High above Ashenfall, behind seamless black glass and biometric locks, Overseer Varn watched the city writhe.
From his balcony atop the Spire, the streets looked like veins—dark, pulsing with shadows. Enforcers patrolled in formation below, their armor glinting under flickering neon lights, their boots stirring ash. A silent order, efficient and unyielding.
But Varn felt none of the control he projected.
He turned from the view, the air inside his chamber sharp with sterilized coolness. The room was austere—just a single obsidian desk, a steel chair, and the ancient console embedded in the wall. A relic of the Old World.
And behind that console: the secret he'd sworn never to speak.
He slid a palm across the surface. A scanner flickered. A soft click.
The console hummed to life.
Lines of encrypted code danced across the display, and then, a voice—flat, female, synthetic.
"Welcome, Overseer Varn. Accessing restricted files."
He hesitated. Then typed in the passcode.
ARKOS.
The room dimmed. A holoscreen flared up, casting blue light over his scarred face. An old-world briefing, flickering with static. Scientists, generals, engineers—discussing something too big, too dangerous. The final weapon. The last vault.
"…in the event of total societal collapse," one of them was saying, "Arkos will activate upon recognition of a designated biometric marker."
"A key," another added, "encoded in human DNA."
Varn knew this already. He'd memorized the footage years ago. But he watched it now not for the information—but for the fear it ignited in him.
Because someone had just triggered the Whispering Wall.
A red indicator blinked on the console. Unauthorized interface detected. Coordinates: Library Ruins.
Varn clenched his fists.
"It's happening," he whispered.
He turned sharply as the chamber doors hissed open. A soldier in Enforcer black stepped in, helmet tucked under his arm.
"Sir. District sweep complete. No Readers found. But…" He hesitated. "There was… energy activity. Spikes. Like last time."
Varn crossed the room and loomed over the soldier.
"Where?"
"Slag District. Near Sector Nine."
So close to the Library.
Too close.
Varn dismissed him with a curt nod. When the door shut again, he poured a single glass of clear amber liquid from the cabinet hidden in the wall. His hands trembled.
"They've found it," he muttered. "After all these years…"
He looked up at the Spire's tall ceiling, to the vented steel and hidden surveillance wires above. A cathedral to power and paranoia.
If they unlocked Arkos…
No.
He wouldn't let it happen.
Varn turned back to the console and tapped a final command.
"Initiate Black Protocol."
A red light flashed. Sirens were silent—but the signal spread across Ashenfall like a pulse.
Within moments, a new unit of Enforcers stirred from hidden bunkers—sleeker, faster, more lethal than the patrols outside.
Their orders were clear:
Burn the Slag District. Locate the Reader. Retrieve the key.
Varn stared at the city again as dark clouds rolled in from the wasteland. Lightning cracked. Somewhere, a scream echoed.
And in the silence that followed, Varn whispered to himself:
"If the old world rises, we all fall."