Derek followed Erasmus through the dim corridor, NOVA’s heavy steps thudding against the uneven stone. The ceiling pressed close enough that he had to duck, or risk taking out one of the support pillars keeping the whole place from caving in.

  Patches of faintly glowing crystals dotted the walls, casting a milky shimmer that barely lit the path ahead. That was enough for Erasmus to stumble forward without face-planting. Derek didn’t need it. His IR feed painted the world in bright outlines and shifting heat signatures.

  Behind them, Chuck lumbered along, slow and noisy, his stone feet scraping the floor. Every few dozen meters, they had to stop and let him catch up. The Repair Bots hovered at his sides, their blue optics flickering as they kept formation like an armed escort. Derek had ordered them to babysit the golem. He was durable as hell, but unpredictable. If Chuck decided to wander off, the Bots would drag him back by force.

  “Derek,” Vanda said through the external speakers, her tone smooth and measured. “The tunnel’s getting tighter. I don’t know how much further you’ll fit with the suit.”

  “The farther I push NOVA in, the stronger the comm link gets. Less magical interference. I’ll stop and leave the armor behind once the only option left is carving a path with plasma.”

  Erasmus kept a brisk pace ahead, his boots clicking sharply on the stone. For someone who’d been trembling like a leaf an hour ago, he moved with a kind of quiet determination now. Derek had to admit, the scholar had found his footing faster than most soldiers would have.

  The yellow crystal on Erasmus’s staff swayed with every step, throwing fractured light across the tunnel walls. Shadows slipped and twisted with the motion, as if reluctant to let the light pass. The man might have looked out of place with his spotless boots and pouch-covered belt, but right now, he was the one leading.

  “How deep are we?” Derek asked.

  “Erasmus’s maps only cover the upper levels,” Vanda replied through the comms, her tone calm. “Our scanners can’t read much farther down. I suspect you’ll be the one telling me once you return.”

  “Yeah.” Derek’s voice came out flat, dry as iron. “Because this is obviously a round trip.”

  Erasmus exhaled through his nose, a faint sound lost under their footsteps. “Centuries of history have piled up beneath the Citadel. Many of the tunnels we’re about to enter have been sealed off for generations.”

  Derek smirked inside the helmet. “Sealed off to everyone except the Cashnar, right?”

  The man’s pace faltered. His grip tightened on the staff, the yellow crystal trembling as if it shared his unease. “Yes,” he said quietly. “Except the Cashnar.”

  He stopped and turned, lifting the glowing staff toward Derek. The light washed over the metal of NOVA’s chestplate, bright enough to catch in the camera lenses. “You still haven’t said why you’re in such a hurry,” he said. “Those ruins have waited for millennia. Surely they could have waited a few more days.”

  “You’re right.” Derek gave a slight nod, the servos humming with the motion. “The ruins aren’t the problem. I am. If I don’t do this now, I might not get another shot.”

  “You… must leave on some urgent journey, perhaps?” Erasmus’s voice carried a flicker of hope.

  For some reason, the man sounded almost eager to see him gone. Derek’s presence must have been pure chaos to a mind built entirely on order and routine.

  No need to crush that rare good mood by explaining his real reason for hurrying. “Something like that, yeah.”

  Erasmus nodded and pushed ahead, quickening his pace into the narrow, shadow-choked passage.

  Water dripped steadily from the ceiling, pinging off NOVA’s armor in metallic rhythm. The air felt thick enough to chew. With all this damp, Derek wouldn’t have been surprised if the floor started growing its own stalactites.

  “At least it’s not sweltering down here,” he said.

  “Current temperature: twenty-eight degrees Celsius,” Vanda reported. “It should drop only a few degrees deeper down.”

  “Good enough,” Derek said. Better than roasting topside, anyway. “Humidity?”

  “One hundred percent. Fog and condensation are forming along the cooler sections of the walls.”

  Erasmus grimaced and wiped his forehead, looking about as miserable as a man could while still pretending he was fine.

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  “Well,” Derek said, “at least we won’t have trouble finding water. Life signs?”

