They went in quietly.
No lights. No drones. No announcements.
Just four people, handpicked by Cael: Riven, Myla, Lys, and a quiet systems tech named Jorn who had a talent for hearing frequencies others missed.
Cael didn't join them.
That was new.
It felt like a failure.
But Nell reminded him of something he once said:
"A builder's strength isn't in the hammer. It's in the structure they trust others to carry forward."
So he waited.Outside the soot tunnel.Beside a sealed wall that sometimes breathed.
Inside, the air thickened.
Not from heat.
From intent.
Every echo snapped back faster than it should've. The space felt unnatural—not haunted, but shaped to trigger human instincts.
Claustrophobia.
Silence.
The kind of fear that doesn't scream. Just whispers, "You shouldn't be here."
Riven took point, axe-sling across his back.
Myla walked center, glyph-stylus in hand, marking walls as they went.
Jorn scanned in silence.
It was Lys who finally spoke:
"This isn't a mine. It's a mausoleum."
Myla stopped. "Explain."
"The architecture curves inward. Nothing leads out. Every line is an invitation to collapse back on yourself."
Jorn made a sound—low, almost a whimper.
"It's humming," he whispered.
They turned.
"Where?" Riven asked.
Jorn pointed ahead. "The next chamber. Something's… thinking."
They moved forward.
And found it.
A hall.
Circular.
Lined with frames—not machines, not corpses. Empty exosuits, blackened and cracked, arranged like worshippers around a central stone slab.
Each bore the |::| mark.
Some scratched onto the metal.
Some fused.
One frame moved—barely. A twitch.
The system log flared.
[PASSIVE STRUCTURE – CLASS: DORMANT]Signal Strength: 0.3%Identity Tag: Fragmented
Message: We wait for the fire to speak again.
Myla stepped closer to the slab.
Symbols across its surface shifted as she approached—subtle, realigning to her system signature.
Then one glyph flashed:
Foundation.
She staggered back.
"They know us."
Riven's axe was already halfway unslung.
"We leave. Now."
But Lys moved to the slab and placed her hand flat against it.
"No aggression. No threat. They're relics. Not soldiers."
"Relics still burn," Riven growled.
"So do ideas," Lys replied, eyes never leaving the glyphs.
The stone pulsed beneath her hand once.
Then everything stilled.
They retreated in silence.
Outside, Cael watched their silhouettes return.
He said nothing.
Just listened as they reported.
Riven recommended collapse.
Jorn said nothing.
Myla reported the Foundation glyph—and the Firebreed's name.
Lys simply said:
"They remember you."
"Me?" Cael asked.
"Your system. Your spark. Your line. You lit something you don't remember starting."
That night, Nell ran every analysis she could.
One conclusion surfaced again and again:
[FIREBREED RECORDS: UNRESOLVED]
Estimated Origin: Foundation Derivative – Erased PathwayStatus: Suppressed by Solara Protocol
They were one of yours.