The skies over Mareten darkened earlier than usual.
Signal, Maya, Trey, Frost, and Lyra stood before the blackened ruins of the recursion chamber, watching smoke coil upward from the collapsed vault.
No memory strands. No ghosts.
Just ash.
Frost adjusted his gloves. "We didn't trigger it. We woke it."
Lyra pointed to the scattered equipment. "And someone watched us do it."
Among the debris: a cold-iron emblem, ancient and rusted.
Not from any recursion they'd seen.
Stamped with one word.
Architect.
In the city's high district, a riot had broken out.
Three explosions. Precision timed. No casualties, just chaos.
Trey and Maya moved through the smoke, eyes scanning rooftops.
"Diversion?" Maya asked.
"Feels like a message," Trey muttered.
They found it in the wreckage of a café—an envelope, singed at the edges.
Inside: a blank sheet.
Until Trey tilted it toward the light.
Then words burned into view, written in volatile ink.
"Stop digging. Or she wakes up."
Maya stared. "She?"
Trey looked at the city's spire.
"Whoever the Architect is… someone's keeping her asleep."
Lyra worked through the night, cross-referencing old rebel maps and encrypted satellite patterns. She found something.
A restricted zone buried beneath the city. Not Pale Court. Not recursion-related.
An older label.
D7-Facility.
Hidden under the ocean. Wiped from all digital records fifteen years ago.
Frost pulled up an old file—barely decrypted.
It showed a containment vault, lined with weapons, marked hazardous.
In the center: a cryopod.
The label read:
"Subject: VANTA-13. Codename: Architect."
At 0400, the team left the city.
No ships. No announcement.
They reached the old coast cliffs and found a forgotten rail tunnel sealed in concrete.
Trey planted charges.
Frost gave the countdown.
The blast was clean.
They stepped through the dust into darkness.
The old rail led underground for miles.
Lights flickered on as they passed. Not failing. Responding.
Signal whispered, "She knows we're coming."
They reached the D7-Facility's outer gate just before dawn.
The gate was open.
No signs of breach.
No guards. No locks.
Just a long hallway and cold air pushing from within.
Maya's hand drifted to her sidearm. "This isn't a trap."
Signal nodded.
"It's an invitation."