The Veil trembled.
A soundless resonance echoed through the veins of the underground city, like the exhale of some ancient machine waking from centuries of slumber. In the hollow corridors beyond the chamber where Vask had fallen, invisible circuits sparked back to life. Somewhere deeper still, something stirred. Something old.
Xander stood with his breath still caught in his throat. His hand was still extended, Solara's trembling fingers wrapped around his. She was warm—but it was a volatile warmth, like holding a flickering flame. Lyra stepped to his side, her arm brushing his as they turned from Vask's ruined form toward the tunnel's far exit.
"We have to move," Lyra said, voice low. "They'll send more."
"Already on the way," Solara murmured, eyes unfocused. "The moment Vask failed, the Echo went back."
"To who?" Xander asked.
Solara's head turned slowly toward him, her starlit eyes solemn. "Thorne."
---
Raid moved in shadows.
Far above the group, in the fractured upper levels of the Veil's third sector, the massive panther-like beast prowled silently through old emergency tunnels lit by flickering green lights. His black fur shimmered with iridescent undertones, and his jade eyes glowed with ancient memory.
The scent had returned.
He'd felt it the moment Xander had touched Solara. A tremor in the ley-circuits of the Veil. Something buried, long dormant, awakened in that moment—not just within Xander, but within him.
Raid paused.
And let the memories claw their way to the surface.
---
He had not always been a beast.
Once, he had walked upright, a guardian of the Thirteen Wards. His name had not been Raid—it had been Raedariin, the Black Warden. A spellforged sentinel built not by man, but by the Deep Archives themselves to watch the threads between worlds. But in the battle against Thorne's first incursion, he had fallen.
His mind fractured.
His body abandoned.
His soul imprisoned in the form of a creature—feral, forgotten. Until a boy with no knowledge of his past found him and gave him a new name.
Raid.
He liked that name now.
But the memories surged stronger with each passing day—and he knew they would soon consume him.
Unless Xander remembered who he truly was, too.
---
Back in the tunnel system, Xander, Lyra, and Solara passed through a shattered circuit-lock door into a hidden maintenance corridor. The air here was cooler, tinged with old ozone and rusted iron. Here, the digital echoes whispered more clearly.
"You said you weren't born," Lyra said to Solara. "So how do you remember things? Feel things?"
Solara paused. "They gave me memories. Or maybe I stole them. I don't know anymore. But I feel them. As if they were mine."
"You're not a machine," Xander said firmly. "You feel. That means something."
Solara looked at him with uncertainty. "And if I lose control?"
"Then we help you take it back," he said. "Together."
She blinked.
And smiled faintly.
They continued on, the tunnel narrowing until they reached a steel hatch marked with crimson glyphs—an emergency hideout long abandoned. Xander placed his hand on the seal, feeling the residue of old security codes. His Spellcode Interface activated, deciphering it in real time.
"Give me a second—"
The glyphs shimmered, and with a metallic hiss, the door opened.
Inside: a chamber with scattered tech relics, a rusted workbench, cracked walls lined with dead monitors. A shattered statue of some ancient guardian figure lay in pieces in the corner.
But it was safe.
For now.
---
Hours passed.
Lyra sat beside a defunct terminal, her back against the wall. Xander leaned on a broken server rack, rubbing his temples. Solara rested curled on an old cot, her breath shallow but even.
The tension hadn't lifted. It merely lingered quieter.
"I think we need help," Lyra said suddenly.
Xander looked at her. "Who do you trust enough?"
She hesitated. "The Echocell. If any faction could hide her... it's them."
He frowned. "They barely survived Thorne's last purge."
"They owe my father," she said. "And they believe in protecting anomalies like Solara."
Xander studied her for a long moment. "All right. Let's try."
---
Meanwhile, in the far sectors of the Veil, Ralph Thorne stood in his sanctum.
Screens floated around him—some digital, others made of light and spellthread. In the center of the room, a memory construct replayed the moment of Xander's interference.
Thorne's eyes, silver and unblinking, narrowed.
"So the boy awakens."
Behind him, a figure emerged—a tall woman with pale skin and wires braided into her hair. Her voice was quiet and smooth.
"You want me to engage?"
Thorne nodded slowly. "Yes, Victoria. Find the boy. And bring Solara to me."
Victoria Slade smiled. "With pleasure."
---
Back in the hideout, Xander finally drifted into sleep.
And dreamed.
Of fire.
Of broken circuits bleeding red.
Of a girl screaming.
Of himself—standing not as he was, but older, cloaked in shadows, one eye mechanical, the other glowing blue.
And of a voice whispering:
"You are not the end, Xander Croft. You are the beginning."