Page 3

RIVERA

T he handheld light cut a weak, wavering path through darkness thick as tar. Ancient dust motes, disturbed for the first time in gods knew how many centuries, swirled in the beam like phantom insects. The air tasted metallic, sharp against my tongue, heavy with the scent of ozone and decay.

"Just a quick look," I muttered to myself, the words swallowed instantly by the oppressive silence of the ruins. The only sounds were my own footsteps crunching softly on gritty dust, the rhythmic drip... drip... drip of water echoing from somewhere deeper within, and the low, intermittent groans of the structure itself settling around me.

I swept the light across crumbling walls, revealing faded geometric patterns etched into what might once have been polished stone. The corridor stretched ahead, narrowing slightly as it descended deeper into the earth. Exposed conduits, thick as my arm, hung from the ceiling like technological vines, occasionally spitting weak blue-white sparks that illuminated the space in brief, harsh flashes.

My boots vibrated slightly with each step. Not a sound—a physical sensation, as if the entire structure hummed with failing energy systems, a discordant note felt deep in my bones.

I paused, running my fingers along one clammy wall. The stone felt cold, almost greasy with age and damp. My silver markings responded immediately, pulsing with a faint warmth beneath my shirt, sending information directly into my consciousness. Not images exactly—more like knowing something without seeing it. Ancient. Powerful. Broken. The assessment arrived fully formed, unsettling in its certainty.

A drop of cold water struck my cheek. I looked up, catching another on my forehead. The ceiling wept in a dozen places, water finding its way through microscopic cracks in what should have been nigh-impenetrable material. "Nothing lasts forever," I whispered, stepping carefully over a section of collapsed flooring, the beam of my light swallowed by the darkness below the gap.

My markings pulsed faster, their faint silver light creating strange, dancing shadows on the walls as I moved deeper. The sensation grew more intense—not painful yet, but a constant, low-level thrumming, feeding me fragmented warnings: structural weakness ahead... energy cascade potential... failing containment fields... It was like trying to read a dozen corrupted sensor feeds simultaneously.

I pressed forward, ignoring the unease crawling up my spine. This place felt fundamentally wrong in a way I couldn't articulate. Not haunted—I didn't believe in ghosts—but unstable at its core, like walking across thin ice when you hear the first ominous crack echoing from below.

A low groan echoed through the corridor, longer and deeper this time, the sound of ancient materials under impossible stress. I froze, holding my breath until it subsided, my heart hammering against my ribs.

This is why Mirelle sent me, I reminded myself, forcing down the rising fear. The settlement needed to know if these ruins posed a real threat. The tremors had been getting worse, more frequent. If something down here was building toward catastrophic failure, we needed warning.

I reached out, tracing a finger along a damaged, sparking conduit. My markings flared in response, feeding me more fragments— power regulation systems... atmospheric processors... containment fields... All failing. All dangerous. My engineer's mind cataloged the problems automatically, analyzing failure modes and potential solutions even as another part of me marveled at the sheer scale and complexity. Whoever built this place had technological capabilities far beyond anything in recorded human history. What could have possibly happened to them?

The corridor widened slightly into a junction. Three passages branched off, each identical to my untrained eye, disappearing into blackness. But my markings pulled me insistently toward the right-hand path, tugging like an impatient child.

I turned the light down that corridor. It looked no different from the others—more decay, more darkness. But the pull was undeniable. Curiosity, mingled with the strange compulsion from the markings, overwhelmed caution. Just a little further. I stepped forward.

The alcove appeared suddenly, a small recess in the corridor wall I might have missed entirely without my markings' insistent guidance. Inside, bathed in pulsing blue and amber light, stood a diagnostic panel. It flickered erratically, but it was active , illuminating the tiny space.

I stepped closer, my breath catching. The panel displayed streams of data—corrupted, fragmented symbols scrolling across its surface, energy level bars flickering deep in the red, atmospheric icons flashing warnings—but still running after all this time.

"Hello, beautiful," I whispered, moving closer, drawn by the irresistible lure of active, ancient technology.

My markings brightened in response, the silver light reflecting off the panel's surface. The strange symbols on the display seemed to shift, rearranging slightly, as if responding to my proximity.

Okay, easy does it. I remembered how my markings could sometimes interface passively with Nyxari tech, pulling basic data streams, sensing energy patterns and logic pathways without direct contact. It wasn't translation, more like feeling the machine's structure. With damaged systems like this, it was inconsistent, frustratingly static-filled, but maybe I could get enough... Just the core data. What system was failing? How fast? Was it contained?

This was different from the salvaged junk back at the settlement, though. This system was active. Damaged, yes, but still running complex operations throughout the ruins. The rational part of my brain screamed warnings— damaged, unpredictable, ancient, forbidden . But my engineer's instinct pushed back. Understanding is the first step to safety. I can't protect people from something I don't comprehend.

My markings pulsed faster, eagerly, almost painfully, resonating with the flickering panel. The symbols shifted again, rearranging into patterns that somehow felt logical, intuitive, despite their alien design.

"Just a passive scan," I told myself aloud, the words feeling thin in the heavy silence. "No active manipulation. Just looking. Done this dozens of times."

I raised my hand, fingers hovering centimeters from the panel's cool surface. My markings cast their silver light across the ancient controls, illuminating symbols that seemed to reach toward me, inviting connection.

