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Jen hesitated, her gaze locked on the scrolling symbols.

"I don't know," she admitted. "The energy signature is strong, but.

.. structured. It feels passive, like it's just displaying data, requesting input.

" She looked at me, uncertainty in her eyes, but also a spark of scientific curiosity that even this dangerous environment couldn't extinguish.

"It might hold crucial information. Stabilization protocols.

Weaknesses in the core's feedback loop."

I felt her internal debate—fear versus the drive to understand, to find a solution.

"A limited connection only," I cautioned firmly, echoing my earlier warning. "Read the status, gather key information, but do not attempt a full interface. If you feel any resistance, any invasive energy, disconnect immediately. Understood?"

She nodded, taking a deep, centering breath. "Understood. Limited connection. Just reading."

She extended her hand slowly toward the terminal, her fingers trembling almost imperceptibly.

I moved to stand directly beside her, my hand hovering near her shoulder, ready to pull her back, ready to sever the connection physically if necessary.

Nirako and Pravoka shifted, their attention fixed on us, weapons held ready.

Jen placed her fingertips lightly on the cool, crystalline surface of the dome.

Her markings flared instantly, blazing with silver light that momentarily illuminated the entire chamber, reflecting off the clouded dome and the consoles lining the walls.

Her body went rigid, her eyes widening slightly behind closed lids as information flooded through the connection.

I felt the surge—not the painful chaos of the core, but a torrent of structured data, complex schematics, diagnostic reports spanning centuries.

I pushed a wave of anchoring calm towards her, trying to act as a buffer, a shield against the sheer volume of input.

She remained connected for several tense moments, her breathing shallow, her brow furrowed in intense concentration. I watched her face, watched her markings, felt the flow of data, ready to intervene at the slightest sign of distress or hostile feedback.

Then, as abruptly as she had initiated it, she withdrew her hand, stumbling back a step, gasping for breath. I caught her elbow, steadying her. Her face was pale, beaded with sweat, but her eyes, when they opened, were clear and sharp, burning with newfound knowledge.

"It's a stabilization system," she confirmed, her voice slightly uneven but firm.

"Part of a planet-wide network designed to regulate seismic activity, energy flows.

.. atmospheric composition, even weather patterns.

It's incredibly advanced." She took another deep breath, organizing the flood of information.

"But it's failing. Critically. Has been for decades, maybe longer. "

She gestured towards the terminal, which continued its slow, silent scroll.

"The diagnostic confirms major subsystem failures throughout this facility.

Cooling systems are offline. Containment fields are degrading.

Power conduits are overloaded. The network connection to other nodes is completely severed—this facility has been operating in isolation, trying to compensate for the entire region. "

"Which explains the feedback loop," I concluded grimly. "It's trying to do the work of many, tearing itself apart in the process."

"Exactly," she confirmed. "But... I also found the original stabilization protocols. The counter-harmonic sequences. They're still buried deep in the system memory." She looked at me, hope mingling with fear in her eyes. "And I found the schematics for the core interface."

"Can it be stabilized?" Nirako asked gruffly from the doorway.

Jen nodded slowly. "The protocols exist. But initiating them.

.. it requires direct interface with the core.

A sustained connection to input the counter-harmonic sequence and override the feedback loop.

" Her hand moved unconsciously to her markings.

"And it requires a biological operator with a compatible resonance signature. "

The implications hung heavy in the air. She was the key. Only she, with her unique markings, could potentially initiate the stabilization.

"How dangerous?" I asked, my voice low, dread coiling in my gut.

Jen met my gaze, her expression somber but resolute.

"Very," she said quietly. "This terminal was just a monitoring station, relatively isolated.

The core interface... it will be connecting directly to the source of the chaotic energy.

Full immersion. The risk of neurological damage. .. or worse... is significant."

A cold fist clenched around my heart. I had pledged to protect her, yet the path forward required her to face the greatest danger imaginable. "There has to be another way," I insisted, searching her face for any alternative.

She shook her head, her certainty absolute, grounded in the data she had accessed.

"The system requires a biological component to bridge the harmonic gap, Iros.

That's how it was designed. My markings can create that bridge, just like they did with the Harmony Circle, only at a much larger scale, against much greater resistance. "

I studied her face, seeing the fear beneath the determination, but also an unwavering resolve. She understood the risks better than anyone, yet she was willing to face them. My admiration warred with my fierce desire to shield her from harm.

"You are certain this is the only path," I stated, needing to hear it again, needing to accept the unacceptable.

"No," she admitted with stark honesty that tore at me.

"I'm not certain of anything in this place.

I'm terrified." Her gaze held mine, unwavering.

"But based on the system diagnostics, the protocols I accessed.

.. I believe it's our only chance. The core is degrading rapidly.

The energy fluctuations are becoming more extreme.

If we don't intervene soon, the cascade failure will reach a critical point.

It could trigger a seismic event that could shatter this entire mountain range, destroy the Aerie. .. maybe worse."

Her logic was inescapable. The stakes were higher than even the Aerie Elders realized. Inaction was not an option.

"Then we proceed," I said, my voice rough. My own fear—for her, for the potential consequences of failure—was a cold weight within me, but I pushed it down, focusing on the task ahead. "To the core chamber."

We left the control room, the flickering terminal casting long shadows behind us.

The corridor leading deeper into the facility pulsed with that ominous reddish light, the air growing hotter, the hum vibrating with increased intensity.

We were approaching the heart of the failure, the source of the poison infecting the mountain.

The path ahead descended further, opening into a vast antechamber that dwarfed the control room.

The ceiling arched high above, supported by massive columns etched with flowing, ancient Nyxari script that seemed to writhe in the pulsing red light.

The far wall was dominated by an immense door, easily twice the height of a Nyxari warrior, crafted from the same obsidian-like material as the walls.

It hung partially open, askew on damaged hinges, revealing a glimpse of the chamber beyond—a chamber filled with blinding, fluctuating red light and waves of tangible heat that washed over us even from this distance.

Warning glyphs, larger and more complex than any we had seen before, were inscribed around the massive doorway—symbols for extreme energy hazard, unstable containment, neurological disruption, and.

.. sacrifice. The ancient Nyxari had clearly intended this place to remain sealed forever, accessible only under the direst circumstances, likely at great personal cost.

"The core chamber," Jen whispered, her voice barely audible over the roar of energy emanating from within. Her markings blazed, reacting violently to the chaotic power pouring from the opening. I felt her fear spike sharply, but also a surge of adrenaline, a focusing of her will.

This was it. The final confrontation. Whatever lay beyond that door held the fate of the Aerie, the Shardwings, and perhaps much more.

And Jen, the human Sound-Seer bound to me by fate and feeling, held the key.

My hand found hers, our fingers intertwining, a silent promise passing between us in the face of overwhelming danger.