The air felt heavier in the basin.
Talon knelt on the ridge's edge, his hand brushing fresh bootprints baked into the red dirt. They were wide-set, deep. Heavy gear. At least six. Scavengers. Maybe more.
Below, half-hidden beneath ash and steel, was the husk of an old transport truck. It had been gutted. Plating peeled back. One door blown open with plasma burns still smoking faintly in the sunlight.
"They're close," Talon muttered.
Mira crouched beside him, her face grim. "You think they're the ones who hit the relay tower last week?"
"Same signature. Same burn patterns." His gaze shifted toward the black cliffs behind the ruins. There, between two ridges, a cave mouth yawned like a wound in the stone. "That cave… something's off."
Mira followed his stare. "Off how?"
Talon couldn't explain it. The air around the cave felt… charged. Like static before a storm. Something pulled at the edge of his senses—not sound, not sight. Just presence.
He stood slowly. "Let's move. I want to see it up close."
They approached from the low ground, weaving through the wreckage of old industrial machines half-swallowed by sand and rust. The closer they came to the truck, the more Mira's steps slowed.
Blood.
It stained the rocks in long, deliberate trails. Drag marks. No bodies.
"No signs of a firefight," Mira whispered. "Just… execution."
Talon nodded. "Whoever did this didn't want loot. They wanted silence."
They checked the interior. Empty crates. Power cells torn out. One scorch mark on the ceiling where something exploded, but no fire damage around it.
Mira looked toward the cave again. "You think they came from there?"
"I think someone doesn't want us going in."
Before she could respond, Talon's ears twitched.
A sound—low, distant, and rising.
Voices. Shouting.
He turned just in time to see figures moving fast across the basin behind them. At least a dozen. Scavengers in patchwork armor, carrying pulse rifles and shock spears.
"They saw us," Talon said flatly. "Back."
They ran. Feet pounding over cracked stone, dodging metal debris and jagged rock. Mira ducked behind a boulder as plasma bolts screamed past her.
"We can't outrun them in the open!" she shouted.
Talon scanned the terrain. "There—narrow path, south ridge. Bottleneck."
They bolted, side by side. Talon led them to the entrance of a collapsed trench wall—a single narrow cut through the rock just wide enough to funnel the scavengers one at a time.
"Hold here," Talon ordered.
Mira didn't argue. She braced herself, jaw clenched tight.
The first attacker came charging around the bend, screaming. Talon met him with a swing of his rebar blade, striking the side of the man's knee. Bone shattered. The scavenger dropped, howling.
A second attacker followed close behind, swinging a plasma hammer. Talon ducked low, drove his elbow into the man's ribs, and pivoted, dragging him down. Mira came in fast from the side, her weapon catching the attacker across the back of the head.
Another. Then another.
The rhythm of battle overtook them.
Talon's movements began to blur. He could see the path of each strike before it landed. Hear the shift in weight before a lunge. Sense the hesitation before a trigger pull.
It wasn't instinct. It was something deeper.
It was control.
Three came at once. Talon flowed between them like smoke. Disarm. Break. Bleed. His vision sharpened to a pinpoint, time stretching. His breath synced with the rhythm of violence.
Mira held her own—quick, resourceful. She slipped under a blade, countered with a blow to the gut, then rolled to avoid a second strike. Talon saw the fear in her eyes, but it didn't control her. It focused her.
And then… it was over.
Six bodies lay broken in the dust. The others—cowards or tacticians—fled.
Talon stood still, chest rising and falling in perfect rhythm. His knuckles were bloodied. His shirt torn. But his hands didn't shake.
Mira leaned on her rebar, breath ragged. "You… you moved like a machine."
He didn't answer. The hum in his head was louder now.
He turned toward the cave.
They approached the opening carefully, weapons in hand. The cave mouth was narrow, jagged—framed by ancient metal supports bent inward like teeth. As they stepped inside, the temperature dropped.
And then Talon felt it.
Not fear. Not even danger.
Recognition.
Something deep in the cave pulsed. A faint, flickering glow of blue light. Mira gasped.
"You see that?"
Talon nodded slowly. The light throbbed once, then vanished. But the feeling remained.
Alive. Watching.
He stepped forward. The stone beneath his feet felt wrong—almost artificial. The walls bore faint grooves, not natural erosion but design. This place wasn't a cave.
It was a vault.
And whatever lived inside it was waking up.
They didn't venture farther. Not yet.
Night was falling, and the basin was too exposed. They made camp in a collapsed fuel rig just outside the cave's entrance. Mira wrapped her bruised forearm in salvaged bandages. Talon sat by the entryway, staring into the dark.
"Talon," Mira said after a long silence, "what's in there?"
He didn't look at her. "I don't know."
"But you feel it, don't you?"
He nodded.
"It feels… familiar," she whispered. "Like it's… calling you."
He finally turned to meet her gaze. "I don't know what I am anymore, Mira. But I don't think this is a mistake. We didn't just find this."
She stared into the cave. "Then what do we do?"
Talon stood, his silhouette framed against the stars above.
"When the sun rises… we go in."
That night, Talon didn't sleep.
He sat with his back to the stone, eyes fixed on the cave, and listened.
To the wind.
To the ash.
To the voice—silent, but constant—that pulsed beneath the mountain.
He didn't hear words. He felt presence.
And somehow, without ever seeing it clearly, Talon knew:
What slept beneath the rock was not just a machine.
Not just a weapon.
It was a promise.
