The air in the lower sanctum trembled with the aftershocks of energy as corporate wardens formed ranks, their red visors gleaming in the obsidian half-light. Aris gripped the Astral Prism's containment lattice, heart pounding. Before steel could meet alloy rod, a distant hum arose—sonic ripples cascading through the crystalline veins embedded in the chamber walls.
Eira's staff flared with lunar mana. "They won't break us," she whispered, stepping forward to weave a ward of spectral shields. But as her spell took shape, the stones beneath them fractured like shattered glass—and from those cracks emerged pale apparitions: the long-forgotten engineers and mystics who had first forged the Spire centuries ago. Their hollow eyes were fixed on Aris.
Nyx's console chimed urgently. "Memory cache unlocked! There's a legacy subroutine here—recordings of Project Helix, of the Prism's creation." Hacking past corporate locks, she projected holo-reels across the black walls. The ghosts recoiled, recoiling into vision: an original Prism ritual gone wrong, brilliant architects consumed by their own ambition, and a young Aris—eyes bright—listening to his mentor's final admonition.
Rho and Kael held the line against advancing wardens as time blurred around those flickering images. Aris felt the weight of every ancestor's regret and hope pressing on his shoulders. In the haze, he recognized one lost friend: Mara's sister, Silen, rumored dead in a corporate sweep. The ghost reached out, her lips moving soundlessly. Mara's breath hitched.
Eira's barrier crackled, holding the wardens at bay, but it was Aris who spoke: "We carry their burden and their dream. Not to control the Prism—but to free it." With that vow, he channeled Spiral energy into the lattice. The containment bars dissolved in crystalline rings of light, scattering the ghosts into gentle motes of silver. The wardens faltered, disarmed by the sudden radiance.
Mara seized the moment, charging forward to deflect the first volley of stun batons. Nyx overrode the final security grid, swinging the chamber's defensive turrets onto the corporate ranks. Eira unleashed a torrent of lunar lightning. In the swirling storm of past and present, the Neon Umbra claimed their inheritance: not simply an artifact, but the living memory of every soul who'd dared to dream beyond the Spire's walls. As the last warden fell, silence returned—haunted now only by the promise of what they would do next.