THE UNRAVELING
Date: August 8, 980 GD Time: 12:00 AM Location: Inside the Blackstone Lift (Ascent Phase) Altitude: Piercing the Stratosphere (High Mana Pressure Zone)
The heavy metal door closed with a final KLANG, locking us in a darkness illuminated only by blinking red indicator lights.
Then, gravity struck.
The lift shot upward at supersonic speed. There were no windows to see the receding world, but my body knew. My body always knew.
The higher we ascended, the thinner the atmosphere, and the denser the concentration of pure Mana in the air. For a normal mage, this just caused ringing in the ears. For a leaky Heat Sink like me? This was a death sentence.
"Ugh..."
My legs gave out. A brutal cold, far worse than the hangar wind earlier, stabbed straight into my heart. My blood felt thick, turning into icy sludge clogging my arteries.
I slumped onto the vibrating metal floor of the lift.
"Hey!"
Solstice moved quickly. She didn't taunt this time. She dropped her umbrella and knelt beside me, holding my shoulders to keep my head from hitting the floor.
"Your heart is slowing, Idiot," Solstice hissed. Her usually arrogant face now looked... focused.
"Pressure..." I hissed, my teeth chattering. "Too... pure."
Solstice let out a rough snort. With a swift movement, she bit the tip of the tactical glove on her left hand and pulled it off. She tossed the glove into a corner of the lift.
Her left hand was bare. Her skin was flushed red, radiating intense heat—heat that would normally burn another's skin.
"Hold," she commanded roughly. "Don't you dare die here. That's embarrassing."
She didn't wait. She grabbed my freezing hand and clasped it tightly. Our fingers intertwined.
SESS...
Not an electric shock. It was a deluge.
Her wild body heat surged into my palm, traveled up my arm, melting the ice crystals beginning to form in my chest. It hurt—like frozen blood being forced to flow again—but it was a pain that brought life.
I gasped, leaning my head against her shoulder. Solstice didn't refuse. She tightened her grip instead, becoming an anchor of heat amidst the cold storm assaulting my body.
In the corner of the lift, Vance sat bound to the floor, watched over by emotionless Golems.
Vance saw everything.
He saw the fearsome Grand Praetor, who had just destroyed his kingdom, now shivering helplessly like a sick child. He saw Valdor's "Walking Disaster," who supposedly burned everything, now becoming her enemy's life support.
Vance's gaze changed. His fear and hatred slowly faded, replaced by hollow understanding.
"Look at yourselves..." Vance's voice was hoarse, almost inaudible over the lift's roar.
"You call yourselves monsters? War gods?" Vance laughed bitterly, tears streaming down his dirty cheeks. "You're just... two damaged kids propping each other up so you don't fall apart."
Solstice turned sharply, her glowing blue eyes fixing on Vance.
"Shut your mouth, Old Man," she growled. "Or I'll burn your tongue off before we arrive."
Vance fell silent. But he didn't look down anymore. He stared at us with a pitiful gaze—realizing he was defeated not by superior power, but by the desperation of two young people just trying to survive.
"Hang on, Ash," Solstice whispered in my ear, ignoring Vance. "We're almost there."
Time: 12:10 AM Location: The Gilded Exchange -- Zenith-Zero Altitude: The Peak of The Great Tether
TING.
A soft chime sounded, a contrast to the violent gravitational jolts just now.
The Blackstone lift door didn't slide open like a normal door. It faded, its black molecules becoming transparent and then vanishing, leaving us standing on the threshold of a world.
Blinding, unnatural golden light flooded the dark cabin.
I squinted, forcing myself to stand upright with Solstice's help. My hand was still clutching her hot hand beneath the folds of my robe. Without her, this place's atmosphere would freeze my heart in seconds.
We stepped out.
And immediately, Vance stumbled backward, his legs weak. He almost fell if not for the rough pull of the Golem guards.
"Where... where is the floor?" Vance whispered in horror.
We weren't stepping on marble. We weren't stepping on concrete.We were stepping on Glass.
The Zenith-Zero floor was made of an absolutely transparent material floating above a sea of Golden Smog—a thick, oily gold mist swirling slowly beneath our feet.
Far below that golden fog, the dirty twinkling lights of Zero Point City were visible, looking like a malfunctioning circuit board drawn by a madman.
It felt like standing in mid-air, without a safety net.
"Don't look down, Old Man," Solstice mocked, though I could feel her hand tense in my grip. Even for someone unafraid of fire, standing over nothingness was unnerving.
The air... was terrible.
There was no smell of ozone or machinery here. The air smelled of pure Ambrosia—sweet, metallic, and too rich with oxygen, making the head dizzy.
Amidst that eye-hurting golden sanctity, we stood.
