The air inside the vault didn't smell like rot. It didn't smell like anything.
It was a vacuum-sealed pocket of history, scrubbed clean of the entropy that had eaten the rest of the world. No dust. No rust. Just the sterile, humming silence of a time before the gods gave up.
Kaelen stepped over the threshold. His boots clicked on white ceramic tiles—a sharp, rhythmic sound that felt like a sacrilege in a place this quiet. The light from the open door spilled inward, illuminating rows of high, metallic shelves that stretched into the gloom.
"By the Weave..." Scrap whispered.
The merchant scurried past Kaelen on his four mechanical legs, movements fluid and frantic. "Look at the preservation! No corruption. No data-loss. It's a miracle in a box!"
Scrap ignored the crates of food. He scrambled up the shelving units like a massive, oil-stained insect, metal claws clicking as he snatched at glowing crystals and brass-cased components.
"Jax," Kaelen called out, voice echoing off the sterile walls. "Ignore the hardware. Focus on the crates with the Sun-sigil. Food. Seeds. Water. If it won't keep you alive, leave it."
Jax nodded, face pale in the dim light. He rushed to the nearest pallet, prying a lid open with his knife. The boy froze. He let out a shaky breath that fogged in the cool air.
"Bread," Jax choked out.
He pulled out a brick of vacuum-sealed ration. It wasn't the grey, gritty sludge they ate in the tunnels. It was golden-brown. Soft.
"Real bread," Jax whispered, terrified to crush it. "Lord... it's still fresh."
"Load the cart," Kaelen ordered, though his own stomach tightened at the sight. "Renna, watch the perimeter. If our friend here tries to scurry off with more than his share, aim for the flesh legs."
"Copy that," Renna said. She leaned against the bronze doorframe, rifle steady, eyes tracking the merchant's every twitch up in the rafters.
Kaelen walked deeper into the vault.
While Jax hauled crates of "Mana-Bread" and "Sun-Seeds," Kaelen was drawn to the back. There, isolated on a pedestal of white marble, sat a singular artifact.
A sphere of glowing amber, roughly the size of a human heart.
It didn't just glow. It pulsed. A slow, rhythmic throb of heat that Kaelen could feel in his marrow. His Admin eyes flared, the code scrolling frantically across his vision.
[ ITEM IDENTIFIED: SUN-CORE (TIER 1) ]
[ TYPE: ENVIRONMENTAL STABILIZER ]
[ EFFECT: SIMULATES SOLAR RADIATION / PURIFIES LOCAL ATMOSPHERE ]
This was the prize. This was the difference between a hole in the ground and a home. With this, the Anchor wouldn't just be a shield; it would be a garden.
Kaelen reached for it.
His fingers brushed the warm amber surface. Immediately, a jolt of resistance shot up his arm—a spark of "Old Light" rejecting his "New Authority."
It burned. Not like fire, but like absolute purity. For a heartbeat, the pain forced Kaelen to his knees. He felt small. Weak. The artifact was reminding him that he wasn't a god. Not yet.
He gritted his teeth, forcing his will onto the object. Mine.
CRACK.
The sound wasn't the Core. It was the sound of glass shattering behind him.
Kaelen turned.
Scrap was hanging from the ceiling pipes, twenty feet up. In one of his flesh hands, he held the remains of a crushed vial. Grey vapor burst out with a piercing, skull-splitting shriek.
[ WARNING: SONIC ASSAULT DETECTED ]
[ EQUILIBRIUM: UNSTABLE ]
Jax screamed, collapsing to his knees and clutching his ears. The world tilted violently for Kaelen. The vibration scrambled his inner ear, turning the white tiles into a spinning blur.
"I'll take that, Admin!" Scrap's voice rasped over the noise.
The merchant swung down, mechanical arms leveling a rusted flechette pistol at Kaelen's head. The yellow lenses in his mask were wide, glowing with a frantic, desperate greed.
