Rain fell in a rhythm that sounded almost deliberate — slow, heavy drops that hit the metal roof of the hab like the ticking of a dying clock.
Elias woke with the taste of smoke still caught in his throat.
He sat up too quickly. The blanket slid from his shoulders and pooled at his waist, thin and damp from the forge humidity. He was still wearing the same jacket from the night before, torn at the sleeve, the fabric stiff with ash. His hands smelled faintly of iron and blood, and when he flexed them, he could feel the ghost of heat under his skin.
He didn't dream much anymore, but when he did, it wasn't of this world.
This time it had been the city — not Graia-Theta, but the one he'd left behind in another life. Glass towers. Lights like static. The smell of asphalt after rain. A woman's voice — low, teasing, familiar. He couldn't remember her face, but he could remember the sound she made when she laughed.
Then the sound would twist — the hum of traffic shifting into the howl of engines, her voice stretching into screams, the skyline bending, melting, burning.
He opened his eyes. The forge-world was still here, and he was still in it.
The small room was half-dark, lit by a single lumen coil sputtering on the desk. Tools and spare power cells lay scattered across it — things he'd meant to fix and hadn't. Someone had left a tin cup of cold broth and a note.
The handwriting was Selene's.
He read it twice, and for a second, the corner of his mouth lifted. Then it was gone. He wasn't sure if it had been a smile or just a reflex.
He took the cup, drank, and immediately regretted it. The broth tasted like metal and exhaustion. But he finished it anyway. He'd learned long ago that comfort was a luxury for people.
A pulse flickered behind his eyes — subtle, cold. He froze.
The System's interface unfolded silently in his vision, a thin lattice of orange text overlaid against the real world. It was always so calm, so certain, even when he wasn't.
> Mission Generated
> Objective: Eliminate Remaining Rustborn Network
> Target Location: Hive-Core Delta-Nine
> Completion Imperative: 100%
> Reward Tier: A+
The words burned themselves into his mind and vanished.
Elias sat still for a long time, hands folded, listening to the faint rain.
The System was the only thing that truly spoke to him in this universe — and that made it the most dangerous thing of all. Because sometimes… it didn't feel like an ally. It felt like a leash.
He'd wondered, in the quiet hours, if he was even still himself — or just a hollow running through someone else's design.
But that thought was too big, too heavy. And the war wasn't over yet.
He stood, pulling on his coat, the motions mechanical. The orange glow of the forge outside his window pulsed with the rhythm of breathing — the entire world exhaling smoke. He could almost hear the gears turning, the machinery of survival grinding on without him.
The fire inside him stirred. He pressed it down. It stayed. Barely.
The door hissed open.
Selene stood there — pale from lack of sleep, armor half-buckled, a faint rim of frost clinging to her greaves. The cold came with her like a shadow that didn't ask permission.
"You didn't sleep," she said quietly.
Elias didn't look at her. "Neither did you."
She stepped closer, her boots leaving faint prints of frost on the floor. "The Rustborn stopped moving after midnight. Kairon says it's unnatural. He thinks they're waiting."
Elias nodded, slow. "They're not waiting. They're rebuilding. What's left of them will burrow into the core. That's where this ends."
Selene hesitated. "You sound certain."
"I am." He forced the next words out carefully, each one controlled. "We end it today."
She watched him for a moment longer — searching for something in his face and not finding it. "You should eat more than broth," she said finally. "You look like you're made of smoke."
He gave her a small, tired smile. "Maybe I am."
"Don't say that."
Her voice was low but sharp enough to cut through the room. "You're not smoke, Elias. Not to them. Not to me."
She looked like she wanted to say more but didn't. Instead, she reached out and adjusted the collar of his coat — a small, human gesture. Then she turned toward the door.
"When the others are ready," she said, "we'll be waiting in the assembly hall."
The door closed behind her with a soft hiss.
The silence that followed wasn't peaceful. It was heavy — like the world itself had paused to listen.
Elias looked down at his hands again. They were shaking.
He clenched them into fists until they stopped.
The voice inside him — the part that wasn't the System, the part that was still him — whispered something he wasn't sure he'd ever said aloud before.
You don't have to be fire. You can stop.
He almost believed it. But then he thought of the Hive, of the faces fused into metal, of the workers who would die if he didn't finish this. And belief turned back into duty.
The System's words replayed, faint as a heartbeat:
Eliminate remaining Rustborn network.
He breathed once, deep and steady, and let the weight settle.
"All right," he said to no one. "Let's finish it."
He stepped out into the corridor.The rain had stopped.The world waited.
[END OF PART 1: The Morning After]