The temple ruins were quieter than usual. The storm overhead had passed, but the sky remained restless—heavy clouds rolling like distant drums above the tangled spires of Lumeria. Rainwater pooled between shattered stones, reflecting broken murals and flickering neon from faraway towers.
Qin Shui sat beneath the arch where he had first touched the orb. This time, he was not alone.
Mei Lan crouched beside a crumbling statue, carefully sketching glyph patterns into her runebook with an ink stylus that shimmered when she wrote. Her brows were furrowed in concentration, lips pursed like someone chasing the shape of a half-forgotten melody.
Jian stood nearby, his jacket damp from the mist, arms crossed as glowing circuitry pulsed softly under his skin. A stream of data swam across a hovering holographic display beside him—an ancient map reassembling itself, pulled from corrupted city archives the Institute would have erased.
Wei lingered by the entrance, barely visible in the gloom. His presence was muted but grounding—eyes scanning rooftops, alleys, the sky. He hadn't said much, but Qin Shui knew he was measuring everything.
The orb pulsed again—slower now, deeper. It had become more than a relic. It was a voice murmuring through emotion, echoing across thought. And tonight, it spoke like a warning.
"They're watching," Jian muttered. "I intercepted three surveillance blinks within the slums. Masked runes—Institute grade. That's not casual patrol. They're hunting."
Mei Lan looked up. "The glyph sequence has changed too. I translated new fragments last night—there's a convergence point below Sector Nine, but it's shielded by ancient wards. I think the orb's drawing us there."
Qin Shui rubbed the orb absently with his thumb. "Why me?"
"No one else heard it," Mei Lan replied gently. "It doesn't just need a wielder—it needs a resonance. You're part of its frequency."
Wei spoke then, low and final. "If we go there, the Watchers won't just be watching. They'll engage. And if the orb is as powerful as it seems… so will the Syndicates."
The silence that followed was like gravity—dense, unspoken, filling the cracks between their thoughts.
Qin Shui felt fear bloom, but beneath it… resolve.
"We go," he said.
Hours later, cloaked in alley shadows and encrypted stealth fields spun by Jian's portable tech, the group descended beneath Lumeria's shifting belly. Vines hung from steel beams like veins. Rusted glyphs glowed intermittently along the walls. Forgotten street murals flickered with residual enchantments—some reverent, some obscene, all layered in time.
The deeper they ventured, the more Qin Shui felt the orb stirring—not brighter, but heavier. Its glow changed with every step, adapting. Harmonizing.
"We're close," Mei Lan said. "I can feel the symbols resonating in my mind. This place used to be a chamber of convergence—where magical lines braided through the city, stitched together to regulate flow."
Jian tapped a panel on his arm and nodded. "There's a data stream beneath the floor—encrypted, buried, still active. Someone's kept this place alive. Or something."
Suddenly, Wei raised a hand.
They froze.
Footsteps—not loud, but deliberate. Echoing from a hallway lined with fractured glass.
From the shadows emerged a single figure.
A Watcher.
Armor dark as night, runes stitched like scars across the surface. No words, no challenge. Just a tilt of the head, a flicker of light across augmented eyes—and a growing hum of energy.
"It's a warning," Wei whispered. "If it attacks, it's not surveillance. It's deletion."
Qin Shui stepped forward, orb in hand. Its pulse mirrored his heartbeat. He could feel the threads of magic and machine dancing around the chamber, twisting into a spiral of tension.
But no spell. No burst of energy. Just… recognition.
The Watcher stared at the orb, then at Qin Shui.
And then, it stepped back. One pace. Two.
It vanished.
Jian blinked. "That's not protocol. That's ritual."
Mei Lan shivered. "It saw something. Or someone."
Qin Shui's grip tightened. "Whatever waits below—it's older than the Watchers."
They pressed onward.
Below, the convergence chamber began to stir.
The echoes of the past were no longer asleep.
They were waiting.