The maintenance tunnel smelled of ozone, stagnant water, and the sharp, metallic odor of desperate ingenuity.
Kaelen winced, the pain from his seven broken ribs a constant, burning reminder of the high-velocity decoupling. He leaned heavily against the cold, sweating pipe wall, watching the woman—Elara—who had just casually threatened to use him as a power source.
Her goggles, massive and perfectly circular, amplified her dark eyes, giving her the appearance of an owl that had traded the forest for the scrap yard. She was surrounded by a tangle of stripped wires, tiny brass gears, and half-melted Relic components—a portable workshop in the middle of a sewer line.
"An army," Kaelen rasped, shifting the Quantum Disc in his pouch. "I need an army, and you need the lights turned on. What kind of arrangement is that?"
Elara finally set down her soldering iron. The movement was economical, precise. She pulled the goggles up onto her soot-stained forehead.
"The Mechanist Corps controls the surface. The Guild controls the Aether flow. They think they are the city," Elara said, her voice dry and surprisingly educated. "I am part of the Undercity Guild. We control the infrastructure. The wires, the steam pressure, the old, forgotten logic gates. We don't have soldiers, Mechanist. We have leverage."
Kaelen eyed the circuit board she was manipulating. It was unlike anything he'd seen—a hybrid of old, pre-Collapse silicon circuitry woven seamlessly into a modern Aether-powered logic framework.
"You're connecting old tech to the main grid," Kaelen realized, his voice low with awe and suspicion. "That's madness. If the Guild detects the signature of dead silicon…"
"They will send the whole damn Corps," Elara finished for him, a thin, almost invisible smile touching her lips. "Which is why I need you. Your Quantum Disc—that relic is emitting a signal I've never seen. It's too clean. Too old. It's confusing the Guild's sensors. If I can piggyback my signal onto yours, I can re-route the Aether flow in this entire quadrant. I can create a blackout."
A blackout. The distraction.
Aura (Muted hum from the pouch): Agreement. Blackout is Optimal. It provides Environmental Chaos, which degrades the Chronophage's ability to pinpoint us. Minimal risk to the Disc, high-reward for infiltration.
Kaelen didn't argue with the algorithm this time. Aura's logic, however cold, was undeniable.
"If I help you create a blackout, where do you take me? I'm looking for the Keystone. The Pantheon's main server."
Elara's magnified eyes narrowed. "The Keystone? That's myth. An old Scrapper's tale. The Guild has been searching for that source code for decades. It's the ultimate power."
"It's real," Kaelen insisted. "It's the only way to stop the Chronophage."
Elara didn't laugh. She simply picked up a worn, leather-bound map that had been hidden beneath a pile of scrap metal. It wasn't a surface map. It was a dizzying, complex schematic of pipes, tunnels, and forgotten maintenance routes—the circulatory system of Ironheart.
"If the Keystone exists, it won't be on the surface. It will be secured in the deepest part of the city, hidden from the Digital Collapse that birthed our Age," she said, tapping a single point deep beneath the Mechanist Guild's Central Tower. "There is only one route that deep: the Forgotten Filtration Tunnels. I know how to get there. But they're sealed by a nine-lock mechanism, all requiring simultaneous Aetheric keying."
"Nine locks. Nine locks of the Pantheon," Kaelen recalled an ancient story.
"I only have keys for seven," Elara confessed. "Your Quantum Disc, Kaelen, might be key number eight. It pulses with the old logic. But we need one more."
Kaelen felt a surge of cold dread mixed with intellectual excitement—a sensation Aura's presence always provoked. He was a Scrapper, an artisan of dead machines, and this challenge—a nine-key, deep-vault lock—was the most beautiful, terrifying puzzle he'd ever faced.
One more key. Where?
Aura: The final key, Elara, is not a physical object. It is a signature. The Signature of the First Aetheric Surge. It is stored in the Aetheric Regulator beneath the old Ironheart Clock Tower. I can synthesize it, but I need external power and an uncorrupted relay.
Kaelen translated Aura's logic into human terms. "We need to go to the Ironheart Clock Tower. There's an old Aetheric Regulator there. If we access it, we can create the final key. Then we use the blackout to hit the Forgotten Tunnels."
Elara stared at Kaelen, analyzing the certainty in his eyes.
"You speak of myth like it's a shopping list," she murmured, a flicker of respect entering her gaze. She looked down at the circuit board. "Fine. Clock Tower first. I need thirty minutes to finalize this grid override. You need to recover. And you need to learn how to use that thing in your pocket without blowing up the atmosphere."
She reached into a pouch and tossed him a small, sealed vial containing a dense, opaque liquid.
"Aetheric concentrate and pain neutralizer. Drink it. Then, sit tight. The Mechanist Corps will be here any minute, and they'll be bringing heavy fire this time."
Kaelen took the vial. The silence in the tunnel was short-lived. A loud, sharp clanking echoed from the hatch above—they were cutting through the metal seal.
Aura: Warning. External Breach imminent. 15 seconds.
"Thirty minutes is out," Kaelen said, quickly downing the neutralizer. The liquid was like ice fire in his stomach, instantly dulling the agonizing throb in his ribs. "We have fifteen seconds. We finish the connection now. I'll shield us long enough for you to throw the switch."
Elara's eyes widened, recognizing the lethal arrogance in his tone. "That disc can't sustain a shield for long enough to charge the override! It's too much power!"
"It can if I use the Gravitic Pulse to hold the tunnel roof in place and block the entry," Kaelen snapped, pulling the Quantum Disc out. He pressed it against the pipe wall opposite the sealed hatch.
Aura, Gravitic Pulse at maximum stability. Hold the ceiling.
Aura: Executing command. Maximum output initiated. Time limit: 8 seconds.
The metal hatch above suddenly bowed inward with a tremendous, tortured screech. The Mechanist Corps was through.
Elara swore, diving back to her circuit board, her tiny hands flying over the wires, desperately trying to finish the connection before the roof collapsed or the soldiers fired.
Kaelen stood alone, the silver disc humming violently in his hand, a small, scared man facing down a collapsing world with nothing but a fragment of a dead god's mind.