The courtyard still smoked from battle. Sparks hissed in the broken fountain, shadows curling back into silence. Mateo stood at the center, chest rising heavily, the ancient device in his hand glowing faintly like a heart that refused to die.
Then he heard it — boots crunching on rubble. Not hybrid claws. Not the whisper of winged abominations. Human.
A wiry figure emerged between broken arches, sharp against the flickering glow of neon prayer-graffiti.
"Oi," the voice called, dry and suspicious. "That racket was loud enough to wake every scavenger in the district. You trying to get yourself killed, or just showing off?"
The speaker stepped into view: a young man in scavenger leathers patched with scraps of armor and dangling wires. A cybernetic lens gleamed where his left eye should be, and a battered satchel rattled with metal parts at his side. His hand rested on the strap as though ready to swing it like a weapon.
Mateo straightened. "I wasn't showing off," he said calmly, the calm of someone who had already walked through fire. "I was surviving."
The youth snorted. "Same thing, in this city."
They regarded each other in wary silence. Mateo, weary but steady. The stranger, curious but distrustful, his gaze fixed on the faint glow of the device in Mateo's grip.
Finally the scavenger tilted his head. "That thing you're holding. I've seen men die just trying to switch one on. You're either blessed or stupid."
"Perhaps both," Mateo replied, faintly smiling.
The youth rummaged in his satchel and laid out a handful of objects on the fountain's edge: fractured circuits, glassy shards, scorched coils of wire. From the heap he held up a crystal lens veined with blue light.
"Two batteries, one half-dead chip, maybe worth a meal if I bluff it right… and whatever this thing is."
Mateo's gaze softened. "You've found more than scrap."
The scavenger's eyes narrowed. "You talk like you actually know what this junk is."
"I do." Mateo nodded toward the lens. "That is no power cell. It's an Analyzer — forged by the Choir of Engineers when myth and machine first touched. Through it, one sees the truth of an object: divine resonance, corrupted energy, or simple technology."
The youth gave a short, mocking laugh. "Sure. And this rusty wire must be the key to heaven's gate."
"Mock if you must," Mateo said evenly. "But hold it to your eye. Look at the fountain."
With a grunt of disbelief, the scavenger obeyed. At first, nothing. Then the world shifted: broken stone lit with unseen fire, energy lines pulsing beneath the surface, corruption clinging at the edges like mold. He tore the lens away, breath caught.
"What—what was that?"
"The truth," Mateo answered. "Most scavengers trade such relics for food, never knowing what they held. Knowledge is worth more than coin."
The youth stared, wary now, suspicion warring with wonder. He pulled another piece from his satchel: a shard of alloy humming faintly.
"Fragments of the Singing Circuit," Mateo murmured. His voice carried reverence, as if speaking of a hymn half-remembered. "Once these lived in the temples. They amplified prayer into light strong enough to ward off both blade and code. Even broken, they still hum. Press it to your chest, and you will feel its song."
The scavenger hesitated, then did as told. A low, mournful vibration filled his bones. For a heartbeat, his sarcasm faltered, replaced by awe.
"…It's real," he whispered.
"Faith leaves echoes no ruin can silence," Mateo said softly.
From his own pack, Mateo placed another relic on the fountain edge — a compact device etched with glowing silver glyphs.
"The Beacon of Starlight," he explained. "My family kept it safe for generations. It steadies portals when time begins to tear. Without it, travelers are shredded by the Rupture."
The youth crouched, his cybernetic lens whirring as it scanned the device. "Looks like a busted stabilizer core. You're telling me it's magic?"
"It is both," Mateo corrected. "Science shaped its frame. Prayer gave it purpose. Without both, it is nothing."
The scavenger dug again and pulled out a black crystal sphere, pulsing with oily light.
Mateo's expression darkened. "Put that down."
"What? This? Just a relic core. Found it in a dead guardian. Powers my lamp fine."
"That is a Corrupted Relic Core," Mateo said, his tone sharp. "It feeds on lifeforce. Each use hollows you out until nothing remains."
The youth's confidence faltered. For the first time, fear crossed his face. He shoved the sphere back into the satchel. "You talk like some old prophet."
"Or," Mateo replied quietly, "like someone who remembers what others have forgotten."
They walked together through the ruined market. Broken drones lay tangled in vines. Mateo gestured toward them. "Once, they circled temples, singing psalms while their wings carried both hymn and flame."
"Now they're just scrap."
"Even scrap remembers," Mateo said. "Touch their cores and you'll hear a whisper of their last song. But sorrow lingers longer than praise."
The scavenger gave him a sidelong glance. "You've got a story for every piece of trash, don't you?"
"Every fragment carries history," Mateo answered. "You only need eyes to see it."
A gust swept the street, stirring ash and scattering loose paper. Neon graffiti flared against the walls, shifting like living scripture.
"You can read that mess?" the youth asked.
"They are fragments of the Covenant Code," Mateo murmured. "Encoded prayers. They once raised barriers to guard whole districts. Now they flicker, uncontrolled. But even fading light can guide the way."
The scavenger shook his head, half mocking, half impressed. "You talk like the city's still alive."
"It is," Mateo said firmly. "Every ruin breathes. Every broken thing remembers."
Night deepened. They stopped beneath the fractured shadow of a chapel, its cross still glowing faintly with trembling current. Inside, pews lay scattered, but candles burned in stubborn rows. Mateo knelt, tracing faint circuits carved into the stone.
"The ancients built with faith and wire alike. This line carried hymns to the altar, amplifying prayer across the district."
"And now?"
"Now it carries only silence." Mateo placed the Singing Circuit shard upon it. The air vibrated faintly, the chapel walls flickered with brief light, and a ghostly song rippled through the silence.
The scavenger's eyes widened. "You just—"
"I only reminded it what it was," Mateo said.
For a moment, the ruin seemed less like rubble, more like a place waiting to wake.
The youth leaned back, studying him. "So what are you, really? A priest? A scientist? Some relic-hunter with a silver tongue?"
Mateo met his gaze. "I am a witness. Knowledge is the only map through ruin."
"A map won't stop claws," the scavenger muttered.
"No. But wisdom keeps you from walking into their jaws."
A howl rose from the distance. The city stirred, restless and hungry. Shadows moved on the walls.
The youth slung his satchel, muttering curses. "Great. More of them. You've got answers, old man, but can you keep up?"
Mateo retrieved the Beacon of Starlight and slipped it back into his pack. His eyes were steady. "I have walked longer roads than these."
The scavenger studied him for a beat, then sighed. "Fine. Stick close. Name's Jun."
"Mateo."
No handshake, no oath. Yet as they moved side by side into the broken streets, something unspoken bound them — a recognition that knowledge and survival would have to walk hand in hand.
And in the silence of the ruins, the relics they carried glimmered faintly, as though the city itself had acknowledged a new alliance.