Larek was carried past me into a circular chamber that smelled faintly of antiseptic and old cloth, the kind of smell that clings to places where people either heal or die. I caught a glimpse of steel medical slabs, makeshift beds lined like sarcophagi, and a few acolytes around him, before a young one with a shaved head and solemn, oversized eyes appeared at my elbow.
“Ashwarden,” she said softly, dipping her head just enough to be polite. “Please. Follow.”
I did. Arvie muttered in my head, “She didn’t say ‘pretty please.’ Rude.”
The acolyte led me through curved corridors that seemed carved more than built, walls a patchwork of stone and scavenged plating. The air tasted like candle smoke and damp stone. We stepped into the hall I remembered from before, the one crowned with Duvainor’s monuments.
Selivar rose from the low round table at its center the instant he saw me. He spread his arms wide, eyes burning bright.
“Ashwarden,” He embraced me, warm and firm. I was so startled I almost forgot to react.
“He’s a hugger,” Arvie whispered. “Bet you didn’t see that coming.”
Selivar turned, lifting his arms to the handful of acolytes behind him. “Behold,” he said, voice a fevered blade. “He has fulfilled the prophecy and now wears the three graces: wisdom, compassion, valor. As was destined.”
The acolytes came forward, bowing low to kiss my hand one by one, their eyes luminous with awe. I kept my face neutral while my brain tried to crawl out the back of my skull.
“They are at your command,” Selivar said to me, gestured to them. “Lead us, Ashwarden, and we will follow unto salvation.”
“Not quite yet,” I said. “We’ve got work to do first. Step one: Larek. He’s Directorate’s head, or should be. We need him reinstated if we want their backing for what’s coming.”
Selivar nodded sharp and deliberate. “He recovers even now.”
“And the traitorous officer?”
“Held,” an acolyte replied. “He awaits your word.”
“Good.”
They led me through another corridor into a smaller chamber that was more like cell. The air was damp and sour. Chained to a bench was the Directorate officer, eyes darting like a cornered rat. He flinched when the door closed behind me.
“You,” I said, sitting opposite him. “Name.”
He swallowed hard. “Karth… Karth Drex.”
“Why’d you help Vult Rive ambush Directorate and take Larek? And me?”
His lips twitched for a moment before sound came out. “I didn’t want you hurt,” he said finally, too fast. “I was trying to protect…”
“Don’t,” I cut him off. “You weren’t sorry when I was ambushed. You wanted me broken. I saw it on your face.”
Karth’s jaw worked. “That’s not…”
I raised one finger. He shut up instantly, throat bobbing.
“Then start telling me why,” I said.
He hesitated, shoulders curling in like a child bracing for a hit. “I… I’d been doing business with the gangs for years. Smuggling relics, unregistered tech, anything Directorate would crucify me for, if they knew. Jax found out. Threatened to expose me unless I helped him.”
“Helped him do what?”
“Take Larek,” Karth whispered. “He thought Larek knew where the artifact was.”
“What artifact?”
He licked dry lips. “Elder tech. Dangerous. Everyone’s heard the whispers. Supposedly buried somewhere in the city, and Larek was the only one who knew where. But when we grabbed him, we found out he didn’t know. Jax didn’t like that.”
“Clearly.”
“He kept pushing me,” Karth said, words tripping over each other. “Said when Directorate collapsed, he’d help me slide into Larek’s seat. Director Karth Drex. I didn’t even want it but…”
“But you wanted to keep breathing,” I finished.
He flinched. “Yes.”
His mouth opened again, but the door swept up and the acolyte appeared. “Larek is healed,” she said simply.
I stood, letting Karth stew in his chains. “We’ll finish this conversation later.”
He nodded frantically, chains rattling, eyes darting for exits that weren’t there.
I followed the acolyte to a chamber where Larek sat at a table with Aedan and Vex. He looked far better than when we’d dragged him in, bandages clean, skin no longer corpse-grey. When he saw me, he stood stiffly and saluted, then hesitated, as though the script had run out.
“They tell me you’re a legend reborn,” he said at last, voice wary.
I shook my head. “I don’t remember a damn thing before waking up in the ruins,” I said. “Identity mesh is fried. You know that.”
“But…” His voice dropped. “They say you’re the image of the mythical Duvainor. It must mean something.”
Aedan cut in smoothly. “We’re returning you to Directorate command. Hopefully, they’ll return the prince’s confiscated belongings.”
“That won’t be a problem,” Larek said quickly, though his gaze flicked back to me, full of questions he didn’t ask.
Vex leaned in, fingertips drumming. “Do you have working medical pods in Directorate?”
“We do,” Larek said, puzzled.
“I’ve got a mutacell box in my satchel,” I told him. “If we can get me into one of those pods, it’d help.”
He blinked at that but nodded. “We can arrange it.”
That was when Selivar appeared again, his presence filling the chamber. “You recover well,” he said to Larek.
“You recover well,” Selivar said.
“Thanks to your medics and sanctuary,” Larek replied politely.
Selivar smiled faintly. “The rescue was Ashwarden’s design, not mine. And the sanctum belongs to him now, as does the cult of Duvainor.” He gestured toward me with an unsettling grace.
I shook my head. “Don’t thank me,” I told Larek when he turned toward me again. “We need favors from you.”
Aedan leaned in. “We’ll need protection until Directorate HQ,” he said, looking at Selivar.
Selivar’s eyes flicked to me. The message was clear: your call.
“Send us a guard detail,” I said.
Selivar inclined his head and drifted out of the chamber, weightless as a ghost.
I looked at the others. “Let’s move.”
A crackle grazed my mind as Aedan opened the neural group link.
# Vulkred, meet us in Weaver’s Square. Before the central lift complex.
# Got it.12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVRU5V5NdLn
We left the chamber to find the young acolyte waiting to guide us to the gate. Outside, a half-dozen cultists were already arrayed, heads shaved, armed and quiet as shadows. They led us into the upper slums.
The trek was silent but not dull. Back alleys snaked around us like arteries, lined with what had once been aristocratic palaces and were now sagging ruins crammed with life. Rust-bitten balconies overhung the narrow passages. Rotting banners clung to stone facades like the husks of old dreams. Mutant birds perched on broken lampposts, pale eyes tracking us.
We slipped past old marketplaces now turned to scavenger dens, over stone bridges where black water ran sluggish below. More than once, I caught glowing eyes in the dark, critters lurking at the edges of sight. Our escort’s presence kept them from getting bold.
Near Weaver’s Square, Vulkred slipped out of a side alley like a rumor. The cultists bristled until I waved them off. “He’s with us.”
Weaver’s Square was a broad plaza ringed by collapsed towers and lit by the pulsing glow of Directorate signal pylons. The central lift complex loomed at its far edge, a black, angular structure like a blade jammed into the city’s spine.
At the gate, a Directorate officer saw Larek and nearly tripped over himself saluting. “Director! We thought…”
“Not now,” Larek snapped, cutting him off with a curt wave. He gestured for us to pass. Droid patrols stood sentinel, scanning us in silence.
The cultist guards stopped at the threshold, bowed their heads, and melted back into the alleys.
The massive reinforced doors of the lift yawned open with a grinding sigh.
We stepped inside. The chamber was big enough to swallow a skiff whole.
Arvie’s voice slid through my skull, smug and sugar-coated with static. “Well, master, you’ve been worshipped, attacked, and paraded like a god-king… all before lunch. Nine out of ten on the awkward life experiences index. Now let’s see how spectacularly this grand ascension blows up in our faces.”
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