Me, in a black robe spattered with Under-City mud. Solstice, in a combat uniform reeking of gunsmoke and sweat. Vance, smeared with dried blood, oil, and tears.
We were a stain of filth on a clean microscope lens. Our boots left black mud prints on the sacred glass floor with every step.
At the room's end, there were no walls. Only pillars of light.
And in their midst, floating three meters in the air atop a golden podium, sat The Joint Commission.
Three golden-robed figures with masks lacking human faces.
The Center Figure: A White Porcelain Mask with sun carvings (Order). The Left Figure: A Black Iron Mask without eye slits (Judgment). The Right Figure: A Convex Mirror Mask reflecting our sins (Oversight).
They weren't standing to greet us. They sat still like idol statues, gazing down at us from the height of their podium.
"Identified Subject: Grand Praetor Ash," the voice of the Center Commissioner echoed from all directions, with no clear source.
"And you brought... waste with you."
Two golden orb-shaped attendant droids floated closer. They didn't touch us. They scanned us with blue beams, then retreated with movements that seemed like disgust.
"Logistics Package Confirmed," the droid's voice sounded melodic yet soulless. "Package Condition: Dirty. Damaged. Unhygienic. High contamination level on the glass floor."
Vance looked up.
He saw the "Heaven" he dreamed of. But there were no angels to welcome him. No acknowledgment.
Only a cold glass floor, suffocating golden fog, and three giant masks staring at him like an insect crawling on a dining table.
"This..." Vance's voice broke. "This is the Sky?"
"This is the factory, Vance," I whispered coldly, tightening my grip on Solstice to absorb her heat as the room's Mana pressure tried to crush my lungs.
"And you've just entered its grinding machine."
I dragged my feet forward, leaving muddy footprints on the glass floor, heading toward the tribunal of the Gods.
(Scene: The Gilded Exchange -- Main Audience Chamber)
I dragged my heavy feet across the glass floor, each step leaving black mud stains defiling Zenith's sanctity. Solstice walked beside me, her aura of heat my only shield against the bone-crushing Mana pressure in this room.
Vance was dragged by two guard Droids behind us. He didn't struggle. His eyes were fixed on the three giant figures on the golden podium.
We stopped ten meters before them.
The Center Commissioner (Sun Mask) bowed his head. There were no eyes behind that porcelain mask, but I felt the weight of his gaze.
"Grand Praetor Ash," his voice echoed, melodious yet hollow. "You are two minutes late from the estimated schedule."
I bowed stiffly, suppressing nausea from the pressure difference.
"There was... a slight obstruction in the lift, Your Excellency," I replied flatly.
"Your report?"
I straightened up, pointing toward Vance kneeling on the glass floor.
"The Lower Sector Pacification Mission is complete. Primary Target, Vance 'The Valve', has been secured. Logistics pipeline routes have been reopened. Ambrosia distribution and waste disposal are running at 100% efficiency."
I reached into my robe pocket and pulled out the master Data-Crystal Vance had surrendered. I placed it on the glass floor.
"And here are the keys. All illegal infrastructure blueprints, access codes, and black market networks he built over ten years."
An attendant droid floated down, picked up the crystal with its golden pincer, and carried it up to the podium.
The Left Commissioner (Iron Mask) took the crystal. He didn't look at Vance. He only examined the data.
"Efficient," the Iron Mask murmured. "Very efficient."
Silence.
They began discussing the data as if we weren't there. As if Vance were just an opened parcel with its cardboard scattered on the floor.
Vance trembled. Not from fear. But from being ignored.
"Wait..." Vance's hoarse voice broke the Gods' conversation.
The three masks stopped moving. They looked down, slowly and condescendingly.
"Did that object speak?" asked the Right Commissioner (Mirror Mask).
Vance looked up. His face was dirty, covered in dried blood, but his eyes burned with the last fire of his shattered pride.
"I am Vance," he said, his voice strengthening. "I am the one who shut off your flow. I am the one who made you wait."
"We know your name, Subject 7G-Alpha," the Sun Mask replied boredly. "Your name is on the cargo manifest."
"That's not what I mean!" Vance suddenly shouted, trying to stand even though his legs were weak. The guard Droids held him back roughly.
"I want to know... do you even see us?"
Vance pointed downward, through the transparent glass floor toward the darkness of the Under-City.
"Fifty thousand people down there. The ones turning your turbines. The ones filtering your poisons. Do you consider us to exist? Are we citizens of Orbis? Or are we just... mold growing in your pipes?"
A long, painful silence.
The Center Commissioner leaned forward. His porcelain mask gleamed under the artificial light.
"An interesting question," he said softly. "Does a farmer get angry at his hoe? No. Does he consider the hoe a 'citizen'? No."