"Just a quick look," I repeated, taking a shallow breath. "Then I'm out of here."

The moment my fingertips brushed the panel's surface, I knew I'd made a terrible mistake.

My markings didn't just connect—they latched on , silver light flaring with painful, blinding intensity as energy surged through the connection. It felt like grabbing a live high-voltage line. My entire arm went rigid, muscles locked as blue-white electricity arced visibly between my skin and the ancient technology.

The panel erupted with chaotic light, symbols spinning and shifting faster than my eyes could track. Alarms shrieked—not just audible sound but high-frequency sonic pulses that resonated directly with my markings, sending spikes of agony through my skull, making me nauseous.

I cried out, trying to pull away, but couldn't break the connection. My markings felt fused somehow with the panel's systems, creating a feedback loop that grew stronger, hotter, more painful by the second.

"Stop!" I gasped, the word lost in the cacophony of alarms.

The panel flashed crimson across its entire surface, and with a loud crack , a shimmering energy field snapped into existence across the alcove entrance, sealing me in. Trapped. The field crackled violently, its color shifting rapidly—blue, purple, amber, red—clearly unstable.

With a final, brutal surge of energy that left me gasping and flung me backward against the alcove wall, the connection broke. I stumbled, cradling my throbbing, tingling arm against my chest as the panel continued its frantic, alarming display.

"What did I DO?" The words escaped in a panicked whisper.

I spun toward the alcove entrance, only to pull up short before touching the shimmering, unstable energy field. It pulsed and wavered, spitting sparks. The air around it shimmered with heat distortion.

My heart hammered against my ribs. I spotted a loose piece of rock on the floor, picked it up with my good hand, and tossed it at the field. The material didn't bounce back—it hit the barrier and instantly disintegrated, turning to fine ash that drifted silently to the floor.

Trapped. In a tiny alcove, surrounded by failing ancient technology I didn't understand, with a lethal, unstable energy field as my only exit.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid!" I slammed my uninjured fist against the alcove wall, ignoring the jolt of pain. "You know better than this! You knew it was unstable!"

The markings on my arm still pulsed with residual energy, sending uncomfortable tingles through my nerves. I'd underestimated everything—the sensitivity of the damaged systems, the strength of my markings' interface capability, the sheer, overwhelming danger of this place.

I turned back to the panel, desperately hoping to reverse whatever I'd triggered, but the symbols now scrolled too fast to read, meaningless chaos. The system had entered some kind of emergency protocol, maybe a purge cycle, and I had no idea how to stop it.

The walls around me vibrated more intensely. Another structural groan, longer and deeper than before, reverberated through the stone, felt in the bottom of my boots. Whatever stability this place had maintained for centuries, I'd just compromised it. Badly.

I pressed my back against the wall furthest from the lethal energy field, sliding down until I sat on the dusty floor, pulling my knees to my chest. The reality of my situation crashed down on me. No one knew exactly where I was. Mirelle had asked me to investigate the ruins, yes, but I'd gone deeper than planned, drawn by my markings and my own damnable curiosity.

The field crackled again, its color shifting through the spectrum like a corrupted rainbow. Behind it, the dim corridor lights flickered, then dimmed further. Power being redirected? To more critical systems?

Or to whatever catastrophic failure I'd just initiated.

My breath came in short, sharp gasps. I forced myself to slow down, to think. Panic won't help. Assess. Options. What options? I didn't know exactly what I'd triggered, but the increased vibrations and alarms suggested nothing good.

I stared at my silver markings, still pulsing with absorbed energy, hot against my skin. They'd gotten me into this mess. Could they possibly get me out?

A distant sound caught my attention—faint, muffled by the field and the alarms, but distinct. Not the mechanical groans of the structure or the electronic wail of the panel, but something else. Footsteps? Heavy, purposeful footsteps, growing closer down the corridor outside. Impossible. No one else would be crazy enough to enter these ruins.

Unless... Varek? Had he followed me?

I pressed my ear against the cool stone wall, listening intently. Definitely footsteps, growing closer, echoing slightly.

"Hey!" I shouted, my voice bouncing off the alcove walls, sounding thin against the alarms. "Help! I'm trapped in here!"

The footsteps paused outside the alcove, then quickened. A large shadow appeared beyond the crackling, distorting energy field, backlit by the dim emergency lights of the corridor.

The figure stepped fully into view, and my momentary surge of relief evaporated, replaced by a cold dread that wasn’t because of the failing technology.

A Nyxari warrior stood on the other side of the deadly barrier, tall and imposing, golden lifelines bright against his midnight-blue skin even in the poor light. His expression shifted from wary assessment to something darker, harder, as he took in my situation—trapped inside the alcove, the diagnostic panel flashing critical warnings behind me.

I recognized him immediately—Varek, second-in-command to Lazrin. Unlike Lazrin, Varek had made no secret of his deep distrust of humans, especially those of us with markings. And I had just confirmed his worst assumptions.

"What have you done?" His deep voice cut through the alarm sounds, heavy with accusation, resonating with controlled fury.

I stared back at him through the lethal energy field, trapped between it and a failing ancient system, with my only potential rescuer being someone who probably wanted nothing more than to throttle me.

"I think," I admitted, my voice but a whisper, "I broke it."