Derek descended the steep stone steps one careful stride at a time. The bottom of the cavern glimmered faintly through the shadows, where damp air pressed against his skin. Water dripped from the ceiling in fat, deliberate drops, feeding wide puddles that shimmered with the torchlight cast by the Bots ahead.

  Erasmus hadn’t lasted long. His pace had slowed to a shaky crawl, every few steps punctuated by a wheezing pause. Derek had passed him after the first stretch, and the man’s mutters and labored breaths had gradually faded into the darkness behind.

  There was a real chance the archivist would turn around and climb back up without saying a word. Fine by him. Derek couldn’t babysit him the whole way down here anyway.

  He’d find the shrine on his own if he had to.

  A sharp, high-pitched scream split the darkness behind him, eerily feminine.

  Erasmus? What the hell—

  Before the thought could settle, something thin and bony crashed into him. The archivist’s frame hit like a flash flood, clawing at Derek’s jacket for balance and dragging him along.

  He stumbled forward, biting out a curse. The steps offered no safety, just slick stone and empty air yawning on both sides.

  Still at least ten meters down. And Erasmus yanking on his center of gravity wasn’t helping.

  “Shit!” His pulse hammered in his ears. Dying like an idiot, right on the verge of his greatest discovery… what a cosmic joke.

  His boots lost grip, and the world spun.

  Damn this universe. Damn Erasmus. He should’ve listened to Ithara and left the bookworm at home.

  Air roared past his face as the cavern blurred into streaks of motion. Erasmus’s panicked wail echoed around them like a giant, terrified crow.

  This was it.

  This was how his story ended.

  A sudden jolt seized his ankle, a steel vice that made him wince. The pull stopped his fall cold, the momentum bleeding away until he was just hanging there, swaying in the damp air.

  He craned his neck upward.

  Sunny hovered above, one metal arm extended, pincer clamped tight around his boot. The bot buzzed and bobbed in the air, giving him a little shake once it noticed Derek staring up.

  “Thanks, buddy… now quit celebrating and set me down nice and slow before I puke.”

  Beside him, Shade was doing the same with Erasmus—though with far less finesse. It had snagged the archivist by his padded vest, leaving him dangling like a puppet with wide eyes and limp arms.

  At least the man had stopped screaming. Shock had taken care of that.

  Sunny lowered Derek with care.

  Cold puddle water splashed against his palms as he caught himself and pushed upright, boots squelching as he got back on his feet.

  Shade wasn’t nearly as considerate. It dropped Erasmus from a full meter up.

  Erasmus hit face-first with a strangled yelp, splashing up a spray of silver droplets.

  At least the water looked clean, filtered through stone. Only a few fingers deep, too. Lucky. Otherwise, this place could’ve been one big underground lake. And without a dive suit, that would’ve been a nightmare.

  Erasmus scrambled up, coughing and spitting water.

  Derek clenched his fists. “What the hell happened back there? You almost got us killed!”

  The archivist straightened his soaked clothes, clinging to whatever dignity he had left. “I… uh… suffer from vertigo. When I glimpsed the bottom and realized how high we were, I may have, ah, lost my composure.”

  Composure? Biggest coward he’d ever met. “You said stairs didn’t scare you, for fuck’s sake.” He threw his arms wide. “Is there anything in this place you’re not terrified of?”

  Erasmus stiffened, chin rising like he was back in a debate hall. “I don’t appreciate that tone. I am a man of culture.” His gaze dropped to the soggy ground with a grimace. “Wallowing in mud like you commoners isn’t my idea of adventure.” He brushed at his sleeves to no effect. “And in any case, we’re alive, are we not?”

  “Barely.” Derek shook his head. “You’d better toughen up fast, Erasmus. Next time it won’t just be a staircase. You can’t lose it every time we hit an obstacle.”

  Heavy, wet footsteps splashed closer.

  Chuck—the stocky golem of dirt and rock—stomped up until he stood a meter away, two black eye-holes fixed squarely on Derek.

  “Hey…” Derek met the stare. “Knew you wouldn’t break that easy.” He smirked and patted the golem’s damp, stony shoulder. “Couple dozen meters is nothing for you, huh?”

  It wasn’t supposed to have expressions, but Derek could’ve sworn that look was pure accusation.

  The golem turned away without a sound and trudged off into the dark.

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  Great.

  He’d just managed to piss off a walking pile of rocks.

  Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised the whole damn universe had it out for him.

  “Now where to?” Derek asked aloud.

  He pulled the map Ithara had given him from his pocket. It was blank — and now damp. Perfect. Maybe moisture killed whatever magic powered it?

  He flipped it over, and when he looked again, a dotted line had appeared at the center with a single, very clear word:

  Stairs.

  Derek glanced back at the staircase they’d just descended.

  The map had updated itself with the only landmark they’d found so far.

