The intra-city Magitrain rumbled through the darkness, carrying Ashen away from the soaked streets of his district of Silurad.
Rain still hammered the city behind him, smearing neon signs into streaks of orange and violet, blurring the details of a world that had once seemed familiar.
He pressed his forehead against the cold window, eyes tracking the faint pulses of resonance that only Nyra could read.
[We're entering low-priority sectors now.] Nyra said, voice gentle but tinged with something, almost like anticipation.
She paused for a bit.
[The tracks ahead pass beneath old communication hubs and forgotten conduits — areas that haven't been scanned for years. Probabilities of encountering interference: elevated.]
Ashen didn't reply.
His hands rested on the straps of his pack, fingers brushing the crystal's resonance shard inside. Every pulse reminded him of the Gate, of the translucent bodies that had moved almost too fast to hit, and of the faint golden glow from one of the fallen Hoppers…. From the core it had.
He couldn't shake it. Something about that light, buried deep in its core, had felt… alive.
…Or aware.
[Ashen?] Nyra's tone softened.
She paused for a short moment, almost as if she was hesitating.
[…You're quiet. I detect elevated tension. Heart rate: ninety-nine. Shall I run a calming protocol?]
"No. Let's just… get to Todia." He said without much warmth.
[Affirmative… You always go straight for danger. Predictable, yes, but… worrisome.] Nyra replied, but there was a subtle sigh beneath the modulation.
He let that pass.
Nyra's worry had a way of settling him. Over the years, she had become more than a device, more than a map and database. Sometimes, in the quiet hum of a corridor or the soft flicker of her light, he could almost forget she was synthetic. Almost.
He knew now where that 'almost' came from.
… His mother
***
Todia came into view at dawn, a sprawling district of wind-swept terraces, crowded markets, and spires of stone rising over the canal network. The streets were still wet, the air thick with mist and the scent of resin from canal boats.
Ashen stepped down from the platform, boots clicking against the slick wood of the pier.
[Our target location is the northern archives — low-level magical repositories.] Nyra reported.
She silently scanned a bit more and, after a moment, continued to speak.
[They may contain traces of the same resonance manipulation as the shards. Probability of relevant information: high.]
He nodded, scanning the crowds.
Merchants were already setting up, shouting over the splash of boots and the slap of rigging against masts. Water carts squeaked along the streets, dragging debris behind them. The city smelled alive — yet everything felt off, as if the heartbeat of Todia were slightly out of rhythm.
[Do you feel it too?] Nyra asked softly.
Her mechanical voice was low, almost a whisper.
[…A low-frequency hum beneath the city's magic. Someone has been preparing for our arrival.]
He swallowed.
"Yeah, I do. Let's keep moving."
***
The Southern Archives were a labyrinth of stone and glass. Ashen and Nyra had somehow managed to pass the public area without getting too much attention. Now they found themselves in a secluded, closed part of the Archives. Magical wards flickered along the doorframes, weak but enough to betray recent tampering. Ashen crouched as he approached, dagger and pistol at the ready.
[I detect residual magic. Not from this era.]
She paused for a brief moment, then continued:
[…Someone has activated temporal damping fields — clever. They've masked their tracks in the resonance grid. Probability of encountering hostiles: fifty-eight percent.] Nyra said.
He ducked inside the first hall. Dust and faintly glowing runes coated the walls, and artefacts lined the shelves. Each object hummed faintly, feeding the shadows. He passed a row of old tomes, fingers brushing over titles written in the old, melodic Malethyan script.
[Signal spike. South wing, beneath the archival platforms. Probability of hidden surveillance: high.] Nyra warned.
He moved carefully, boots nearly silent. Every step triggered a faint vibration through the floorboards.
…Something was waiting.
***
A soft scraping echoed behind him. He spun, pistol raised.
…Nothing.
Only shadows.
Then a shimmer — a faint, translucent outline between the shelves. A Hopper, but smaller, almost juvenile, its limbs jerking erratically.
[Engage with minimal disturbance. Do not alert additional entities. Probability of escalation: high.] Nyra instructed, voice sharp now.
He threw the resonance dagger. A blue trail followed the blade, which struck the creature mid-step. It convulsed, then vanished into motes of light. Ashen's hands trembled slightly, adrenaline climbing. The strike was efficient and precise, but the resonance that thrummed through the air was unnerving.
[We're not alone… Another reading, faint but coherent — humanoid signatures ahead.]Nyra added softly, almost fearfully.
