It was an invisible presence, and it was big enough to be either an Umbral or a CBG. That raised two bad possibilities.
One: even a place this remote fell inside their patrol routes.
Two: it had followed us.
I signaled Eisen and Minks to retreat back into the basement. Then I tucked myself beneath a collapsed beam and watched the hidden enemy without blinking.
We’d made noise on the stairs, but the rain was loud. Maybe it covered us. Maybe it didn’t.
After a careful scan, I was sure of one thing: there was only a single unit. It paced around the ruins, stopping, listening, inspecting.
When it drifted toward the northwest corner, my processors ran hot. That was where I’d parked the bike. I’d covered the gap with rubble, but I hadn’t done a thorough job. If the invisible unit got meticulous, it could notice.
I shifted closer as well. If the bike was compromised, there was no choice. I would have to strike.
Fortunately, it didn’t linger. It paused for only a few seconds near the hiding place and then moved on.
I let out a breath I didn’t need.
Then it climbed onto the rubble, looked around, and walked straight toward the stairwell.
It had found the basement entrance.
There was no cover between it and the stairs. If Eisen and Minks tried to come up now, they’d be spotted instantly. I pinged Eisen.
“It’s heading for the stairs. Hide. Now.”
“Received,” Eisen replied at once.
The invisible unit descended. I followed, ready to kill it the moment it discovered them.
“It’s down here,” Eisen sent, then shared his camera and audio feed.
He and Minks were pressed into the dead angle behind the stair structure. Even through the rain, the footsteps were becoming clear.
I moved to the mouth of the stairwell, fingers tight on my blade. If the invisible unit turned to check the landing, I would drop on it and split it open.
Instead, it stopped at the basement doorway, listening, and then walked inside.
It vanished beyond the threshold.
Half a minute later, I judged it had either entered a room or moved deeper into the corridor. I sent Eisen another ping.
“Silent climb. Move slowly.”
Eisen hauled Minks up step by step. Pinecone darted out behind them. We broke into a quick run to the bike.
I yanked the rubble away, we mounted in one practiced motion, and we slipped out of the orchard ruins without a sound.
Only after we’d put several kilometers behind us did I allow myself to ease off.
Minks finally spoke, voice tight. “What was that thing? I almost shorted out.”
“Two possibilities,” I said. “Either one can ruin us.”
“That was close,” Eisen said. “If we’d been a little slower, it would’ve pinned us underground.”
Minks looked back over his shoulder. “How did it find that place?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “We didn’t leave obvious tracks.”
Had a stealth aircraft spotted the TBM anomaly and sent someone to verify? If Phantom Forge pinpointed our position now, it wouldn’t just be us at risk.
It would be the Sunflower.
Eisen answered like he’d read my thoughts. “No. If we’d been compromised, it wouldn’t have sent one unit. That felt like routine patrol.”
He was right. I nodded and forced myself to stop spiraling.
The rain didn’t let up. The wind grew worse, slamming sleet-hard drops sideways into the bike. Minks cursed. Eisen covered Minks’ head with Dorian’s jacket, trying to keep water from seeping into Dorian’s old chassis.
After another half hour, I spotted the carcass of a cargo ship not far from the road – human-era, wrecked, full of holes, but big enough to shelter us.
Riding in acid rain made my instincts crawl. I turned in at once and drove the bike into the wide cargo bay.
Minks jumped down before we’d fully stopped and found a dry spot to sit.
“Finally,” he groaned. “That freezing rain almost killed me.”
“I used to like rain,” Eisen said. “Never thought I’d miss plain water. My sensors are picking up corrosive compounds in this stuff.”
“Yeah,” Minks said. “Back then it was just… water.”
They talked quietly. I didn’t.
I kept the bike cloaked and stayed at the bay entrance, watching the open world like it could bite.
Then Minks muttered, “I haven’t used my dehumidifier in forever. No idea if it still works. Pinecone, come oil my back.”