"You exist because we need a sewage system, Vance. You are a biological function. You breathe because we allow vents to open. You drink because we discard excess water. Your existence is a byproduct of our generosity."
"We do not hate you. We simply do not care about you."
Vance gaped. His hope of being judged as an equal enemy shattered completely. He'd rather have been hated than deemed irrelevant.
"You demons..." Vance whispered.
"We are the Architects," corrected the Iron Mask.
Suddenly, the Mirror Mask raised a hand. The mirror surface on its face rippled, displaying an image of the red wax seal I'd found in Vance's bunker.
The symbol of The Hand Holding a Severed Thread.
The room's atmosphere changed drastically. The casual arrogance vanished, replaced by sharp, cold vigilance.
"Praetor Ash," the Mirror Mask's voice was sharp. "Your report mentions third-party involvement. An ancient radical group."
"Correct," I replied, stepping forward slightly. I felt Solstice tense beside me.
"Vance was not working alone. He was supported—and later discarded—by an organization calling themselves The Unravelers."
The three Commissioners flinched. That name held power that unsettled these Gods.
"Unravelers..." hissed the Sun Mask. "The Nihilists. Those who wish to sever the Threads of Destiny."
Their focus shifted entirely to Vance. This time, they didn't see him as trash. They saw him as an information vessel.
"You," pointed the Iron Mask at Vance. "Who is your contact? Where are they hiding?"
Vance laughed. The laugh of a madman with nothing left.
"Now you see me? Now you're afraid?" Vance spat on the sacred glass floor.
"Answer!" The guard Droid shocked Vance with an electric prod. Vance screamed, his body convulsing, but he kept laughing.
"They're everywhere!" Vance ranted. "They walk among you! They are in the shadows of this tower! You think you're Gods? They will tear your sky apart until it collapses!"
"What is their goal?" pressed the Mirror Mask. "Why would they support vermin like you?"
"Because I wanted to destroy the Order!" Vance yelled. "They don't want money! They don't want power! They want to UNRAVEL! They want to return the world to the Nothingness before you stitched it into this prison!"
I listened intently. Unravel. Return to nothingness.
That fit the profile of the kinetic weapons and Liquid Aether they sent. They didn't want to rule the city; they wanted to collapse it.
"Enough," cut off the Center Commissioner (Sun Mask). His voice was cold, echoing without emotion in the glass room.
"Information received. Subject 7G-Alpha has admitted involvement with the banned organization The Unravelers. His intelligence value is exhausted."
The Left Commissioner (Iron Mask) raised his heavy metal-wrapped hand.
"He is a defective product. He allowed himself to be infiltrated by destructive ideology. He is no longer fit to be a component of this machine."
The Iron Mask pointed at Vance.
"The verdict is: Total Termination. Recycle his biomatter."
A small black hole opened in the glass floor behind Vance—a disposal chute leading directly to a plasma incinerator. The guard Droids gripped Vance's shoulders, ready to throw him in.
Vance didn't scream. He just looked down, resigned. He felt abandoned by everyone—by his people, by the Unravelers, and now by his Masters.
"Wait," my voice cut through.
The three golden masks turned to me simultaneously. The air pressure in the room increased, as if they were offended by the interruption of an execution.
"Praetor Ash," the Sun Mask's voice warned. "Do not forget your place."
"I haven't, Your Excellency," I replied calmly, taking another step forward. Solstice beside me tensed, ready to become a heat shield if they attacked.
"I am merely offering efficiency. Killing him is a waste of resources."
"Explain," commanded the Mirror Mask.
"Vance is an Engineer. He understands the Under-City blueprints better than anyone. If we kill him now, we must train a new administrator, and that takes time. During that transition, Ambrosia flow might be disrupted again."
I looked at the trembling, kneeling Vance.
"It's better to keep him alive. Let him return down there. Let him manage those pipes for us."
"He is a rebel," countered the Iron Mask. "He cannot be trusted."
"He doesn't need to be trusted," I coldly rebutted. "He just needs to be controlled."
I walked closer to Vance, standing right before him.
"He just needs a leash. His own life is leash enough. If he deviates one millimeter from orders, we kill him. Simple."
I turned to the Commission, giving a thin smirk.
"And if his own life isn't valuable enough to him... we still have 50,000 hostages down there. We tell him: 'One mistake, and we will flood Sector 7G with toxic waste.' He loves his people in a strange way. Use that as a chain."
Vance looked up, staring at me in horror. "You... you would make my people permanent hostages?"
"They have been hostages from the start, Vance," I whispered to him. "You just realized it now."
I turned back to face the Commission.
"Furthermore... there is another strategic reason. The Unravelers."
"My report states they discarded Vance. But is that true?"
I produced a sly smile, looking into Vance's eyes.
