Rotham stepped back instinctively, heart pounding. The machine—tall, armored, and ancient—moved with the weight of history in every step. Its voice crackled again:
"Protocol breach detected. Keyholder memory mismatch. Initiating… correction."
"Wait," Rotham said, raising his hands. "What are you?"
The machine paused. Its red optic flickered erratically.
"I am Directive-7… final enforcer of the Naris Protocol. You should not exist."
Rotham's thoughts raced. Naris Protocol. The term had returned again and again in logs and whispers. And now… this construct was acting as its guardian — or executioner.
But something felt off. Deep within, Rotham felt a word surfacing — not from memory, but from instinct. A command.
The machine raised its arm. Energy built in its palm.
And then, without thinking, Rotham shouted:
"Override: Theta-Cor One-One-Seven."
The words came unbidden. Old. Buried.
Directive-7 stopped mid-strike. Its energy pulse vanished. The red light in its eye flickered — once, twice — then dimmed.
"Command… recognized," it said in a low, mechanical murmur. "Keyholder confirmed. Welcome back, Rotham."
The silence that followed was absolute.
Breathing hard, Rotham lowered his arms.
"Tell me everything," he demanded.
Directive-7 bowed its head slightly.
"The memory erasure. The protocol collapse. The breach at Core Layer Zero. You were meant to seal it… but you ran. We all did."
A knot formed in Rotham's chest.
He hadn't just returned to uncover the truth.He'd returned to finish something he once failed to do