The land beyond Vehrmath was not on any map. Where registered territories ended, the world did not vanish—it simply turned blank. A digital void. But to Benedict and his team, the compass had become the only true north.
They departed at dawn, under false cloud cover and cloaked drone veils. The convoy—three survey transports and a modular command unit—was disguised as a geological mission. Only the council, and the shadow observers they no doubt had in place, knew the real objective.
Yara stood at the helm of the lead vehicle, scanning the readouts. "Pulse integrity's holding steady. Atmospheric anomalies within predicted variance. No artificial markers yet."
Alec's voice crackled over comms. "Second ridge just crossed. You should see the compass reaction—ping spiked for about 0.6 seconds. It's definitely triangulating something."
Marin, buried in sensor data, nodded to herself. "We're entering a silenced band. No interference, but no echo either. Like someone scrubbed this place clean."
Benedict didn't speak. He watched the compass, now mounted into a stabilizing bracket. It rotated gently in its cradle, each pulse synchronizing with a deep, resonant chime. Each chime felt heavier the deeper they went.
They traveled through ravines etched by tectonic scars, passed flora that pulsed faintly with residual mana, and traversed ancient metallic pillars that stood like forgotten sentinels. Yara leaned out of the vehicle window at one point, eyes narrowing.
"Those aren't natural formations," she said. "I think they're anchor pylons. Older than anything we've documented."
"Older than the system," Marin muttered, half to herself. "That shouldn't be possible."
Alec chimed in again. "Getting unstable harmonic spikes on the third layer sensors. Something's resonating with our pulse arrays. Like it's echoing us."
Benedict leaned closer to the readout. "Or like it's mimicking us. Learning."
By late afternoon, they paused beside a cliff edge that overlooked a basin unlike anything they had charted. The ground was smooth—unnaturally so—composed of glassy terrain that shimmered faintly under light.
Yara disembarked first. She dropped to a knee, touching the surface. "This isn't rock. It's fused alloy. Self-regenerating. There are microscopic runes in the pattern."
Marin joined her, running a portable scan. "This is a vault, not a valley."
Alec paced, scanning the horizon. "Then where's the door?"
The compass pulsed once—then went dark.
Benedict stepped out, eyes on the sky. The stars above them were different. Just slightly. One was missing.
"We're not in the same frame of reference anymore," he said quietly. "Either we crossed into a local shift... or the place moved around us."
A silence fell.
Yara finally said, "We make camp here. No further steps until we understand what we're standing on."
Benedict nodded. "Agreed. And set up dual perimeter scans. If this place has defenses, I'd rather trigger them in the morning."
---
The camp came together quickly—autotents sprouted like mushrooms along the rim, and soft perimeter lights blinked to life in a faint ring. Inside the command unit, steam curled from rehydrated food packets, filling the cramped space with a salty, synthetic aroma.
Marin poked hers suspiciously. "This was labeled 'herbed stew,' but I think it's legally closer to a war crime."
Alec took a bite of his with no shame. "Tastes fine to me. That's the problem with you data types—too delicate."
Yara held hers at arm's length, grimacing. "It moved. I saw it shift."
"It rehydrates, not reincarnates," Alec muttered, chewing.
Benedict, seated in the corner, stirred his meal mechanically. "At least it's warm."
"That's not saying much," Marin replied, holding up a spoonful. "I'd rather chew on thermal paste."
"Not advisable," Yara added dryly. "I'm still recovering from Alec's last cooking experiment."
"That wasn't cooking," Alec protested. "It was chemistry. Totally different field."
They all laughed—quiet, tired laughter, but real. The kind that reminded them they were still human, even out here.
Alec pointed at Benedict's bowl. "You gonna finish that, or are you trying to bend time by staring at it?"
"I was hoping it would evolve into something better," Benedict replied without looking up.
Yara snorted. "If it sprouts legs, I'm out."
"Relax," Marin said, tapping her spoon against her tin. "Worst case scenario, we've just created the first sentient meal ration. Congratulations, humanity."
The mood softened. Laughter lingered longer.
Alec pulled out a dented harmonica from a pouch on his belt, turning it in his fingers. "I don't play. Just carry it for tradition. My dad used to. Said it scared off mountain beasts."
"Judging by your cooking, that makes sense," Yara said.
"Do not insult the sacred harmonica," Alec replied with mock offense.
Benedict actually smiled at that. A flicker of amusement, quickly gone.
They sat together under the artificial canopy, the warmth of their bodies competing with the strange chill of the basin. Overhead, the stars flickered again—just for an instant.
Yara leaned back, glancing toward the blackened basin just beyond the tent flaps. "Feels like the calm before something big."
Marin replied, "That or the last supper. Hard to tell out here."
Alec tilted his head. "If it is the last supper, I'm filing a complaint with the cooks in whatever afterlife is responsible."
Benedict's voice cut through the low hum. "Whatever it is, we meet it on our feet. Eat, rest, scan. Tomorrow, we find the door."
Outside, the night air shifted once more.
And deep within the basin, something old stirred for the first time in an age.
---
Far above the basin and far from the warmth of shared laughter, a private channel blinked to life.
Inside an austere listening post on Vehrmath's orbital ring, a hooded figure leaned forward over the relay console. Pale light from encrypted transmissions flickered across their face.
"Ashcroft has reached the vault site," they whispered into the static. "No resistance encountered. Compass reacted. Coordinates match the erased path. Phase one confirmed."
A delay. Then a reply in sharp pulses of light, decoded only by those who knew how to listen.
// Observation confirmed. Notify Executors. //
The agent's fingers hovered over the input pad. For a moment, they hesitated—then sent a final line:
// Recommending escalation. Ashcroft is ahead of schedule. Vault could be breached within two days. //
The screen went black.
---
In a hidden chamber on a distant world, disciples of the Fifth and Sixth Masters gathered around a display, observing the message fragment and its metadata.
A voice spoke from the shadows.
"Send someone."
Another responded. "Whom?"
"The one who owes us. The one Ashcroft left behind."
"Understood."
Somewhere across the stars, a summons was delivered. And a figure rose—smiling, cold, and more than willing to settle old debts.