"The food is yours!" Scrap hissed, spittle flying. "But the Core? No. That Core is worth a city in Sector 4!"
Kaelen stood swaying, fighting the nausea. He didn't reach for his sword. He didn't even flinch at the barrel pointed at his face.
"Scrap," Kaelen said, voice flat, cutting through the shriek. "We had a deal."
"Deals don't feed the dead!" Scrap screamed, his voice cracking. "I lost my daughter to the Silence! I need eyes that can see the safe zones! This Core is my second chance!"
"Renna is still holding that rifle," Kaelen said.
"She's deaf!" Scrap cackled, mechanical arms shaking with adrenaline. "That was a Banshee Vial! Her inner ears are soup by now! Drop the Core!"
"Is that what that was?"
Renna's voice cut through the noise. Bored. Cold.
Scrap froze.
Renna was still standing at the door. She hadn't moved. She hadn't dropped her weapon. Her rifle was locked perfectly on the merchant's center of mass.
"I saw you reaching for that vial three minutes ago, Scrap," she said, eye never leaving the scope. "I dialed my audio dampeners to zero before you even broke the seal. You're predictable."
BANG.
The rifle shot was thunderous in the confined space.
It didn't hit Scrap. It sheared through the rusted pipe he was clinging to.
The merchant shrieked as he plummeted, crashing into a pile of empty crates in a tangle of limbs and metal. The flechette pistol skittered across the tiles, disappearing into the shadows.
Before Scrap could untangle his four metal limbs, Kaelen was there.
He didn't draw his blade. He simply stepped on the merchant's chest, pinning him to the floor. The weight of Kaelen's boot was heavy, backed by the crushing pressure of his Authority.
"Bad business strategy," Kaelen whispered.
Scrap wheezed, lenses whirring frantically as they focused on Kaelen's cold stare. "I—I miscalculated. Variable error! The greed... the desperation... it creates a feedback loop! Mercy? I have useful inventory!"
Kaelen stared down at him.
He could kill the thing. It would be easy. Just one command: [ Delete ].
But a dead merchant couldn't haul a cart. And a dead merchant couldn't bring the trade Kaelen would eventually need to build an empire.
"We had a deal," Kaelen said. "Food for me. Junk for you."
He reached into his belt and adjusted the amber Sun-Core, letting the light blind Scrap's sensors for a moment.
"The Core is mine," Kaelen stated. "Consider it a tax for the attempted murder."
He stepped off the merchant's chest.
Scrap scrambled backward, clutching his rags, checking his chassis for damage. "Yes! Tax! Very fair! A very professional penalty!"
"Load the cart," Kaelen ordered, turning his back on the creature. "We're leaving."
"Lord!" Jax shouted from the front. The boy was pointing outside, his fear of the noise forgotten. "Look at the sky!"
Kaelen spun around.
Outside the vault, the canyon had vanished. The grey light was gone, replaced by a swirling, bruised purple darkness. The wind wasn't just blowing; it was screaming, carrying the sound of a thousand distorted voices.
The Wither had arrived.
"The storm is here," Renna said, backing away from the entrance. Her knuckles were white on her rifle. "And it's not empty."
A shadow drifted across the opening.
It didn't walk. It glitched.
One second it was ten meters away. The next, it was five. Tall. Spindle-thin. Its limbs were elongated, flickering in and out of reality like bad static on a screen.
[ ENTITY DETECTED: WIND-WALKER ]
[ THREAT LEVEL: HIGH ]
A Wind-Walker. A creature made of the storm itself.
Kaelen grabbed the handle of the cart, his fingers digging into the metal. The Mana in his veins turned to ice.
"Jax, get the seeds. Scrap, push," Kaelen roared over the howling wind.
"If we don't reach the tunnel in five minutes," Kaelen said, staring into the purple abyss, "there won't be anything left of us to delete."
Author's Note
Daily Update: We are now on a stable 1 Chapter/Day schedule!
Add to Library to stay updated on Kaelen's journey.