That triggered a more urgent thought.
I went to the bike and unfastened Dorian, setting him on the deck. When I stripped off the jacket, water dripped from the seams of his body.
Eisen and Minks crowded in.
“He’s taken on water,” Eisen said. “We need to dry him out, fast. Otherwise he’ll rust.”
“He has to run dehumidification himself,” Minks said.
“Danser told us to wait a week before waking him,” Eisen reminded us.
“Then what?” Minks snapped. “We can’t exactly take him apart and towel him off piece by piece.”
I ran the numbers. Four days had already passed. Keeping him down too long wasn’t good either.
“We wake him,” I decided. “Now.”
I sent Minks back to the entrance to stand watch. Then I connected Dorian to power.
A few minutes later, light returned to his optics.
Dorian woke.
All of us went quiet and watched him process the world. He turned his head from face to face, then to the cargo bay around us, confusion written in his posture.
“Wyatt… Eisen… where are we?” he asked. “Why am I soaked? And – where’s the bishop?”
The questions spilled out.
“You don’t remember?” I asked.
Dorian paused, as if rewinding corrupted footage.
“After you left,” he said slowly, “I wanted to make it up to them. I offered to repair Lersagefis’s leg. He seemed pleased and took me alone into a room. After I fixed his leg, he asked me to repair his eyes. I checked and told him it wasn’t possible.”
Dorian’s voice tightened.
“When I tried to leave, he stopped me. He said he wanted to show me a miracle. He told me to look at his scepter, and then… then I don’t remember anything.”
Eisen’s shoulders loosened. “Good. He’s normal again.”
I still needed confirmation.
I took out the lucky seashell.
Before I could even speak, Dorian’s optics brightened.
“Lucky Seashell!” he said.
“Where did I get it?” I asked.
“DorianKen Armory,” he replied, baffled by the test. “Why?”
“That’s enough,” I said. Relief hit like a system reboot. “Thank the Source God. You’re really back, Dorian.”
“Really?” Minks blurted, abandoning his post and sprinting over. “He’s good again?”
Dorian’s head snapped toward him. “You!”
He hopped back a step, suddenly furious. “You’re the bad guy who grabbed me.”
“No, no,” Minks said fast. “I’m a good – I’m a good egg. No, I mean I’m a good person.”
Eisen’s tone went dry. “Dorian. Minks is on our side now.”
“Our side?” Dorian looked between Eisen and me. “How?”
So I told him everything.
By the time I finished, Dorian’s anger had climbed into a full storm.
“Lersagefis,” he spat, “that rotten bastard. He did that to me – and used me to hurt you, Wyatt!”
“It’s over,” I said. “I handled him.”
“And you didn’t abandon me,” Dorian said, quieter. “Thank you.”
He turned to Minks. “And… you did save Wyatt. For that, I’ll forgive you too.”
Minks rubbed his hands, suddenly cheerful again. “Heh. Partners, then.”
Pinecone bounced on the bike deck like a spring, feeding off the mood.
Dorian’s posture shifted. He stared at the bike.
“Wyatt,” he said, “you brought the scepter out, didn’t you?”
My optics narrowed. “How do you know?”
“My brain still has… fragments,” he said. “I can sense it.”
Right then, a faint noise came from the storage bay. I opened it, and the scepter’s head was glowing white – soft, not threatening.
Dorian exhaled. “That thing isn’t simple.”
He stepped closer, voice almost reverent.
“It wasn’t made for something that petty.”
“Then what was it made for?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Dorian admitted. “But it carries an incredibly high level of permissions.”
Eisen frowned. “Meaning what?”
Dorian hesitated. “Maybe… it can command any machine with intelligence.”
“That’s what Phantom Forge does,” Minks said. “Are you telling me this thing could outrank Phantom Forge?”
Dorian shook his head – then nodded, uncertain even as he spoke.
“It might.”