  “Mostly insects and arachnids,” Vanda reported. “Some bats and a few amphibians.”

  Erasmus shot Derek a sharp look. “I hope you’re not about to say food won’t be an issue. I refuse to eat those filthy creatures.”

  Derek smirked. “Relax. Food’s covered.” He tapped NOVA’s front storage hatch. “Lab-synthesized rations. Ithara helped and said she infused them with Life magic, whatever the hell that means. Maximum nutrition, minimal weight, bonus healing properties.”

  Erasmus said nothing.

  Yeah, this guy was going to be a pain from start to finish. No doubt about it. At least Vanda wouldn’t drive him insane.

  “Derek,” Vanda said softly, “why are you so sure you’ll find what you’re looking for down here? There could be nothing but rubble and useless debris.”

  Of course she had to ask. Derek exhaled through his nose, the sound faint in the helmet. “I’m not sure of anything. I’m just playing the only card I’ve got left, the only way it can be played.”

  “That sounds less like a plan and more like a desperate gamble,” Vanda replied.

  “Could be,” he said. “But in case you haven’t noticed, most of my plans fit that description.”

  Erasmus cleared his throat. “There are… some indications that at least partially support the possibility of finding what you seek.”

  Derek’s gaze sharpened. “And you’re telling me this now? Why wait?”

  The archivist shook his head. “I didn’t want to encourage this absurd expedition any further.”

  “Well, congrats,” Derek said dryly. “You just did. Spill.”

  Erasmus rolled his eyes. “I found references to rituals the ancients performed to interact with the spheres.”

  Derek raised a brow. “Rituals?” That didn’t sound like anything Wardilai tech would use.

  “Yes. A sequence of gestures and symbols which, according to the texts I uncovered, could control the spheres.” He shook his head. “I have no idea how they worked. There are also countless indecipherable fragments about the true nature of the spheres themselves and—”

  “Bingo.” Derek grinned. “What did I tell you, Vanda? We’re hunting for a control room for these damn spheres. No wonder the Wardilai buried it underground. If I lived on a planet getting pelted with magic balls from the sky, I’d hide it down here too.”

  “Hmm…” Vanda murmured. “First time I’ve seen you take ancient religious texts seriously.”

  Derek shrugged. “First time they’ve written something useful.”

  Erasmus cleared his throat. “There is one more thing.”

  Derek’s gaze narrowed. “Go on.”

  “I kept digging into the legend of the Cashnar and its origins as you requested. I think I’ve found the earliest records describing his appearance and his supposed miracles.”

  Something in Derek’s chest tightened. “And?”

  “It seems the oldest reference to the Cashnar was first proclaimed through one of those… what did you call them?”

  His stomach dropped. “Terminals,” he said quietly. “I called them terminals.”

  The archivist nodded. “The story goes that one day a voice announced the coming of the Cashnar from this and every other sanctuary, or terminal, on Elyndra. It instructed the people to build statues and images to honor his future arrival.”

  A voice. And how the hell would it know that thousands of years later he’d build NOVA and end up here, of all places? “Do we know anything about where that voice came from?”

  Erasmus shook his head. “No, unfortunately. All we know is that it was a woman’s voice. Or so the inscriptions say.”

  Perfect. That narrowed it down to about half the ancient population.

  Erasmus stopped and lowered the tip of his staff, the yellow crystal spilling light across the floor.

  Chuck and the Repair Bots halted beside them. Shade landed softly, while Sunny hovered above, ion thrusters buzzing like an oversized insect.

  A dark, smooth slab about half a meter across lay set into the ground, etched with strange, curling symbols. “Here we are,” Erasmus said. “The way down starts here. We just need to move this stone.”

  “Scan it, Vanda.”

  “Running analysis.”

  Derek narrowed his eyes. Those markings… he’d seen them before. But where?

  “Done,” Vanda said. “Composition matches Wardilai alloy traces found in the pyramid ruins and the walls of Rothmere.”

  Derek nodded. “And the engravings?”

  “I can answer that,” Erasmus said. “They’re the same symbols carved on the repulsion stones around the city.”