"Vance surrendered today because he received a letter stating that the Unravelers abandoned him. That they wouldn't send aid. He broke."
"But that letter... was a fake."
Vance's eyes widened. His pupils contracted.
"What?" he whispered.
"I blocked their communication lines, Vance," I explained casually, as if discussing the weather. "I intercepted their couriers. Perhaps they truly wanted to help you. Perhaps the aid weapons were on their way. But I cut your phone line and sent you a fake breakup letter."
"You surrendered because you thought you were alone. When in fact... you were just fooled."
"YOU DEMON!" Vance screamed.
He tried to lunge at me, but the guard Droids held him back easily.
"You deceived me! You manipulated my despair!"
I ignored his shouts and spoke to the Commission again.
"See? He is still emotional. The Unravelers might still want him. Or at least, they will try to contact him again."
"Make him bait. Let him live under our supervision. If the Unravelers try to contact him again... we will know. We can trace them to their roots."
"Killing him now is like discarding the best bait we have."
Silence.
The three Commissioners looked at each other. The Sun, Iron, and Mirror masks seemed to discuss in silence through a telepathic network.
My argument was logical. Cruel, pragmatic, and very beneficial to them.
"Valid," the Sun Mask's voice broke the silence. "Making him a puppet administrator is more advantageous than making him ash."
"And the potential as intelligence bait... is acceptable."
The Iron Mask lowered his hand. The disposal hole in the floor closed back up.
"Proposal accepted, Praetor. Execution suspended."
"Subject Vance will be held temporarily in a Zenith Isolation Cell for reprogramming and installation of Neural-Limiters. Once he is compliant... we will return him to the sewers as our watchdog."
Vance went limp on the glass floor. He wasn't dead, but his fate was worse. He would live as a puppet of the enemy he hated, knowing he lost only because of a letter's trick.
"Take him away," commanded the Sun Mask.
The guard Droids dragged Vance out. This time, Vance didn't scream. He stared at me with an empty gaze, completely broken.
I stood straight, my face flat. Yet inside my head, another voice laughed.
Pitiful.
Look at Vance. He's broken not just because he lost a war, but because he doesn't realize he was tricked. He thinks he's a tragic martyr, when he's just a fool who believed a fake letter. He wanted to be "seen" by the Sky? Congratulations, now he has a permanent leash around his neck.
And look at them... These golden-masked "Gods".
They nod, satisfied. They think this is a brilliant idea. They think I'm the loyal dog who just brought them a new toy.
How blind they are.
They don't realize I just saved their enemy. I let Vance live not to serve them, but because I need him to keep that "backdoor" open. Who knows, someday I might need those ratlines for myself?
I'm surrounded by two kinds of fools: One who screams for acknowledgment, and another too arrogant to see they're being manipulated.
And me? I'm just the zookeeper making sure the cage doesn't explode, while secretly sharpening a knife.
"A wise decision, Your Excellency," I said, bowing respectfully with perfect, false deference.
The Sun Mask looked at me.
"You performed well, Praetor Ash. This crisis was resolved with satisfying efficiency. The logistics routes are secure. The ideological threat has been neutralized."
"The Commission does not forget its servants' merits."
A golden light descended from the ceiling, enveloping a small box that floated down to me.
"Accept this as an initial token of appreciation. A greater reward will follow after Vance's integration is complete."
I took the box. It was heavy. Its energy felt warm.
"Thank you," I said.
"One more thing," I added quickly, before they dismissed the audience. "Regarding the tools I used."
The Mirror Mask tilted its head. "Tools?"
"This operation succeeded due to sudden mobilization. The 'Verdict Run' protocol executed by the Arbiter's Enclave involved thousands of students from the three academies."
"They went down unprepared, facing real danger to secure your assets. Their morale is being tested."
I bowed respectfully, putting on the face of a leader concerned for his subordinates—a role these bureaucrats liked.
"I suggest the Commission provide incentives. Additional credit points, facility access, or official recognition for participating students. Give them 'sugar' after giving them the 'whip'. That will maintain their loyalty for the next conflict."
"After all," I added subtly, "Students who feel valued are easier to order to die for you in the future."
The Mirror Mask nodded slowly. That transactional logic made sense to him.
"Investment in future human resources. Logical."
"Approved. We will send a credit authorization package to the Academy accounts tomorrow morning. Ensure fair distribution, Praetor."
"Now, go. The air here is too clean for you to linger."
The light around us faded. The Blackstone lift door reappeared behind me.
I turned, pulling on Solstice's arm—who looked half-dead from boredom and cold.
"Let's go home," I whispered. "We got what we wanted."
We stepped into the lift, leaving the Gods with their illusion of control, while I descended back to earth with a full victory in hand—and a smirk in my heart.