It's closing in on a 100 favorites I want to honor that dedication with the attention it deserves. But I'll get back to this as soon as possible.

Alright that's enough gabbing from me. I'm gonna go become intimate with my bed and pretend my back isn't about to snap in half.

Till then,

Take care (and stay healthy and sane-ish!)