  Derek frowned. “Repulsion stones?”

  “They keep jungle creatures away,” Vanda explained. “Whoever placed this wanted to make sure nothing wandered too close.”

  “Each level is sealed with a blessed stone like this,” Erasmus said. “To keep evil from reaching the sanctuary.” He tapped the surface lightly with his staff. “There’s a ritual to remove it.”

  “Ritual, huh?” Derek crouched and gripped the slab’s edges. NOVA’s servos hummed as he lifted it like it weighed nothing.

  Erasmus’s eyes widened. “No! That is highly irregular! That’s a sacred stone placed by— cough, cough—”

  A wave of dust exploded outward as Derek hurled the slab aside, swallowing Erasmus in a choking cloud.

  “End of ritual,” Derek said.

  Beyond the opening, a steep stone staircase dropped almost straight down into darkness. The bottom wasn’t visible.

  “The flooring is unstable,” Vanda warned. “If we widen the opening for NOVA, there’s a risk of collapse.”

  Derek sighed. “NOVA stays here. Erasmus and I will take the stairs. The Bots can fly and light the way.”

  “And the golem?” Erasmus asked.

  Derek turned to the squat rock-and-earth creature. “Don’t see the issue.”

  He stepped closer and wrapped NOVA’s arms around Chuck’s bulky frame. The golem didn’t resist, just stood there, calm and heavy as ever. Ithara had told it to follow his orders, and for now it seemed willing enough.

  NOVA’s joints creaked as he lifted the thing. Warning lights flickered across his HUD, flashing actuator strain. One careful step at a time, Derek carried the golem toward the open pit.

  Chuck’s small hollow eyes stared up at him, blank and trusting, while its stubby legs dangled over the void.

  “What are you doing?” Vanda and Erasmus said at once.

  Weird question. Wasn’t it obvious? Derek let go.

  “Vanda, count the seconds until impact and calculate depth,” he said.

  “You dropped him just for that?” Vanda’s voice spiked in disbelief. “We could have used a rock!”

  Derek shrugged. “I did use a rock.”

  A deep boom echoed from below, rolling through the tunnel like a distant explosion.

  Erasmus leaned over the edge, eyes wide.

  “If a simple fall was enough to break him,” Derek said, “then he was useless anyway. And those stairs were way too steep for those stubby legs.”

  He popped NOVA’s cockpit and climbed out, landing lightly on the stone floor. “Carrying him down without the suit wasn’t happening.”

  He stepped forward and opened a front panel on the now-motionless armor, pulling out the tools he and Ithara had built together: the invisible map, the magic pistol, the food rations, and the grenade now officially named Frog, which he tucked carefully into its own pocket.

  “Well?”

  “Well what?” Vanda asked.

  “Depth?”

  “Oh… right. Yes. You just dropped poor Chuck seventy-eight meters. Happy now?”

  Derek leaned over the edge. The bottom was swallowed by darkness; that seventy-eight could’ve been a thousand for all he knew. “Hey, Chuck! You good down there?”

  Silence.

  “See? He’s fine,” Derek said.

  “But… he didn’t answer!” Vanda said.

  “Exactly. Business as usual.” He smirked. “Chuck never answers.” He turned to the Bots. “Shade, Sunny, go find our walking paperweight.”

  The two Bots switched on their mission lights and darted one after the other into the dark shaft.

  Derek glanced at Erasmus. “You ready?”

  The archivist looked pale, his face drawn tight.

  “What’s the fear?” Derek asked. “Heights? Darkness? Stairs?”

  Erasmus swallowed hard. “I have no issue with stairs.”

  “Got it.” Derek sighed. “So, heights and darkness. Well, good news: by the end of this trip, you might just get over both.”

  Erasmus nodded, strapped the staff to his back, and started down with hesitant steps.

  Derek watched until the archivist disappeared into the black. A damp, mossy smell rose from below, the scent of age, rot, and silence. No one had walked those stairs in centuries.

  He took a long breath and followed, one step at a time, into the abyss.