The wind over the Auris flatlands was dry and bitter, sweeping across miles of bleached ruins that once held monuments to a forgotten peace. Somewhere beneath the dust and shattered stone lay the city's heart—buried, sealed, and likely rigged to keep secrets dead.
Enzo stood over the fractured ridge, the rising sun casting long shadows behind the team. Mira hovered near the edge, fingers gently trailing ARGYROS as it mapped invisible currents beneath the ground.
"We're close," she whispered. "The archive is still humming... something old, something wanting to be found."
Vega adjusted his lenses. "If it's relic-based, it might have shielding. I'll need to bypass it without triggering proximity alerts."
Lyra checked the rear route. "We've got patrol drones in the outer hills. Their scans are shallow, but if we make noise—"
"We won't," Enzo said. "This city died quietly. We honor that."
They descended through a half-collapsed coliseum entrance, every step echoing like a whisper through time. Pillars bore faded crests that predated even the early Descovinio conquests—symbols that spoke of unity, not control.
As they reached the lower chambers, the path split.
"Too narrow to go together," Vega said. "We pair up. Mira and I'll follow the magnetic trace. Lyra, go with Enzo—check the thermal spike to the west."
Lyra didn't argue, but her nod was tight.
---
The tunnels twisted like roots beneath the city. Enzo held Cain dormant but close, the weapon pulsing faintly as if responding to unseen stimuli.
"You keep it close, even when you don't draw it," Lyra said.
"It listens before it strikes," Enzo replied.
"I've seen weapons like that. They don't just listen—they remember."
Silence fell between them, punctuated only by the drip of condensation from above.
"You ever wonder," Lyra said quietly, "why you care so much?"
Enzo paused. "Because I have to."
"No. That's duty. I mean why it cuts you, the thought of people suffering. You burn for them. Most rebels fight because they lost something. But you fight like you're atoning."
He looked at her—really looked—but said nothing.
A faint tremor rippled through the stone. Then—light.
They stepped into a wide circular vault, the walls layered in glassy hexagonal plates. In the center, a dormant terminal flared to life.
ARGYROS rejoined them, Mira and Vega stepping in behind.
"I think this is it," Vega said. "The Archive."
Symbols flickered—old script and projected constellations.
Mira stepped forward, eyes glazed.
"He's speaking again," she said.
"Who?" Lyra asked.
"The man from the message. I hear his voice, clearer now. He's linked to this place. Maybe… he once lived here."
The vault responded. A projection bloomed: a man in plain robes, eyes solemn. His voice echoed softly.
> "To those who still dream of freedom: knowledge is not a weapon, but a map. This archive contains what the Descovinio buried—truths of relic origins, the pain they caused, and the chance for redemption. But beware: those who wield power to change the world risk being changed in return."
As the message ended, a small compartment opened from the terminal. Inside: a memory chip. Old. Royal issue.
Vega reached for it—
But Mira stepped back, clutching her temples.
"I saw it—visions not of the past, but the future. Fire… cities collapsing… and us. Splintered."
"You're having echoes again?" Enzo asked.
"No. This was different. It wasn't from ARGYROS. It was something else. Like the Archive was showing me."
Vega frowned. "Predictive memory? That's impossible."
"Not if someone encoded their foresight into the tech," Lyra said. "There were relics that worked like that."
Enzo turned to Vega. "Can you decrypt it?"
"Yes. But not here. We need secure ground."
Enzo gave a final glance around the chamber. The past was alive in these walls. And now, it whispered warnings.
---
That night, camped under shattered towers, Enzo couldn't sleep.
He dreamed of Cain again—only this time, it spoke. Not in words, but in pulses.
Each beat was a memory not his own: a child crying behind iron walls, a soldier begging not to forget his name, a masked figure who fought and bled and failed.
He woke with his hands clenched, breath shallow.
Cain sat quietly beside him, its core dimmed.
Whose memories are you feeding me? he wondered.
But the saber, as always, said nothing.