The deeper tunnels smelled old.
Not like rust or smoke, but like time—dry air, stone dust, and something faintly bitter that Elyon could not name. The lights were fewer here. Most were dead. The ones still working glowed weakly, as if tired of their job.
Elyon walked carefully, boots scraping softly against the ground. Each step echoed longer than it should have.
Rin moved ahead of him, slow and alert. Their mechanical arm clicked quietly with every movement. They did not try to hide the sound. Down here, hiding noise did not matter.
"What is this place really?" Elyon asked.
Rin did not turn around. "Old zones. Built before the city learned how to watch everything. Some parts were sealed. Others were forgotten."
"And this?" Elyon asked. "This feels… different."
Rin nodded. "Because it is."
They stopped near a wide open area where the tunnel split into many narrow paths. Old markings were carved into the walls—scratches, symbols, warnings left by people who did not expect to be heard.
Elyon ran his fingers over one mark. "People lived here."
"For a while," Rin said. "People always do. Until the system notices."
The band on Elyon's wrist stayed quiet, but he could feel it—restless, like it wanted to reconnect fully and could not.
"I don't like that it's silent," Elyon said.
Rin glanced back at him. "That's because you're starting to understand it."
They chose a path that sloped downward. The air grew colder. Elyon's breath fogged slightly.
As they walked, Elyon felt a strange pressure building in his chest. Not danger. Not warning.
Memory.
Not his own.
He slowed. "Rin… did you ever feel like this place remembers people?"
Rin stopped walking.
Slowly, they turned. Their eyes were serious now. "Yes."
Elyon swallowed. "So I'm not imagining it."
"No," Rin said. "These zones were touched by early systems. Broken ones. Ones that never fully shut down."
"That sounds worse," Elyon said.
Rin gave a tired half-smile. "It is. But they don't report back."
That was the trade.
They reached a large chamber with a low ceiling and broken machines lining the walls. Some were half-buried in stone. Others were cracked open, empty, like something had crawled out long ago.
Elyon felt his skin prickle.
The moment he stepped inside, the band flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then stopped again.
Rin noticed. "It's confused."
Elyon laughed softly. "That makes two of us."
They found a place to sit near a collapsed pillar. Rin checked the tunnels behind them, then sat down heavily.
"We should rest," Rin said. "Not sleep. Just… pause."
Elyon nodded. His body hurt in ways he had stopped noticing earlier. He leaned back against the stone, eyes half closed.
For a moment, there was nothing.
No static.
No pull.
No system voice.
Just breath.
Then a thought formed—not spoken, not forced.
How long can you refuse before refusal becomes its own pattern?
Elyon's eyes snapped open.
"Did you hear that?" he asked.
Rin shook their head. "Hear what?"
Elyon frowned. "Nothing. Forget it."
But the thought stayed with him.
He looked down at his hands. They were steady now. That scared him more than the shaking ever had.
"What happens to people like us?" Elyon asked quietly.
Rin looked at the floor. "Most don't last."
"That's not what I asked."
Rin was silent for a long time.
"Some break," Rin said finally. "They give in. They become tools."
"And the others?"
"Some disappear," Rin replied. "Some hide forever. Some die trying to matter."
Elyon nodded slowly. "No good options."
"No," Rin agreed. "Only chosen ones."
The band pulsed faintly.
Not a command.
A reminder.
—CHOICE CONTINUITY: ACTIVE—
Elyon exhaled through his nose. "It really does keep score."
Rin looked at his wrist. "It always has. People just didn't know."
The ground trembled slightly.
Both of them froze.
Rin stood up instantly. "That wasn't them."
Elyon felt it too. The vibration was wrong—too deep, too slow.
"What then?" he asked.
Rin's voice dropped. "Something old."
A section of the chamber wall shifted. Stone scraped against stone as a hidden door opened, revealing a dark passage beyond.
Neither of them had touched anything.
"That wasn't here before," Elyon said.
Rin shook their head. "Yes, it was. It just wasn't open."
The band stayed silent.
Elyon stared into the passage. The air inside it felt heavier, like it carried weight rather than pressure.
"I think this place noticed me," Elyon said.
Rin swallowed. "I was afraid you'd say that."
A deep sound rolled through the passage—not a roar, not a warning.
An acknowledgment.
Elyon stood up slowly.
"If I walk in there," he said, "this stops being about hiding."
Rin nodded. "It becomes about being changed."
Elyon looked back at the tunnels they had come from. Somewhere far above, the city watched, hunted, calculated.
Down here, something waited without asking.
"I'm tired of running," Elyon said.
Rin stepped beside him. "Then don't run. But don't pretend this is safe."
Elyon managed a weak smile. "Nothing ever was."
He took one step toward the open passage.
The band remained silent.
No warning.
No command.
Just his heartbeat.
Whatever waited beyond the dark did not want obedience.
It wanted a decision.
And Elyon walked forward, knowing that this choice—
made without pressure,
made without fear—
might cost him the last pieces of the life he remembered.