It had been a week now since the rain had returned to Silurad. Not the cleansing kind that washed filth from stone, but the thin, needling drizzle that coated everything in a film of grey, making the city look like it had been left unfinished by its own gods.
Ashen walked beneath a crooked awning, his coat pulled tight, boots slicing through shallow puddles that mirrored flickering lights above. It had been a week and a few few days, since the Gate opened and then collapsed.
The crater was sealed off by the Guild, the survivors and witnesses scattered, and the reports… doctored and redacted. Everything about it reeked of silence, the kind that didn't come from ignorance but from deliberate erasure.
Inside his coat, Nyra's voice hummed softly through the static of the rain.
[You've been walking for seventeen minutes without pause.] She said, tone patient, though tinged with a faint worry.
She paused for a second, then continued.
[Your vitals are climbing. Would you like me to reroute you toward a rest hub?]
Ashen shook his head, barely muttering.
"No. Keep the map projection up."
A holographic shimmer flickered in his mind — a dull blue pulse tracing through Silurad's forgotten lanes, ending near the industrial edge of the city, where the metal pipes turned to rust and the streets lost their names.
[Destination: "Zone C-Null."] Nyra confirmed.
Analysing the data for a moment more, she continued:
[…Restricted. No current registry. Probability of recent movement: seventy-two percent. Resonance traces: minimal but consistent with the pattern detected near the Gate.]
Ashen's eyes narrowed.
"So someone's been covering their steps."
[...Or cleaning them.] she countered, voice soft but pointed.
She paused again for a second. When she spoke, there was tension and worry in her mechanical voice.
[Ashen, this is not a sanctioned route. You're running blind.]
"Yeah… Wouldn't be the first time."
He turned down a narrow path, past shuttered shops and walls papered with weather-worn sigils. The smell of damp rust and stagnant oil clung to the air. Above, the city's eastern district main artery — a lattice of steel bridges — loomed like a skeleton. Every few steps, a Kovatar-powered neon sign blinked out for good, plunging a corner into silence.
Ashen's hand brushed the resonance pistol holstered at his thigh. The weapon's grip pulsed faintly to his touch, tuned to his rhythm — his fragment of Kovatar energy. The dagger hung at his belt, quieter, lighter, a shadow waiting to be drawn. The pistol did too.
He moved like someone used to ghosts — the kind that didn't vanish when ignored.
***
At the far end of the alley, a structure loomed: a derelict station, long since decommissioned after the Guild centralised energy flows in the Central Vault. Its once-glass dome had collapsed inward, leaving only the metallic ribs of its frame, gleaming wet under the drizzle. A faint hum emanated from within — barely perceptible, but enough to raise the hairs along Ashen's arm.
[There's movement,] Nyra whispered.
The device scanned the area at a lightning-fast speed.
[Low thermal signatures. Three sources. Humanoid, stationary. No active resonance weapons detected.] She added.
Ashen crouched behind a broken pillar, exhaling slowly.
"Show me the spread."
A faint sapphire projection rippled across his vision — three figures inside, standing near what looked like a collapsed console. They weren't working.
…They were waiting.
[You think they're Guild agents?] Nyra asked.
"You tell me!"
Nyra paused for a little while, hovered above Ashen's head and landed on it.
[They don't match any registry.]
"Maybe not Guild, then. Maybe something else."
He flicked a finger, and the resonance dagger clicked loose from its sheath with a satisfying hum. The blade's edge shimmered faintly — like light caught on rippling water.
***
Inside the ruins of the station, the air was thicker, not just with humidity, but with tension. Dust motes danced like static under the weak flicker of a surviving light panel.
The three figures stood by an inactive resonance core. Ashen moved from cover to cover, silent but deliberate. He caught snippets of conversation.
"... said he'd be here by now."
"He will. The resonance reading doesn't lie."
"But this place… it feels wrong."
Ashen tightened his jaw. They were outsiders. Not Guild. Not citizens either. Their accents were fractured — mercenary, southern, maybe even border dialects. And yet, they were waiting for someone.
…Him?
He stepped forward, boots barely whispering on wet metal. One of the figures shifted — a woman with a heavy cloak and a large hat. A sorcerer. She was turning toward the door. Her eyes glinted faintly. Reflex more than thought.
Ashen drew his pistol and fired.
The blue-white pulse of resonance cut through the dark. The woman dropped with a strangled cry, wand clattering.
[Hostile detected. Two remaining. Recommend flanking left — interference field on the right, potential trap.] Nyra said calmly.
Ashen darted left, diving behind a broken console as gunfire erupted. Sparks cascaded across the floor.
One of the men cursed — their weaponry was crude, not tuned, but deadly all the same. He pivoted, firing again, and the second mercenary staggered back with a scream as resonance energy tore through his chest.
The last one — taller, composed — stood still, gun raised.
"You shouldn't have come here. Silurad's secrets aren't yours to dig up." The man said, voice echoing hollowly.
Ashen's voice was cold. He snorted.
"Funny. I thought they were everyone's problem now."