  A map that only shows places you’ve already been. He scratched his beard. Useless for finding the terminal, but at least it’d help them get back, assuming they lived long enough to need it.

  Erasmus upended one of his leather satchels. A trickle of water spilled out.

  He sighed and dug inside.

  Derek winced. “Please tell me you didn’t keep the maps in there.”

  The archivist pulled out a stack of soggy parchment and gave them a few desperate shakes, spraying droplets everywhere.

  Derek crossed his arms. Not a great start.

  “Derek,” came a familiar voice in his earpiece.

  “Talk to me, Vanda.”

  “Put the glasses on.”

  He patted himself down until he felt something in a pocket, the goggles Vanda and Ithara had put together with the bots’ help.

  He slipped them on, and a web of glowing lines and vectors sprang to life before his eyes. “Augmented reality,” he muttered.

  “Exactly, Derek,” Vanda said, her tone calm and precise. “I scanned the maps before we left. The route I’m highlighting looks like your best shot at finding the next hatch.”

  He frowned. “Next hatch?”

  “Yes. You’ll need to locate the second-level hatch and open it to reach the next floor.”

  “And how the hell am I supposed to lift it without NOVA?”

  Erasmus shook his head. “If you and the voice in your head are discussing the hatch, know this, it won’t be a problem. The ritual you stopped me from performing earlier would have activated the runes that allow easy removal.”

  “Got it. Rituals, runes, whatever. No idea what you’re talking about.” Derek shrugged. “But if you can pop the hatch open, I’m good with that.” Maybe bringing him hadn’t been such a bad call after all.

  The archivist gave a slight, self-satisfied bow.

  He really had to hope the little bookworm didn’t bail on him. Getting to the end of this place would be a real nightmare without him.

  “Alright,” Derek said, pointing along the glowing lines only he could see. “This way.”

  The Bots swung their torch beams toward the indicated path. The light barely pierced the wall of darkness ahead, but it was better than nothing.

  Erasmus gripped his crystal-tipped staff and aimed it forward, its faint glow catching on the damp stone.

  Derek switched on the small flashlight he’d cobbled together. The beam cut through the dark but barely. “About thirty meters ahead there’s supposed to be a narrow passage. We’ll go single file. Chuck takes point.”

  “And who exactly is this… Chuck?” Erasmus asked.

  Derek ran a hand down his face. Had he really started calling the thing by name? He cleared his throat. “The golem. That’s what I call him.”

  “Ah, I see.” Erasmus sniffed, unimpressed. “I suppose Ithara named him. She gives names to all her toys.”

  Derek couldn’t help but grin. There was something almost childlike in the way Ithara treated every construct and creature around her, Bots included. Like a little girl playing with dolls.

  The stone walls pressed closer on both sides as they moved. The ground grew drier, harder under his boots.

  Erasmus raised his staff, the crystal tip casting a pale glow across the narrowing corridor. “These are the remains of the first Citadel. Five centuries old. Back then, the settlement was far smaller, and the jungle much closer.”

  “Must’ve been tough people,” Derek said, glancing his way. “Fearless. Just like folks today.”

  Erasmus frowned. “Not everyone is built to face ten-meter-tall monstrosities stitched together from corpses. Orbisar granted different gifts to different people, just as He did with the Seven Spheres and the Seven Affinities. To each their talent, their affinity, their spheres of power.”

  “Yeah, heard that one before.” Derek’s smirk deepened. “Like there’s some kind of divine fairness handing out gifts to everyone. Let’s just ignore the ones who get nothing and spend their lives slogging through mediocrity.” He scratched his beard, voice low. “Come to think of it, that’s pretty much how the spheres work, isn’t it? You Church types keep them locked up, hand them out to your favorites, and everyone else gets stuck kissing your boots.”

  Erasmus’s tone cooled. “The Church uses its power to protect its people. Protecting the people also means not letting spheres fall into the wrong hands. Imagine what would happen if criminals or the malicious could wield that power.”

  Derek’s smirk faded. The edge in his voice sharpened. “Don’t need to imagine. I’ve met a few out there in the jungle.”

  Ivory.

  Before Death magic twisted him, killing that man had burned in Derek’s memory like a live coal.

  Never take a life. That had been his one rule since Yuki died and the abyss swallowed him whole. He’d stopped being a scientist and turned thief instead, using weapons only to fend off beasts and alien security systems while looting ruins for scraps of the past.

  But Elyndra—this absurd planet—had changed everything.

  He’d had to kill. More than once. And he’d have to again… unless that Death energy got to him first.

  Didn’t matter anymore.

  Just one more step on the same path that had brought him here.

  Erasmus nodded. “I’ve heard tales of your deeds in the jungle. Then you should understand why strict control over the spheres is necessary.”

  “Yeah, I get it,” Derek said with a sigh. His eyes narrowed. “Speaking of power—considering how rushed this trip was, I never asked: do you… y’know, have any? Shoot fire from your ass, lightning from your ears, that sort of thing?”

