Giolio crossed his arms, his expression skeptical. "So let me get this straight. Someone’s out there trying to undo a seal that’s keeping gods from running rampant, and nobody knows why? Even with everything on the line?"

  Vargas shook his head. "I don’t know. I don’t even have a theory yet. But I know that undoing the seal isn’t going to lead to anything good. The gods aren’t interested in balance or justice—they’re entities of pure power, and their return would be catastrophic."

  Giolio leaned back against the wall, his eyes narrowing. "I mean, from what I’ve heard, they weren’t exactly benevolent when they were still around.”

  "Exactly," Vargas said, his tone dark. "The gods never cared about us. They fought their wars, made their rules, and used mortals as pawns in their games. If someone’s trying to undo the seal, they’re either desperate, insane, or being manipulated by something far worse."

  Giolio rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "And you think this pylon holds the key to figuring it all out?"

  Vargas nodded. "It’s the only lead we’ve got. The null pylon is ancient—older than most of the technology we use today. If someone is tampering with it, there’s a reason. And I intend to find out what that reason is."

  Giolio raised an eyebrow. "Alright, but how exactly are you planning to get to the frozen wastelands without any magic? Last I checked, that field shuts down anything Aera-related, and we’re not exactly traveling light."

  Vargas allowed himself a small smirk. "I’ve got my ways. Let’s just say I’ve prepared for this kind of situation.”

  “Huh…”, Giolio questioned. “Anyway, now that we figured what these mysterious enemies are aiming for, am I finally free to go?”

  For a moment, Vargas said nothing. Then, unexpectedly, he let out a hearty laugh that echoed through the docking bay.

  Giolio blinked, taken aback. He forced a chuckle, trying to match Vargas’s mood, though it was clear he didn’t understand what was so funny.

  The laughter continued, unsettlingly jovial. Then, with a sudden, fluid motion, Vargas clamped a pair of handcuffs onto Giolio’s wrists.

  “What the—?!” Giolio yelped, his nerves snapping to attention as the cuffs clicked into place.

  Vargas’s smile turned sharp, his tone shifting to one of firm authority. “You’re still a murderer, Giolio. I can’t just let you waltz off into the sunset like nothing happened. You need to stand trial for your crimes.”

  Giolio’s eyes darted around the docking bay, his expression a mix of frustration and disbelief. “Trial? Are you kidding me? After everything I’ve done to help you, this is how you repay me?”

  “You did help,” Vargas admitted, his tone calm but resolute. “And maybe the court will take that into account. But you don’t get a free pass just because you’ve been useful. Actions have consequences, and yours have left a trail of bodies.”

  Giolio groaned, his shoulders sagging as he resigned himself to the situation. “This is why I hate working with investigators. No sense of gratitude.”

  Vargas smirked. “Gratitude doesn’t mean overlooking justice. Now, let’s go. Back to the apartment.”

  Giolio sighed dramatically as Vargas guided him out of the docking bay. “You know, for a guy chasing gods and demons, you sure like sticking to the rules. It’s kind of annoying.”

  “Good,” Vargas said dryly. “Keeps people like you on their toes.”

  Vargas led Giolio to his apartment, ordering him to sit still and not cause any trouble.

  Vargas stepped into the docking bay, the faint hum of machinery and the occasional spark of a welding torch echoing through the massive chamber. Vesik was bent over a console, tinkering with a drone that hovered unsteadily before him.

  "You're going to fry its circuits if you keep pushing it like that," Vargas said casually, stepping closer.

  Vesik straightened and glanced back, a wry grin spreading across his face. "And you're going to fry yourself if you keep barging into places like this unannounced."

  The two shared a brief laugh before Vesik set the drone aside. "What brings you here, boss? Got another ship for me to patch up, or is this about that mystery investigation of yours?"

  Vargas leaned against a nearby workbench, arms crossed. "Both, in a way. I need the Terminus Armor."

  Vesik froze for a moment, his smile fading. He turned slowly to face Vargas, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern. "The Terminus? You’re serious?"

  "Dead serious," Vargas replied.

  Vesik scratched the back of his head. "Alright, but... why? That thing’s not exactly subtle. It’s meant for hazardous environments, not sneaking around or cracking cases. You planning to wander into a volcano or something?"

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  "Close," Vargas said, his tone dry. "I’m heading out into the wastelands beyond the dome. The null pylon is out there, and I need to see it for myself."

  Vesik’s brow furrowed as he processed Vargas’s words. "The wastelands? That’s a death sentence without the right gear, and even with it... well, you’re either very brave or very stupid. But I’m guessing you’ve got your reasons."

  "I always do," Vargas said with a faint smirk.

  Vesik let out a resigned sigh and gestured for Vargas to follow him. They made their way to the ship’s armory, a heavily secured room filled with various tools, weapons, and gear. Vesik entered a code into the console, and the reinforced doors slid open with a hiss.

  Inside, standing like a silent sentinel, was the Terminus Armor.

  The armor was massive, easily towering over a fully armored Praetorian. Its sleek, dark plating gleamed under the dim lighting, and its reinforced joints gave it a mechanical, almost intimidating appearance. The most striking feature was the pod embedded in its midsection—a cockpit designed for a single human operator. It was clear the Terminus was built for functionality over aesthetics, with light weapon mounts and various attachments for environmental traversal.