The man fired. Ashen dodged, rolled, and came up fast — blade drawn. He closed the gap in a blur, slashing across the man's arm before driving the dagger upward into his shoulder. The hum of the blade deepened, vibrating as it met flesh.
The mercenary's gun fell, and a sharp hiss filled the air.
…Not pain, but laughter. The man grinned through bloodied teeth.
"You think this city's rot starts here?" he whispered.
He laughed through clenched teeth, his voice low and cold.
"The Gate was just the first whisper. The real song hasn't even begun."
Then, before Ashen could react, the man's chest flared with light — a resonance crystal embedded beneath his skin pulsing violently.
[Ashen—!] Nyra warned.
The wanderer dove back as the mercenary exploded into a pulse of raw energy, the shockwave flinging him against the wall. The station shook, metal groaning.
When the air cleared, only ash and scattered fragments remained.
***
Ashen coughed, the metallic tang of resonance dust biting his throat.
"Nyra… status."
[Minor concussion risk. Left shoulder impact. Nothing broken.] she said, voice steadier than his breath.
Then, softer:
[...You shouldn't have gone alone.]
He exhaled shakily, pushing himself to his feet.
"…Couldn't wait for permission."
[That's what worries me.] She sighed.
Ashen's gaze fell to what the explosion had uncovered — beneath the charred remains of the floor, an ancient sigil pulsed faintly, red and circular. It wasn't Guild-made. It looked older — more primal. Just like the one in the ruins of the outskirts.
And at its centre, embedded in the concrete, a shard. Smaller than the one near the Gate — and that of the outskirts — but identical in texture. Pulsing faintly with that same heartbeat-like rhythm.
He crouched near it, eyes hard.
"Another one."
[Resonance structure: identical frequency. Estimated origin — parallel… Someone's planting them, Ash. Not discovering them.]
Ashen's hand hovered above it.
"Then they're building something."
Nyra paused before responding.
[…Or awakening something.]
***
He pocketed the shard into a containment capsule, the hum fading behind reinforced glass. The rain outside had thickened, drumming harder on the metal frame. He walked out of the ruins, shoulders stiff, every step echoing in rhythm with his pulse.
"Nyra… run a scan on the other signatures. Anything near the district border?"
[Three weak ones. Intermittent. Possibly connected. One of them—]
She hesitated, as if processing more than data.
[—matches the magical frequency recorded during Lathea's last broadcast test, in the outskirts ruins.]
Ashen stopped, eyes narrowing.
"Lathea? She's involved in this, too?"
[I don't know. Unintentionally, maybe. But her artefact readings overlap with these shards.]
Nyra stopped for a moment, as if she was lost in thought. Then she added:
[…If she's following her own trail, you two might meet sooner than expected.]
Ashen looked toward the horizon — the cityscape of Silurad rising like a dying god, its towers flickering in the storm.
He exhaled through his teeth.
"Then we'd better move before someone else does."
[You mean before they try to erase her too?] Nyra asked quietly.
He didn't answer. But the silence said enough.
***
Hours later, as night deepened into the black quiet of early morning, Ashen found himself back in his apartment — a single flickering lamp casting long shadows across the walls. The containment capsule sat on the table, glowing faintly.
Rain tapped against the glass like an impatient thought.
He ran a hand through his hair, fingers pausing over the single grey lock. The rhythm of the rain synced with the faint pulse of the shards. Like they were breathing.
When he got the both of them out of their capsules, they suddenly shone in a blinding light. By the time the luminosity returned to normalcy, only one shard stood there. Suprised, Ashen let out a small cry that turned Nyra on.
[You're not sleeping again, are you?] Nyra asked.
He sighed, calming down.
"Didn't plan to."
[You should. You've been running without rest since the Gate. Even you need to stop sometimes.]
He stared at the shard.
"Every time I stop, the images come back."
A pause.
[Your mother?]
He nodded slightly.
"Her voice… the fire that night. The vision of her near, the fountain. And something else — someone watching."
[You think it's connected?]
Ashen didn't immediately answer. He sighed.
"…I don't think anything anymore. I just feel it."
He stood, grabbing his coat again.
[Where are you going?]
"Back to the ruins. Both of them. There's something under that sigil. Something I missed."
[Ashen, it's past curfew. The Guild—]
"I don't care."
Nyra's light dimmed a fraction, her voice softer, almost pleading.
[Then let me come with you properly this time. Not as data... As her.]
He froze.
"...Her?"
[Your mother's… Cathalys' core fragment is embedded in mine… You've always felt it, haven't you? That warmth I shouldn't have. That voice you recognised in the static??.]
She paused, fir half a second.
[…You've unconsciously noticed, since the day you took me from her lab, didn't you?]
Ashen's throat tightened. Tears welled up in his eyes.
"You're saying—"
[Not now… Not yet. Just… don't go alone this time.] she interrupted gently.
The door clicked open, letting in the storm's whisper — and as he stepped into the night again, the shard's pulse brightened faintly on the table, almost as if answering.
He hesitated for a moment, rain light reflected in his eyes, before whispering,
"Alright. Let's go, Nyra."