The blast doors closed behind Elias with a hiss, sealing off the stairwell and muting the world above. He was now in the Iron Sanctuary—a buried military complex-turned-refuge for the city's most forbidden tech. The walls were steel-bone alloys, charred from old wars, engraved with warning glyphs and the crests of long-dead factions. The air buzzed faintly with power, dry and laced with ozone, iron, and the faint sharpness of scorched oil.
Light strips embedded in the floor glowed a dim amber, guiding him through the corridor that narrowed into a control deck. His boots thudded quietly against the titanium plates. Elias wore a fitted coat of matte midnight-blue, tailored to his frame with reinforced shoulders and brushed steel clasps shaped like ravens. Underneath, a charcoal vest embroidered with cipher runes hugged his torso. Gloves of umbra-leather encased his hands, the fingertips threaded with sensory mesh.
The control deck opened into a circular room ringed with dormant terminals and shattered holoscreens. A single chair turned slowly to reveal its occupant.
Dr. Emric Solen.
He was gaunt and aging, with copper-threaded hair slicked back and deep scars trailing his left jaw to collar. He wore a long lab coat with frayed seams and a chemsteel belt holding tools, scanners, and vials that glowed faintly. Around his neck hung a pendant etched with the emblem of the Old Arcanet—a weaver of mind and machine.
"Vayne," Emric rasped. "I thought they'd buried you by now."
"Not yet," Elias replied. "You still have what I need?"
Emric stood and limped over to a secured chamber. "I keep everything. But some things... shouldn't be woken."
The chamber door opened, revealing a stasis case suspended in a field of cryo-arcane energy. Within it: a black briefcase adorned with a single rune—the same one that marked Echelon-01.
"This case contains the last direct neural imprint of Valen Vayne. The only copy before the world pretended he never existed."
Elias approached. The energy crackled against his bracer. The case vibrated faintly.
"It called out, Emric. Not just to me. To something beyond the Rift."
Emric's expression darkened. "Then you're already too late."
Before Elias could reply, the power flickered.
And the case began to hum.
Not in warning.
In response.
Above, the Vayne Tower rumbled.
Mireille stood in Elias' war room, holograms flaring to life around her. She wore a fitted tactical blouse of slate-gray silkweave, flared slightly at the hips, paired with obsidian pants reinforced at the knees. Her blonde hair was tied back into a sleek braid. A holster sat snugly at her side, carrying an electropulse dagger and a mini-arc pistol.
"He's breached the second vault," she muttered, eyes narrowing at the flickering map.
The room smelled of steel polish and citrus cleaner, sharp and clinical. Data spirals twisted in the air. One screen flashed a diagram of the Echelon case, its pulse now syncing with something else—a phantom signature traced to an unknown sublayer of the city grid.
She tapped her comm.
"Elias, you need to get out of there. The signal's doubling back on itself. It's not just memory. It's tethering."
No response.
Her eyes narrowed. "Damn it."
She turned to a hidden compartment beneath the desk and keyed in a code.
The floor split.
Rising from below was her armor case—custom-molded phantomweave and retractable winged exo-cloak. Her fingers brushed the edge.
"If he won't come back," she whispered, "I'll bring him back."
Deep in the Iron Sanctuary, Elias opened the case.
Inside was a prism of liquid memory, shifting like oil and starlight. It throbbed once—and he saw his brother's face.
Young. Smiling. Then screaming.
He staggered back, gasping.
And the chamber around him came alive.
Lights flared. Walls slid apart, revealing ancient machinery waking after decades. A voice, distorted and laced with static, echoed through the sanctuary:
"Elias... you're late."
Valen was alive.
And he was waiting.