  Vesik whistled softly as he approached the armor. "She’s a beauty, isn’t she? Built for the harshest conditions—acid rain, extreme cold, radiation. You name it, this thing can handle it. But you know it’s not a combat rig, right?"

  "I’m not looking for a fight," Vargas said. "Just need to survive long enough to get what I’m after."

  Vesik nodded and began preparing the armor for deployment. "Alright, I’ll get her calibrated. It’ll take a bit to make sure everything’s in working order, but she’ll be ready by the time you leave."

  As Vesik worked, he glanced back at Vargas. "You sure about this? Whatever’s out there, it’s not going to make things easy for you."

  Vargas met his gaze, his expression resolute. "Nothing worth doing ever is."

  Vesik chuckled, though it lacked his usual humor. "Fair enough. Just... don’t get yourself killed, alright? The Terminus might keep you alive, but it can’t protect you from everything."

  "I’ll manage," Vargas said.

  As Vesik completed the final adjustments on the Terminus Armor, he carefully attached a solar lamp to its shoulder mount. The lamp’s design was compact yet powerful, capable of cutting through the pitch-black void of the frozen wastelands.

  "Triton’s too far from its star for natural light," Vesik explained as he worked. "The domes here are under artificial sunlight, but once you’re out there, it’s pure darkness. This lamp will help, but don’t rely on it too much. Things tend to move differently in the dark."

  He paused and looked at Vargas seriously. "And one more thing—don’t, under any circumstances, leave the Terminus. The cold out there isn’t just freezing; it’s instant death. You’ll go hypothermic in seconds."

  "I get it," Vargas replied, his tone firm.

  "Good." Vesik stepped back and gave the armor a once-over, his practiced eye scanning for any flaws. Satisfied, he tapped the chest plating with a wrench. "She’s ready. Do me a favor and come back in one piece, alright?"

  Vargas gave a small nod and approached the Terminus. The pod in the center of the armor opened with a mechanical hiss, revealing a snug, sterilized interior. Vargas climbed inside, feeling the temperature instantly adjust to match his body heat as the pod sealed shut around him.

  The hum of the armor’s systems came to life, filling the cockpit with a low, steady vibration. A series of displays illuminated before him, showing his vital signs, the external temperature, and various other readings. The sterile, metallic scent of the interior filled his nostrils as the armor performed an automatic scan of his body.

  "Sterilization complete," the onboard AI announced in a monotone voice. "Internal environment stabilized. Initiating neural interface."

  Vargas placed the headpiece over his scalp, feeling a faint tingle as it synced with his neural patterns. Almost immediately, he felt the armor respond to his thoughts. He flexed his leg experimentally, and the Terminus’s massive leg moved forward. He raised his arm, and the armor’s powerful limb mirrored the motion with precision.

  "Everything feels... intuitive," Vargas muttered, impressed.

  "It’s designed to be an extension of you," Vesik called out. "But don’t forget—this thing’s not invincible. Keep it in one piece out there."

  Satisfied with the controls, Vargas activated the rocket pack on the armor’s back. With a low roar, the thrusters ignited, lifting the heavy frame effortlessly off the ground. He hovered for a moment, adjusting to the sensation, then turned toward the massive main gates that marked the city’s edge.

  The gate loomed ahead, a reinforced barrier designed to keep the deadly cold at bay. As Vargas approached, the guards stationed there stepped aside, their faces a mix of awe and concern as they stared at the imposing Terminus.

  He slowed the Terminus and activated its external holographic interface. A bright projection flickered to life in front of the armor, displaying his official Investigator ID. The hologram rotated slowly, showing his credentials, clearance level, and a brief identification summary.

  The guards standing at the controls exchanged uneasy glances. One of them nodded, stepping forward cautiously.

  "Investigator Vargas," the guard said, his voice slightly muffled by his helmet. "Your credentials check out. Are you sure about this? The wastelands aren’t forgiving."

  "I’m aware," Vargas replied, his voice amplified and distorted through the armor’s external speakers. "I have authorization from Minister Valtros to investigate the null pylon. Now, open the gate fully."

  The guard hesitated but finally signaled to his partner. "Understood. Opening the gate now."

  The gate’s mechanisms groaned to life, the massive steel doors slowly sliding open to reveal the vast, icy expanse beyond. The frigid wind howled louder, carrying with it a biting chill that even the guards, within their insulated suits, seemed to feel.

  Vargas stepped forward, the Terminus’s heavy feet crunching against the frost-covered ground. The solar lamp atop his shoulder illuminated the path ahead, cutting through the pitch-black void of the frozen wasteland.

  "Gate will seal automatically behind you," the guard called out as Vargas crossed the threshold. "Be safe out there, Investigator."

  Without responding, Vargas raised a hand briefly in acknowledgment before continuing forward. The gate rumbled closed behind him, locking him out of the dome’s protective warmth and into the desolate cold.

  The temperature readings on the Terminus’s internal display plummeted instantly, registering the hostile environment outside. Vargas’s vitals remained steady, the armor’s systems ensuring he stayed warm and functional.

  He adjusted the controls, fine-tuning the armor’s movement as he ventured further into the frozen wasteland, the beam of his solar lamp piercing through the darkness. The distant outline of jagged ice formations loomed ahead, marking the start of his long and dangerous journey to the null pylon.