"Sir," Cecil—the AI presiding over the NeuraSync chip embedded in Steven Miske's temporal lobe—suddenly chimed in, its crisp London accent jarringly clear as Steven bit into his toast, "according to Star Alliance University Student Health Code, Chapter 3, Article 7, you are perilously close to unlocking the 'Carbohydrate Assassin' achievement."
"Stuff it, Cecil!" Steven Miske rolled his eyes, the smart hub watch from his father's conglomerate, NexusMind, tracing a blue arc as he gestured dismissively. Ever since the NeuraSync chip's implantation, the verbose AI had infiltrated every facet of his existence, from nagging about his Alaskan Malamute Napoleon's dietary needs to offering unsolicited political commentary translations. Yet, the chip had one undeniable advantage: those dreadfully dull course materials for 'Archaic History of the Celestial Republic' could be instantly accessed via the MindBridge neural interface, complete with AI-generated annotations.
Just last week, during Professor Huang's lecture, Cecil's retinal overlay had translated the oracle bone character for "sacrifice" as "launching ancestor-bound rockets," nearly making Steven choke. His smart hub watch vibrated—a news alert about some senator shattering a filibuster record. Politics. Steven scoffed. "If the Alliance were run like a company," he muttered, "those Mules and Mammoths would've been fired ages ago!" The current government shutdown, a result of the feud between the "Stubbornly Progressive Party" (Mules) and the "Towering Mammoth Society" (Moms), was proof enough of their incompetence.
Cecil's voice cut in, "Hazardous political ideation detected. Flagged keywords sanitized as 'harmonious negotiation protocols'." Napoleon, dozing at his feet, woofed. The NeuraSync chip rendered it: "[SYSTEM] Napoleon: This CEO demands belly rubs."
"Sir, your review materials for 'Archaic History of the Celestial Republic: Neolithic to Early Bronze Age Divination Practices' are ready for neural integration," Cecil interjected, its tone shifting. Steven glanced at the holographic calendar. Professor Huang's disapproving face stared back. A cold smile touched Steven's lips.
Days earlier, in Lecture Hall N2-442, Professor Huang, a visiting scholar from the Celestial Republic, had lectured on oracle bones. "These symbols," Huang had said earnestly, "carry the weight of millennia…" Cecil's feed had morphed it into a rap beat. Unable to resist, Steven had touted his smart hub watch: "Professor, shouldn't you update your courseware? Stream fifty thousand years of simulated history in less time than a TikTok dance challenge!"
Professor Huang's expression had tightened. "Mr. Miske," he'd replied gravely, "technology can accelerate information acquisition. But it cannot replace nuanced understanding. Our ancestors in the Celestial Republic, like Yu the Great, used the legendary Nine Tripods to map, comprehend, and perhaps even stabilize the Nine Provinces. Technology and civilization need not be mutually exclusive."
"Nine Tripods? Probably just nine rusty cooking pots," Steven had thought. But then, a vivid holographic image of an ornate, three-legged bronze ding cauldron had unexpectedly superimposed itself on his retina—not Cecil's doing. The swirling taotie patterns on its surface seemed to writhe. He blinked; the illusion vanished. A weird glitch. He'd pressed on, "If the legends of the Yellow Emperor battling Chi You were true, wouldn't digs have unearthed turbo-charged, south-pointing chariots? All they find is broken pottery. Boring." For Steven, history pre-dating reliable records was pure "legend."
Later, his buddy Mason had warned him. "Stevo, are you really downloading that entire ancient Celestial Republic database? 3.6 Zettabytes! Remember that finance bro who MindBridged Shakespeare and ended up reciting Sonnet 18 in fluent Klingon during a shareholder meeting?" The NeuraSync chip, it seemed, had cross-linked the Bard with a less reputable corner of the entertainment network.
"Relax," Steven had scoffed. "Professor Huang's dusty old data isn't dense enough to give my hippocampus indigestion."
That night, the NexusMind tower loomed. Steven bypassed security. "Unauthorized access protocols bypassed… just kidding, sir," Cecil murmured. "Surveillance feeds are experiencing… minor technical difficulties. Also, anomaly detected during translation of 'Nine Tripod Cauldrons' data earlier. Received abnormal high-frequency resonance patterns… Source unidentified. Caution advised. I recommend aborting." Cecil's voice held a faint electronic static.
Steven sneered, pressing his thumb on the final lock to his father's most secret laboratory. "Scared, Cecil? What's the worst that could happen?"
The lab was a temple to cutting-edge, often ethically dubious, technology. In the center rested the sleek main console of the latest generation MindBridge neural interface system and its connection pod. "Professor Huang and his dusty bones… watch me crush you!" An almost manic light glinted in Steven's eyes. He would download every byte of that 'boring' ancient history directly into his NeuraSync chip.
He initiated the sequence, donned the neural interface helmet, and settled into the pod. Data streams for the Celestial Republic's vast historical archives spooled on the display. "Alright, Cecil," Steven commanded, smirking. "Hit download!"
An unimaginable torrent of raw information slammed into his NeuraSync chip! It wasn't just data; he felt… presence. The chaotic impact of Pangu splitting the cosmos; the profound compassion of Nüwa molding humans; Suiren's dogged perseverance striking sparks; Fuxi tracing stellar patterns; Shennong tasting poisons; the fury of tribal warfare; the despair of the Great Flood; the echoes of vanished gods and demons… It felt terrifyingly real, imbued with a potent, undeniable will!
Pain exploded behind his eyes. He desperately tried to abort—neural control unresponsive! Locked in! "Like downloading an MP3 and getting the entire Library of Congress in ultra-HD sensory surround sound!" he thought frantically.
At that precise moment, he felt the laboratory space, perhaps his own existence, ripple bizarrely… a subtle displacement… accompanied by a faint, almost imperceptible tearing sound, echoing not in air, but within reality itself…
"WARNING! CATASTROPHIC DATA OVERLOAD! NEURASYNC CHIP NEURAL CONNECTION INTEGRITY COMPROMISED! CASCADE FAILURE IMMINENT…" Cecil shrieked its final, desperate alarm. His smart hub watch dissolved into static!
Steven Miske's world plunged into absolute blackness. His consciousness felt sucked into a bottomless, churning vortex… then, nothing…
In the absolute final instant before oblivion claimed him, he thought he heard it—an impossibly ancient, sorrowful sigh, followed by a faint, indistinct whisper: "…soul of another world… has at last… arrived… The Wheel of Fate… grinds anew… The lost… 'Key'… has also… awakened… This is… as it was written… yet also… a deviation… one of many…"
At virtually the same instant, precise to the Planck time, high above the vast, mist-shrouded, perilous prehistoric Azia Continent, an almost imperceptible streak of wan light, ephemeral as a shooting star, silently, like a phantom, pierced the dense, leaden-gray cloud layer. As if an insignificant pebble, carelessly tossed from the Nine Heavens by an unseen, implacable Hand that governed all fates, it fell without a sound, without the faintest disturbance, into the deepest, unknown, and mysterious heart of the sprawling, primordial land below.
And in that dim sanctuary, a den of conspiracy and eerie power hidden deep beneath the capital city of Augusta in the Albion Federation, the jewel at the apex of the ancient scepter clutched in the President's hand—a large, twilight-blue gemstone that had lain dormant and lusterless—now, without warning, trembled almost imperceptibly, as if stirring with a life of its own. And it pulsed, just once, with an almost undetectable, ominous, and avariciously eerie gleam.