Chapter Six: The Temple of Memory

  They called it Emberfield. A name forged from ash and fire, born from the crash sites and survival camps dotting Tartarus’ shattered surface. There was no true warmth to the name, but there was hope. It had been a month since the escape pods landed, xome gentle, others brutal. The wreckage of Earth's last chance littered this alien world like broken bones.

  Inside the central dome of Emberfield, the survivors gathered under salvaged solar panels and makeshift tents, their breath misting in the cold dusk. Rizer sat alone on a rust-bitten crate near the perimeter fence, elbows on his knees, watching Elias sleep under layers of thermal cloth. A nearby fire cracked gently, throwing shadows against the cracked stone walls. Above them, two moons bled pale light across the sky.

  Most nights were quiet now, too quiet.

  But that morning, something had shifted.

  It started during a routine training session. Commander Yenn, an ex-combat tactician with skin like dark iron and a voice of stone, had asked Rizer to run a basic agility drill. Nothing unusual, until Rizer dodged a falling support beam before it even dropped.

  No one else had seen the bolt loosen. He hadn’t heard it. He hadn’t looked up. He’d felt it.

  "You're lying," Yenn barked, circling him after the drill. "No one’s that fast unless.."

  "Unless what?"

  Yenn didn't answer. Not with words.

  She led Rizer underground, through twisting corridors of ancient alien rock and scavenged steel, to a dimly lit lab covered in maps, reports, and digital scans. She pointed to a terminal flickering with distorted images, MRI-like scans of survivor brains, most dim and normal.

  Except one.

  Rizer's.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  The neural network pulsed with luminous blue veins. It was like watching a thunderstorm trapped inside a skull.

  "You’re the third one we’ve seen like this,” Yenn said quietly.

  Rizer’s throat tightened. “And the others?”

  “One died in crash impact. The other… your brother.”

  Elias.

  Yenn turned the screen. His scan was even brighter. Wilder.

  "The Odryix feared humans once. not for our weapons. For our minds. We used to possess something far older. Forgotten. A latent field of energy. They call it Kairoth. In our terms, psionic force. A sixth sense. Mental force fueled by memory, grief, even rage. Some call it soul energy. Others think it’s what made humanity dangerous before we grew too comfortable, too domesticated."

  “And we have it?” Rizer asked.

  “Some of you do. But not like you two. Whatever made it go dormant in others... didn't touch your bloodline.”

  She handed Rizer a worn folder labeled Project Wyrmroot.

  Inside were classified Earth documents. Stolen Odryix records. A theory about a “root bloodline” a family line that never lost the gift. If correct, their blood wasn’t just a mutation. It was ancestral. Elias’ prophetic dreams. Rizer’s premonitions. Their survival wasn’t just luck. It was destiny colliding with something ancient.

  Rizer sat back, throat dry. “What happens now?”

  “We train you,” Yenn said. “But not just physically. The mind is the blade now.”

  That night, Rizer lay beside Elias and couldn’t sleep. His thoughts were fire.

  A thousand other survivors now trained in Emberfield’s various sectors. Some younger, some older, all hardened by the crash and the war they fled. A few showed small sparks, flickers of telepathy, sudden intuition, even minor energy control. But none like the brothers.

  Rizer didn’t want to be a chosen one. He just wanted his sister back. He wanted Kiera's laughter and her woven bracelet still glowing faintly on his wrist. But if psionics were real, if they could be trained, then maybe this broken world could be fought for.

  Maybe it could be reclaimed.

  One week later, the first test came.

  An Odryix scout drone breached Emberfield’s outer wall. The security systems missed it. Soldiers scrambled to intercept, but Rizer was already moving. He didn’t think. He felt. The drone spun midair, aiming its weaponized tendrils.

  Rizer raised his hand.

  The metal shrieked, and stopped.

  Held mid-air by nothing visible.

  Then, with a crack like thunder, it crumpled in on itself and hit the ground smoldering.

  Everyone stared.

  Elias, clutching a glowing pebble, whispered, “You bent it.”

  No one clapped. No one cheered.

  But the fire in their eyes said something louder: Hope.

  That night, Commander Yenn updated the wall mural.

  A stylized tree, painted in black ash and golden pigment, stood beneath a cracked sky. Roots stretched deep underground, curling into tunnels and chambers. The branches climbed toward stars.

  She added two names in the bark at the center of the roots: Rizer. Elias.