And soon, that promise would wake
The air felt heavier in the basin.
Talon knelt on the ridge's edge, his hand brushing fresh bootprints baked into the red dirt. They were wide-set, deep. Heavy gear. At least six. Scavengers. Maybe more.
Below, half-hidden beneath ash and steel, was the husk of an old transport truck. It had been gutted. Plating peeled back. One door blown open with plasma burns still smoking faintly in the sunlight.
"They're close," Talon muttered.
Mira crouched beside him, her face grim. "You think they're the ones who hit the relay tower last week?"
"Same signature. Same burn patterns." His gaze shifted toward the black cliffs behind the ruins. There, between two ridges, a cave mouth yawned like a wound in the stone. "That cave… something's off."
Mira followed his stare. "Off how?"
Talon couldn't explain it. The air around the cave felt… charged. Like static before a storm. Something pulled at the edge of his senses—not sound, not sight. Just presence.
He stood slowly. "Let's move. I want to see it up close."
They approached from the low ground, weaving through the wreckage of old industrial machines half-swallowed by sand and rust. The closer they came to the truck, the more Mira's steps slowed.
Blood.
It stained the rocks in long, deliberate trails. Drag marks. No bodies.
"No signs of a firefight," Mira whispered. "Just… execution."
Talon nodded. "Whoever did this didn't want loot. They wanted silence."
They checked the interior. Empty crates. Power cells torn out. One scorch mark on the ceiling where something exploded, but no fire damage around it.
Mira looked toward the cave again. "You think they came from there?"
"I think someone doesn't want us going in."
Before she could respond, Talon's ears twitched.
A sound—low, distant, and rising.
Voices. Shouting.
He turned just in time to see figures moving fast across the basin behind them. At least a dozen. Scavengers in patchwork armor, carrying pulse rifles and shock spears.
"They saw us," Talon said flatly. "Back."
They ran. Feet pounding over cracked stone, dodging metal debris and jagged rock. Mira ducked behind a boulder as plasma bolts screamed past her.
"We can't outrun them in the open!" she shouted.
Talon scanned the terrain. "There—narrow path, south ridge. Bottleneck."
They bolted, side by side. Talon led them to the entrance of a collapsed trench wall—a single narrow cut through the rock just wide enough to funnel the scavengers one at a time.
"Hold here," Talon ordered.
Mira didn't argue. She braced herself, jaw clenched tight.
The first attacker came charging around the bend, screaming. Talon met him with a swing of his rebar blade, striking the side of the man's knee. Bone shattered. The scavenger dropped, howling.
A second attacker followed close behind, swinging a plasma hammer. Talon ducked low, drove his elbow into the man's ribs, and pivoted, dragging him down. Mira came in fast from the side, her weapon catching the attacker across the back of the head.
Another. Then another.
The rhythm of battle overtook them.
Talon's movements began to blur. He could see the path of each strike before it landed. Hear the shift in weight before a lunge. Sense the hesitation before a trigger pull.
It wasn't instinct. It was something deeper.
It was control.
Three came at once. Talon flowed between them like smoke. Disarm. Break. Bleed. His vision sharpened to a pinpoint, time stretching. His breath synced with the rhythm of violence.
Mira held her own—quick, resourceful. She slipped under a blade, countered with a blow to the gut, then rolled to avoid a second strike. Talon saw the fear in her eyes, but it didn't control her. It focused her.
And then… it was over.
Six bodies lay broken in the dust. The others—cowards or tacticians—fled.
Talon stood still, chest rising and falling in perfect rhythm. His knuckles were bloodied. His shirt torn. But his hands didn't shake.
Mira leaned on her rebar, breath ragged. "You… you moved like a machine."
He didn't answer. The hum in his head was louder now.
He turned toward the cave.
They approached the opening carefully, weapons in hand. The cave mouth was narrow, jagged—framed by ancient metal supports bent inward like teeth. As they stepped inside, the temperature dropped.
And then Talon felt it.
Not fear. Not even danger.
Recognition.
Something deep in the cave pulsed. A faint, flickering glow of blue light. Mira gasped.
"You see that?"
Talon nodded slowly. The light throbbed once, then vanished. But the feeling remained.
Alive. Watching.
He stepped forward. The stone beneath his feet felt wrong—almost artificial. The walls bore faint grooves, not natural erosion but design. This place wasn't a cave.
It was a vault.
And whatever lived inside it was waking up.
They didn't venture farther. Not yet.
Night was falling, and the basin was too exposed. They made camp in a collapsed fuel rig just outside the cave's entrance. Mira wrapped her bruised forearm in salvaged bandages. Talon sat by the entryway, staring into the dark.
"Talon," Mira said after a long silence, "what's in there?"
He didn't look at her. "I don't know."
"But you feel it, don't you?"
He nodded.
"It feels… familiar," she whispered. "Like it's… calling you."
He finally turned to meet her gaze. "I don't know what I am anymore, Mira. But I don't think this is a mistake. We didn't just find this."
She stared into the cave. "Then what do we do?"
Talon stood, his silhouette framed against the stars above.
"When the sun rises… we go in."
That night, Talon didn't sleep.
He sat with his back to the stone, eyes fixed on the cave, and listened.
To the wind.
To the ash.
To the voice—silent, but constant—that pulsed beneath the mountain.
He didn't hear words. He felt presence.
And somehow, without ever seeing it clearly, Talon knew:
What slept beneath the rock was not just a machine.
Not just a weapon.
It was a promise.
And soon, that promise would wake.