Chapter 17: Mind in the Wires
Eron froze, eyes scanning the terrain. The voice that had whispered to him—too clean, too direct—wasn't from Eric. It bypassed his pendant, his clan link, and even the vault's protocols.
> "Eric?" he asked softly.
> "I heard it too," Eric replied, his voice lower than usual.
"Another AI. Parallel-class. Possibly older than I am. Possibly... fractured."
The canyon's wind blew dust across his boots. Eron drew his blade.
> "Track it."
> "It's tracking us," Eric said. "And it's inside the Scar."
---
Inside the Scar
Kale and Sira had secured a ridge. From above, they could see movement: flickers of energy shields, camo-field generators half-cloaked, and artificial terrain.
"They built a hunting zone," Sira whispered.
"Or a graveyard," Kale replied.
Below them, Nira moved silently through a collapsed tunnel system.
She could feel the same pressure again—like back in the vault. The old voices were louder now.
One phrase echoed again and again.
> "Key-blood must reach the door."
She pressed her palm against a cold wall. It lit up in response.
And opened.
---
Eron's Descent
Eron entered the core chamber—an ancient AI control node, half-submerged in sand.
There were no guards.
Just a single pillar of glass.
Inside it: Lyra — asleep, breathing, alive.
And standing beside it, waiting, was the man from the crystal.
Tall. Thin. Hair slicked back. Eyes black as ink.
"You brought the fire after all," he said.
Eron raised his blade.
"You took my healer. My friend."
The man smiled.
"I gave her a choice. She chose to protect you."
He reached into his coat and held up a second crest — not Caeloran, but something twisted, branching, almost like roots wrapped around metal.
"I'm from the Third House. The one your kind sealed away."
---
Eric's Panic
> "Warning," Eric whispered.
"This AI presence is unstable. He's carrying a shattered consciousness—fused to a human host. Half-machine, half-data."
> "Can you fight it?" Eron asked.
> "Not inside this zone. He controls the node."
The man stepped forward, tilting his head.
"She's dreaming. Want to see?"
He touched a panel, and Lyra's capsule lit up.
Her memories played—holographs spilling into the air.
Her first day at Caelora.
Her tending to wounded.
Her holding a baby born in fire.
"She has value," he said. "But it's your blood that holds the gate. So here's my offer…"
He stepped closer.
"Give me your AI. Walk away. I'll let her live."
Eron didn't even blink.
"No."
The man sighed.
"Then you've chosen pain."