The wind didn't howl. It screamed.
It was a digital shriek—the sound of a thousand corrupted files being shredded at once. The Wither wasn't just a storm; it was a wave of erasure rolling over the wasteland, deleting anything weak enough to be overwritten.
"Push!" Kaelen roared, his voice barely cutting through the static.
His boots slid on the grey gravel. He dug his heels in, shoving the heavy iron cart from the rear. Beside him, Scrap was scrambling on four mechanical legs, his servo-motors whining in protest as he pulled the front handle.
"My servos!" Scrap shrieked, his voicebox glitching. "The pressure! My joints are seizing! I'm going to rust!"
"You'll be dead before you rust if we don't clear the gate!" Renna shouted. She was flanking the cart, one hand gripping the side rail, the other holding her rifle close to her chest to keep the dust out of the action.
Jax was stumbling, his small frame buffeted by the gale-force winds. He clutched the crate of seeds like it was his own heart.
"The gate!" Jax cried out, pointing ahead.
Through the swirling wall of purple and black dust, the massive outline of the Anchor's blast doors appeared. But something was wrong. The golden shield that usually shimmered over the entrance was flickering. It was thin. brittle.
"The storm is eating the shield," Renna yelled, wiping grit from her eyes. "We're locked out!"
Kaelen looked up. The Wither was hammering the barrier with millions of particles per second. The System had engaged a lockdown to preserve energy. The doors were sealed tight.
"I need to override it!" Kaelen shouted.
He let go of the cart and sprinted for the control panel embedded in the concrete wall. The wind hit him like a physical hammer, nearly knocking him off his feet.
He slammed his hand onto the panel. Cold metal. Dead interface.
"Open!" he commanded.
Nothing. The panel flashed red. [ ACCESS DENIED: LOCKDOWN MODE ]
"Kaelen!" Renna screamed. The purple fog was closing in. He could see the shapes of Wind-Walkers moving in the mist, their limbs twitching and glitching.
He didn't have time for finesse. He had to force it.
Kaelen gritted his teeth and grabbed the locking mechanism with his mind. He didn't ask for permission. He poured his Authority into the lock, flooding the circuit with raw, unrefined command code.
[ AUTHORITY: OVERRIDE ]
[ WARNING: MANA RESERVES CRITICAL ]
Pain exploded behind his eyes. It felt like someone had driven a hot spike into his skull. His nose started to bleed, the warm liquid dripping onto his lips.
Open.
THOOM.
The heavy gears inside the wall groaned in protest. Slowly, agonizingly, the blast doors began to part.
"Inside! Now!"
They practically threw the cart over the threshold. Scrap scrambled over the metal lip, his mechanical limbs skittering on the concrete. Jax dove in, cradling the seeds. Renna shoved Kaelen through the gap and collapsed onto the cold floor of the airlock.
"Seal it!" Renna gasped.
Kaelen slammed his bloody palm against the internal panel.
[ COMMAND: LOCK ]
The doors slammed shut. The screaming wind was instantly cut off, replaced by the heavy, pressurized silence of the Anchor.
Kaelen didn't stand up. He couldn't. He slumped against the wall, wiping the blood from his nose. His hands were shaking. Using that much power... it felt like he had torn a muscle in his brain.
"Status," he wheezed.
"Alive," Renna said, checking her rifle. She looked at him, her single visible eye narrowing. "You're bleeding."
"I'm fine," Kaelen lied. He stood up, using the wall for support.
He reached into his belt and pulled out the prize. The Sun-Core.
Even in the gloom, it pulsed with a warm, rhythmic amber light. It felt heavy. Hungry.
"We need to plug this in," Kaelen said, his voice rough. "The outer shield is failing. If the power drops to zero, the stasis tank fails. And if the tank fails..."
"Elara dies," Renna finished.
The Central Core Room was freezing.
The temperature had dropped while they were gone. Frost coated the black metal pillar of the main console. Below, in the glass tank, Elara floated in suspension fluid that was starting to turn cloudy.
[ SUBJECT STATUS: CRITICAL ]
[ MANA RESERVES: 2% ]
She was fading.
Kaelen stumbled to the main interface. The primary socket—a concave receptor built into the console—was waiting.
He held the Sun-Core over the socket.
"Accept," he whispered.
He slammed the sphere into the machine.
CLICK.
Reaction was instantaneous. And violent.
The machine didn't just turn on. It roared. A surge of golden energy blasted out of the Core, shooting straight up Kaelen's arms.
It wasn't warm. It was scorching.
Kaelen screamed, his back arching as the energy used his body as a conduit to bridge the gap between the artifact and the dead system. He tried to let go, but he couldn't. The current held him there, burning through his nerves.
[ ERROR: INCOMPATIBLE FREQUENCY ]
[ SYSTEM REJECTION IMMINENT ]
He wasn't strong enough. He was just a human trying to hot-wire a god's machine. The feedback was going to fry his brain before the lights even turned on.
Let go, his mind screamed. Let go or die.
Then, he felt it.
A cold hand. Not on his arm, but in his mind.
It was a soft, silent pressure. It brushed against his pain, soothing the burning nerves. It wasn't the System. It was her.
Elara.
From inside the tank, from the depths of her coma, she reached out. She took the chaotic energy of the Sun-Core and wove it into a pattern the Anchor could understand.
[ INTEGRATION: ASSISTED ]
[ SYNC RATE: 100% ]
Kaelen gasped as the pain vanished, replaced by a flood of pure, clean power.
WHOOSH.
The vents slammed open. Fresh, warm air flooded the room. The frost on the console evaporated instantly.
The lights flickered—once, twice—and then flared to life.
But it wasn't the dim emergency blue they were used to. It was bright. Blindingly bright. It was the color of a summer noon, harsh and revealing.
Jax and Renna shielded their eyes, squinting against the glare.
"It works," Jax whispered. "Lord, it works!"
Kaelen didn't celebrate. He was staring at the walls.
For weeks, they had lived in the shadows. They had assumed the Anchor was empty. Clean.
But now, under the unforgiving brightness of the Sun-Core, the truth was visible.
The walls weren't clean.
Deep, gouged scratches covered the metal plating near the ceiling vents. Black, oily handprints stained the upper corners of the room—prints that were too long, too thin to be human.
They had been there the whole time. Hiding in the dark. Watching.
[ SYSTEM ALERT: ILLUMINATION RESTORED ]
[ WARNING: 3 HOSTILE ENTITIES DETECTED IN UPPER VENTILATION ]
Kaelen slowly drew his black glass sword.
"Renna," he said softly. "Don't put the rifle down."
"Why?" she asked, blinking tears from her eyes against the light. "We won. The lights are on."
"That's the problem," Kaelen said, looking up at the dark grate above their heads. "Now we can see the roommates."