||The Dust Remembers||
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The faint glimmer of morning had not yet broken through the ever-stagnant veil of the Ruined Divide.
Code Seven crouched silently at the edge of the cracked stone altar, surrounded by the ancient ruins of a once-great fortress. The marks scorched into the walls whispered of war and devastation long before his time, yet the air still reeked of unspoken violence. Dust curled in spirals, dancing around him like spirits of the forgotten dead.
He wasn't alone.
Not anymore.
The silence broke with a low groan—a vibration through the ground rather than a sound in the air. Seven's fingers tensed against the obsidian slab beside him. His eyes narrowed, scanning the darkness. A pale, green light shimmered to life from beneath the floor as runes pulsed one after the other.
A test? Or a warning?
No notification came.
The Infinite Planes did not speak when it wasn't necessary.
Seven rose slowly, each movement calculated. He didn't draw his blade yet—doing so would alert the presence he now sensed. Not one, but three.
Seekers. But not like him.
These bore no soul marks. Their presence was clean, almost sterile. Manufactured?
He stepped into the chamber's center as the air shimmered and the first figure emerged—a woman in pale crimson armor, her eyes covered by an ornate visor, expression unreadable.
The second, taller and draped in threadbare cloaks, leaned on a metal staff too polished to match his garb. The third appeared younger, but his presence reeked of death. His fingers twitched constantly, as if rewinding time in invisible gestures.
"Code Seven," the woman said, her voice mechanical. "The Empire did not send you here. Why are you trespassing in forgotten places?"
Seven didn't flinch. "I am forgotten."
The staff-wielder tilted his head. "A Striker. But free."
"You are an anomaly," the younger one said. His fingers jerked, and shadows curled unnaturally around his feet. "That means your fate belongs to the Tribunal."
Seven stepped forward once.
"I don't recognize the Tribunal. Nor their right to judge."
The woman's visor lit up briefly, scanning him. "Then you will be remembered by the ruins. Like all others who defied their fate."
Seven didn't wait for them to strike first. He surged forward, every enhanced nerve in his body firing. His blade, still sheathed, hummed as his motion disrupted the air.
But something was off.
His first slash met not flesh, but nothing. The woman had blurred, faster than even his senses could register. The staff-wielder raised a hand. Time warped.
Seven staggered as the weight of gravity surged, pulling him down. His mind screamed—this wasn't normal. These weren't common seekers, or remnants of the Empire.
They were something else.
Suddenly—
[Global Notification – Issued by the Infinite Planes]
An anomaly has resisted premature judgment in the Ruined Divide. Observation protocols triggered. Entity designation: Code Seven.
Cause: Violation of dormant edict. Response pending.]
The sky outside split with faint aurora threads. Elsewhere—far, far away—ancient eyes opened.
-------
In a deep void beyond time, a figure cloaked in translucent silk stirred. Her throne was carved from petrified stars, and around her floated the runes of forgotten empires.
She saw the notification—and smiled.
"A Seeker," she whispered. "And one who refuses judgment. This era might yet prove interesting."
Not far from her, in a realm bound in molten chains, another being snarled.
"The name again," he growled. "That name. Seven."
He closed his six burning eyes.
"I killed the last one with that name. Who gave it back?"
-------
Back in the Ruined Divide, Seven bled.
For the first time since escaping the Empire's facilities, he truly bled.
The younger entity's tendrils had torn through his side, not fatal, but enough to crack a rib and slice muscle. He bit down on the pain and twisted mid-air, managing to land a shallow strike on the cloaked one.
No notification came for damage. The Planes still observed.
Why? Why weren't they interfering?
He understood in a sudden, horrifying moment.
They wanted to see.
Not just him—them.
This wasn't a battle. It was a test... for all four.
The cloaked one laughed. "You're strong, anomaly. But not enough. Not yet."
Seven wiped the blood from his mouth. "I'm not strong. I'm just not willing to die yet."
He gathered his strength, forcing the nanostructures in his body to stabilize. One more push—he didn't need to win. He just needed to escape.
He threw a dagger toward the young one—not for damage, but for distraction—and activated the stored kinetic burst on his belt. The ruins cracked beneath him as he exploded upward through the ceiling, stone raining down as he burst into the open, gasping the stale air of the Divide.
They didn't chase him.
They didn't need to.
This fight was never about killing him. It was about tagging him.
-------
Hours later, in a distant underground cavern, Seven staggered to a stop. His wound had clotted, but his body was unstable. He dropped to his knees, cursing the silence of the Infinite Planes.
His voice echoed off stone.
"You saw that."
Silence.
Then—
[Directive Acknowledged.]
Just that. No reward. No punishment.
He shivered.
The Planes were watching. Judging. And not just him. Those others… they weren't of the Empire. They were something else.
From beyond the real universe.
And now, they knew his name.
-------
In the outer sectors of the Amalthea Empire, a war council convened.
A general pored over ancient reports. "Striker Seven. Gone rogue. But now his name returns."
The Prime Warden nodded grimly. "He must not be allowed to mature."
Another voice, deeper, colder: "Dispatch the Collectors. And the Voice of Stillness."
-------
In a broken world where names echo louder than screams, even the dust remembers. And Code Seven's name had begun to echo.
But only a fool would think that meant the world had accepted him.
Because now, the hunters would come.
And if even one of them discovered the truth—that Seven had entered the Infinite Planes—then no shadow would be deep enough to hide in.
Not even for the Seeker.