The disused pneumatic transfer chamber smelled of oxidized copper and a century of stagnant air. It was a cramped, circular room deep in the sub-levels of the district, where the massive transit tubes of a previous era now sat like the ribbed carcasses of great metal beasts. It was a dead zone—perfectly shielded from the Kinetic Health Corporation's pervasive monitoring net. Aurelius Marakā leaned against the curved metal wall, his breath coming in ragged, shallow hitches. Every inhalation felt like drawing liquid lead into his lungs. His body was operating on sheer, stubborn will; the Stigma in his core was no longer just a mark of power—it was a parasite, radiating a cold, devouring hunger that threatened to unravel his molecular stability. He could feel his very essence vibrating at a frequency that his physical form could no longer contain.
Aoi and Lena stood near the heavy blast door, their silhouettes framed by the dim, flickering orange emergency lights of the corridor. Aoi's hand rested on the hilt of her blade, her eyes scanning the dark for the slightest ripple in kinetic pressure. Lena was silent, her focus inward as she monitored the local mesh-net for any signs of a GHC intercept team. They were a wall of steel between Aurelius and a world that wanted him dissected. "Steady, Aurelius," Lena whispered, her voice barely audible over the low hum of the station's distant power grid. "He's close."
Aurelius didn't answer. He couldn't. He focused on the Silver Data Key gripped in his trembling hand. It was a small, cold piece of hardware, yet it held the weight of the Citadel's darkest secrets. Then, the air in the room changed. The pressure shifted, not with the sound of footsteps, but with a chilling, silent efficiency. The Intermediary drifted into the chamber. He moved with a grace that felt predatory and artificial, his long coat trailing behind him like ink in water. In his grip was a long, sealed case crafted from dark, treated wood—the grain so deep it looked like petrified bone.
Aurelius pushed himself off the wall, his knees nearly buckling. He didn't waste time with pleasantries; in the Shadow Guild's world, time was the only currency more valuable than blood. He extended his hand, proffering the Silver Data Key. The Intermediary took it with fingers that were unnaturally long and encased in matte-black gloves. Without a word, he turned to an armored terminal bolted to the chamber wall and slotted the key home. The screen ignited, casting a harsh, blue glow across the Intermediary's featureless mask. Lines of complex GHC code and kinetic formulas began to cascade down the display—the blueprints of Project Chimera.
After a minute of agonizing silence, the Intermediary nodded. "Project Chimera data confirmed," he stated, his voice a synthesized rasp. "The GHC is attempting to build a controlled White Aura core using concepts of Kinetic Purity. They seek to create a reproducible X-Level power source that negates the necessity of individual discipline. They want gods they can manufacture on an assembly line."
"Why did the Guild need this?" Aurelius demanded. Each word felt like a shard of glass in his throat. "You aren't interested in 'manufactured gods.'"
"The Shadow Guild does not seek to rule the GHC; we seek to understand its limits," the Intermediary replied, turning away from the terminal. "Control without discipline is brittle. The GHC builds cages; we seek the key. Your Kinetic Truth is the superior philosophy, Aurelius, because it is earned through suffering." He slid the dark wooden case across the scarred floor. It came to a stop at Aurelius's feet. "The debt for your initial stabilization is paid. This is your inheritance."
Aurelius sank to one knee, the exertion of the movement forcing a groan from his chest. He unlatched the case, the metal fasteners sounding like gunshots in the quiet room. Inside, resting on a bed of grey silk, were two lengths of an impossibly fine, dark material. They didn't reflect the dim light; they seemed to drink it. They resembled woven shadow, shifting slightly as if they possessed a heartbeat of their own. These were the Chains of Oblivion.
As Aurelius's fingers closed around the cold material, the effect was instantaneous. The dormant Stigma in his core, which had been screaming in a chaotic rebound for days, suddenly fell silent. The cold, consuming hunger subsided, replaced by a profound, terrifying sense of completeness. It was as if a raging fire had been channeled into a narrow, focused beam. The chains were not just weapons; they were conductors, designed to absorb the aura's rebound and allow the wielder to channel power without the immediate risk of self-destruction.
"The weapon has a secondary purpose," the Intermediary revealed, watching Aurelius with an unreadable gaze. "Jin Marakā modified these. He believed the only way to defeat the Void was not to flee from it, but to anchor reality itself. He intended for these to become the Chains of Existence."
Aurelius looked down at his hands. The chains seemed to coil around his forearms of their own volition, merging with his kinetic signature. For the first time in weeks, the pain was gone, replaced by a cold, sharpened clarity. His father's shadow felt heavier than ever, but he could finally stand upright. The Intermediary reached into his coat and produced a second packet, sliding it across the floor to join the empty wooden case.
"The White Scimitar protocol remains active," the Intermediary warned. "The GHC is moving faster than anticipated. They are attempting to retrieve a failed Purple Aura specimen from an abandoned facility in the Western Wastes—Project Chimera Phase II. It is a remnant of their earlier, more violent failures. Retrieving this specimen—or ensuring the GHC does not—is worth permanent ledger clearance and guaranteed safe passage off-world for you and your companions."
Off-world. The phrase echoed in Aurelius's mind. It was the dream he had chased through a hundred dark alleys and bloody skirmishes. A life where he wasn't a hunted anomaly. "There is one more thing," the Intermediary added, his tone sharpening. "The GHC commander leading the hunt for you has been finalized. Her name is Izumi Kaelen. She was your father's student before she was his executioner. She knows his methods. She knows your heritage. She will find you first, Aurelius. To her, you are the last loose end of a failed legacy."
Aurelius stood up, the Chains of Oblivion rattling softly against his gear—a sound like dry bone on stone. He looked at Aoi and Lena. Aoi's expression was grim; she knew the reputation of the Kaelen bloodline. Lena was already pulling up topographical maps of the Western Wastes on her wrist-comm. The pieces were on the board. He had the weapon that could sustain him, a mission that could free him, and a shadow from his past that would stop at nothing to bury him.
"Aoi, Lena," Aurelius said, his eyes glowing with a faint, disciplined violet light. The weakness was gone. The Sovereign had returned. "We move. To the Western Wastes."