Ashen's jaw tightened.
Whoever was tracking him, whoever had opened the Gate and sent the waves of Hoppers, was already inside the building. He moved faster, low to the ground, scanning every shelf, every shadow.
***
They entered the central archive chamber. Light filtered through stained glass, casting colored patterns on the floor, but it did little to warm the chill that crawled along his spine. The floorboards groaned as he stepped over them.
[Signal converging beneath the eastern mezzanine. It's subtle. Very subtle. Almost like… someone wants you to see something specific.] Nyra whispered.
Ashen froze.
Beneath the mezzanine, an object pulsed faintly in resonance — a small crystalline artefact, clearly keyed to the shards he already carried.
His pulse quickened.
[Ashen… this is no accident. Probability of ambush: extremely high. I recommend containment from a distance.] Nyra warned.
He shook his head.
"Nah, don't worry. I handle it. Close range."
[As you wish… But I worry. Very much so.] The device said, voice softening, almost maternal.
Ashen approached the artefact. The air around it shimmered, distorted. Then, movement — fast, erratic.
Hoppers emerged from the shadows, translucent bodies refracting the coloured light. Two at first, then four, then another small wave spilling out from the side corridors.
[Brace yourself, Ashen! Calculating attack vectors now!] Nyra exclaimed.
She rapidly scanned the enemy and made her calculations.
[Probability of optimal path for dispatch: seventy-six percent. Follow my guidance precisely.]
The next several minutes became a muffled dance of steel and energy. He fired the muted resonance pistol, pulsing with precision, each shot destabilising a creature. His dagger cut, thrust, and spun, glinting under the fragmented sunlight. His minor Kovatar magic flared — a flicker of wind to push one back, a pulse of energy to stagger another. Every move was choreographed instinctively, guided by Nyra's calculations.
[Left flank! Pivot thirty-two degrees!] Nyra's voice snapped.
She turned around, scanned the area with her digital single blue eye and spoke:
[Ceiling support weak — trigger resonance burst to collapse it on incoming hostiles!]
Ashen pivoted mid-spin, dagger slashing through a Hopper, pistol discharging as he slammed a resonance pulse into a weak support beam. The structure groaned, then crashed, sending two creatures disintegrating in sparks of light.
[Excellent! Though your pace is reckless, I admit it's effective.] Nyra cheered, almost laughing.
Ashen grunted, rolling over the wreckage, heart hammering. The resonance shard in his pocket pulsed in response to each death. Something about it felt… aware. Observing.
…Waiting.
***
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the chamber fell silent. The air desperately reeked of ozone and wet stone — as well as burnt paper. Ashen's chest heaved. He scanned the room — the artefact pulsed faintly, untouched, its resonance keyed to him.
[Containment required? Or do you want to… handle it manually?] Nyra asked, her voice trembling slightly.
'Is it me, or is she tired?' Ashen thought.
Anyways…
He crouched, fingertips brushing the surface. A faint shock ran through him — not pain, but recognition, memory, instinct. The shards' pulse aligned with his own heartbeat.
…A rhythm he couldn't ignore.
[Ashen… someone's in the building. I can feel another presence. It's sentient. Malevolent. And… impatient.] Nyra said, almost whispering.
He stood, eyes narrowing.
"Then let's not keep them waiting."
The moment he turned, a shadow shifted behind the mezzanine — humanoid, cloaked in faint light, just outside his range. Whoever had sent the Hoppers was here, watching.
…Waiting.
[We'll need a plan, Ashen… Probability of immediate confrontation: fifty-three percent. If we move carefully, I can guide you to flank.] Nyra said, calm but urgent.
Ashen tightened his grip on the pistol.
"Nope. I don't move carefully anymore." He said through clenched teeth.
[I know. And that's what terrifies me.] Nyra said softly.
She waited for a second more and added:
[But… I trust you.]
He smiled faintly, the first genuine expression in hours. The rain outside pattered against the glass, distant, irrelevant. In his mind, everything made way to leave only focus and the rhythm of combat to take control of his entire being.
'strike, move, shoot, retreat, breathe, repeat.
He let the flow of this dance surge through his vessels and dictate his next course of action. Everything became clear at this point.
He had one goal now: confront whoever had orchestrated this, survive, and continue the hunt toward Lathea's trail.
Silurad shadows were alive and brimming with secrets.
…And he was about to dive straight into them.