CHAPTER ELEVEN: BELOW THE BONES
Day 13
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The stairwell was too quiet.
It spiraled downward through architecture older than Hollowforge itself, untouched by Rift corrosion, preserved in black stone veined with silver that hummed faintly under their boots. Not a single layer of dust. No decay. As if time itself had been sealed out.
Jex muttered, "Feels like walking down a throat."
Torren grunted. "Speak less."
"No, seriously. What kind of ruin doesn't have spider-webs or corpses? Even the Echoes steer clear of this place."
Senya walked ahead, rifle ready, each step measured. "It's not a ruin. It's a vault."
Silas said nothing.
He didn't need to.
Because the pressure was building.
With each step, he felt the resonance grow tighter. A slow frequency rising behind his eyes. His Remnant—usually a whisper—now pulsed against his spine like it was trying to warn him.
Dawn walked near the middle. Her expression hadn't changed since they'd begun the descent. Blank. Listening. Like the stairs spoke in a language only she could hear.
"How much further?" Nira asked.
Senya paused, checking the mapping display she'd jerry-rigged from old Forge parts.
"We're nearly beneath the Riftbed. There shouldn't be anything down here."
Jex gave her a sideways glance. "You say that like it's comforting."
They reached the bottom.
A smooth wall. Seamless black alloy. No door. No keypad. Just a faint outline glowing softly, shaped like a hexagonal prism.
Dawn stepped forward.
Her hand moved on instinct, tracing the air just above the metal.
A pulse answered. One deep note of resonance.
Then the wall… breathed.
It folded inward like liquid steel parting at a thought.
Beyond it was a chamber.
Huge. Hollow. Filled with cold light and silence.
Dozens of sarcophagus-like pods lined the walls in a circular pattern, each one rimmed with symbols none of them recognized. Cracked glass. Burn marks. Some shattered from the inside.
Senya raised her rifle again. "Contractor stasis?"
Nira stepped into the room slowly. "Or containment."
Silas stood at the edge of the threshold, eyes narrowed. His Boon whispered run. Not because of danger—but because of memory. This place felt… familiar.
Jex knelt near one of the pods, tapping the edge.
"None of these are alive. Whatever they were keeping down here, it's long gone."
Torren moved further in, frowning. "Why seal this off? What were they hiding—"
A noise.
Metal shrieking.
They spun instantly—blades, Boons, and shadows at the ready.
One of the back pods had shifted. Steam curled from its seams.
Dawn's voice was calm. Too calm.
"They were hiding us."
The pod opened.
Not explosively. Not violently. Just... cleanly.
Inside was a body.
A teenager.
Pale. Still. Wrapped in armor that shimmered like folded starlight. Eyes closed.
Then they opened—pitch black, no whites, no pupils.
He inhaled.
And the Riftlight dimmed.
---
Aboveground, Ephra Dusk's power spiked.
An alarm triggered in the Tribunal's farwatch array.
In the Spire, Velae stood over a live feed.
"They found it," the aide whispered.
Velae nodded. "Then send the first Seraphim."
The room darkened.
And somewhere, a thing wearing a smile too wide opened its eyes.
---
The boy didn't speak.
He just… stared.
His eyes were pure Rift-black, absorbing light, his breath slow and mechanical. The moment he moved, it wasn't with human rhythm—it was precise. Engineered.
Jex stumbled back. "Nope. Nope. I'm done. I've seen horror movies."
"Don't move," Senya ordered, aiming down her sights.
The boy turned toward her—and stopped moving. His body locked into place like a suspended animation field had reactivated around him. Only his head shifted, tracking each of them as if tagging targets.
Then Dawn stepped forward.
"It's one of the Dawnblood."
Everyone turned to her.
Senya didn't lower her rifle. "You said there were no others."
"I said none survived the Echo collapse," Dawn corrected. "But he wasn't part of that. Look at his spine."
They did.
The armor peeled slightly at the back, revealing an inlaid construct—a spinal interface fused directly into flesh. Breathing with him.
Torren's expression darkened. "Tribunal-grown."
"Worse," Nira whispered. "Pre-Tribunal. One of the original Seraphim frames."
Silas' voice was low. "He's a weapon."
And just then—the boy blinked.
Words scrawled across the walls. Not physically—across their vision.
> "Subroutine: Guardian Node. Identity: EX-07. Status: Dormant. Awakening… Authorized."
"New Command Detected. Target: 'Ashbinders'."
"Designation: Priority Kill Order."
The boy moved.
Fast.
He launched straight at Senya. She fired—once, twice—but the bullets curved around his form like air refused to touch him. Silas's shadows surged upward, snagging the boy mid-lunge.
For a second.
Then they burned away—black steam evaporating off the Seraphim's aura. He hit Silas like a meteor, sending him crashing into a stasis pod that burst into sparks.
Torren roared and lunged, his Boon igniting with molten steel. The Seraphim twisted mid-air, grabbed his arm mid-swing—and dislocated it in a single motion.
"Fall back!" Senya shouted. "Split formation!"
"No!" Dawn's voice cut through like lightning. "He doesn't recognize us as people. Just codes. Let me try."
She ran forward, stepping between the team and the Seraphim boy.
He skidded to a halt, eyes flickering—processing.
Dawn lifted her hand.
"Override."
The Seraphim froze.
> "Voiceprint match: Dawnbreak-Class Alpha."
"Override accepted."
"Awaiting command."
Everyone froze.
Dawn's face was unreadable.
"Stand down. Restore dormant state."
The boy blinked once—and fell backward, arms limp, motionless.
Silence.
Then Jex groaned from behind a shattered support beam. "So… what, we just have a pocket murder god now?"
Senya lowered her weapon, slow and careful. "We bring him up. Secure him. Then we find out why he was sealed here."
Nira looked at Dawn. "And what you're not telling us."
Dawn didn't answer.
---
Meanwhile, 800 kilometers west — Black Zone 5
The forest burned.
Not with flame. With absence.
Void shimmered in the shape of a woman, and where her feet touched soil, the ground cracked into static. Trees collapsed in waves behind her, branches turning to ash mid-fall.
She wasn't running.
She didn't need to.
Her targets—two high-level Contract teams—were already dead.
Not killed. Unwritten.
Above her floated six Remnant shards—curved blades of translucent logic, orbiting her head like a crown.
A Tribunal ship hovered nearby, sealed with hundreds of wards.
Inside it, an Inquisitor spoke into a crystal recorder.
"Seraphim Designation V-09 has completed Objective Sweep Alpha. Rift intervention unnecessary. Echo activity suppressed."
On screen, her target list flickered.
One name now sat highlighted in pale red:
> NEXT OBJECTIVE: DAWNBREAK HOST — EPHRA DUSK
The Seraphim turned toward the east.
And began walking.
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