  Erasmus gave him a flat, long-suffering look. “No. I’ve never desired anything beyond pure knowledge.”

  Knowledge. They didn’t even know their bodies were made of cells, yet strutted around like keepers of the universe’s secrets. “Right. Bet that made for a comfy, safe life. Am I wrong?”

  Erasmus stopped and turned toward him. “You think you’re better than me, don’t you?”

  Derek burst out laughing. “Oh, hell no. I’m a walking disaster and I know it. But at least I don’t pretend otherwise. I’m a cynical bastard who looks out for himself.” He spread his arms. “See, Erasmus? No excuses.”

  The archivist curled his lip. “And what, pray tell, is your grand purpose in this venture?”

  “There are too many mysteries on this planet,” Derek said. “The prophecy about me. Humans living here for thousands of years. Spheres falling from the sky, and every insane thing that’s happened since I landed.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I need answers. Feels like this place might hold the key to something important.”

  Erasmus arched an eyebrow. “More important than your own life? Because odds are, we die down here.”

  Derek stopped and crossed his arms. “You wanna head back? Still time.” He jerked his chin toward the stairs. “They’re right there.”

  Erasmus stared at him, eyes glinting in the dim light. The hesitation was written all over his face, but he didn’t move.

  At last, he shook his head. “I am a scholar and a man of faith. And even though you seem determined to be the exact opposite of the Messiah we expected, I cannot deny the prophecies that follow you, fulfilling themselves at every step.” He drew a steady breath, straightened his back, and lifted his chin. “I will not be remembered in history as the man who abandoned the Messiah in his hour of need.”

  Derek blinked. “So you really think I’m the Messiah? Uriela—”

  “Uriela is a very capable politician,” Erasmus cut in. “And she will always have my respect for leading Rothmere to its current prosperity. But when it comes to faith and historical truth…” He cleared his throat. “Let’s just say those are not her priorities.”

  Derek nodded. So the guy wasn’t just Uriela’s lapdog after all. There were layers to him.

  A metallic clatter echoed through the tightening corridor.

  The sound sharpened, sliding along the walls, like hidden machinery stirring awake behind the stone.

  “Derek,” Vanda’s voice crackled through the comm. “There’s movement around you.”

  “I hear it. Can you pin the source and throw it on my display?”

  “Not from up here, the scanner’s too low-res. And… honestly, I don’t think it matters. You’re… well, surrounded by the signal. Locating it shouldn’t be hard.”

  Derek clenched his jaw and pulled the jury-rigged pistol he’d built with Ithara. The red crystal in its frame flared to life, heat blooming against his palm. “Shade, Sunny, light the walls!”

  Twin cones of pale light cut through the dark like stage spotlights, revealing the tall, black corridor walls.

  Hundreds of tiny silver-metal spheres lined both sides, glinting as they slid in perfect, insect-like formation. Joints clicked and snapped in rapid rhythm, the swarm moving over the stone like one living thing.

  Chuck, at the front, froze. The Bots behind him did the same.

  Derek narrowed his eyes. “What the hell are those?”

  Erasmus stroked his chin. “They remind me of something I once read, small builder-servants used by the Ancients for construction and maintenance. The texts described them as rounded little beings.”

  “Matches the look. Don’t seem hostile.”

  One sphere detached from the wall and dropped to the floor in front of Derek. Dozens of tiny legs unfolded beneath it, propelling it forward with insect-like precision. No other visible limbs, just thin slits running along its upper shell. How something like that could build or repair anything was anyone’s guess.

  “Uh… hey there,” Derek said. “If Ithara were here, she’d already be naming you. Lucky for both of us she’s not. So, if you don’t mind, my friends and I need to get through. You and your buddies can just… pretend we’re not here.”

  The swarm shifted. A section of spheres broke from the walls and rolled into formation, stacking themselves in front of Derek. One after another, they latched together like mechanical puzzle pieces, each sphere’s top slots catching perfectly on the limbs of the one above.

  In seconds, the clattering assembly had formed a vaguely humanoid figure, nearly five meters tall, blocking the path.

  Derek craned his neck upward. No face. No mouth. No eyes. Probably couldn’t talk, but worth a try.

  He holstered the pistol and lifted both hands. “Can you understand me?”

  The figure didn’t react.

  “Okay, look, we’re just passing through. We won’t cause trouble, right, Erasmus? Tell them yourself.”

  Derek turned, just in time to see the archivist sprinting back toward the stairs, boots splashing water in every direction.

  Damn it. So much for not abandoning the Cashnar in his hour of need.

  When Derek looked back, the metal giant had lowered itself to one knee. A harsh, grinding voice—metal on stone—echoed through the cavern.

  “Help us,” it boomed. “Help us repair. Help us.”