Moments before midnight, several distinct figures from the city government gathered in the New Liceas governor’s office, located at the top of the main government building in the central district.
The governor, Graham Lainik, stood behind his desk with both hands clasped together as he leaned forward. Lainik was a man in his sixties, his head crowned with full white hair, and his once-bright blue eyes now reflecting only darker shades.
Right by his side stood a man in a long dark trench coat, with slicked-back hair and distinct golden-framed glasses.
The others gathered in a small living area within the office. An old, bald man wearing the dark ceremonial tunic of the Liceas’Kun Cathedral bishop drank tea, his smile nearly indistinguishable from the folds of his wrinkles. Another man wore the highest-ranking police uniform with decorum; he was the Commander of the police forces.
Lastly, a known presence with a top hat—the university board representative for the skyport industries—sat uncomfortably beside the commander, almost indistinguishable from a statue.
“I’m sorry for calling you at such an hour, Mr. Heinan,” the governor said, addressing the man with the top hat, “but recent circumstances have brought significant challenges to my schedule.”
“It is an honor to be in your presence,” the industry representative replied, standing to pay his respects.
“Mr. Heinan, I am sure you already know His Eminence, Bishop Odogaron Behelis, bishop of our Cathedral to Possibilities. I have business to attend to with him later, so I hope you do not feel bothered by his presence.”
The man laughed nervously and paid reverence to the bishop.
“Introductions aside, shall we proceed to the matter at hand? What troubles the industries to the point that we must meet with such urgency?” the governor asked, settling into his seat.
“Well, as the Governor may know, the industrial complex has been facing increasing challenges with its workforce. Activity in the shipyards has been reduced significantly, even though demand for exospheric and interplanetary vessels has not diminished. We believe recent events and administrative policies have significantly favored the mercantilist guilds, both inside and outside the skyport.”
“I am aware that the situation has not been favorable for the industries,” the governor replied, “but the city already does everything within its reach to support the shipbuilder guilds—not to mention the limited control we exercise over underground industrial activities.”
“Even so,” the man coughed, “the guild has supported extensive scientific research to find technological solutions, and a few candidates have come to our attention.”
The bishop maintained the same expression as he took another sip of tea.
“The incorporation of intelligent mechanical constructs could assist with the heaviest labor, significantly increasing industrial output.”
Though the proposal carried practical merit, an air of discomfort settled over the room.
“I would like to remind Mr. Heinan that current Republic law forbids the use of mechanical constructs such as automatons or any form of artificial intelligence,” the man with the golden frames interjected.
“Mr. Heinan, I am sure you have met my legal advisor before—soon to become General Attorney—Jor’Sen,” the governor added, allowing the tall, stern figure to regain control of the conversation.
“For the shipyard industries’ consideration to be recognized, it must be presented before the Senate, where little to no approval is expected. Moreover, any decision affecting the workers of the slums will draw the attention of the Syndicate, which, from my perspective, is nothing less than an invitation to revolution,” Jor’Sen explained calmly, pushing his glasses further into place.
“But gentlemen… The prohibition on mechanical life is nothing but archaic law by now. Do you not think such outdated legislation requires revision? I am certain industries in other systems advocate the same. Should we not gather their support as well—”
The Bishop of Possibilities finished his tea at that very moment. “I’m sorry, Mr. Heinan, but intelligent machines remain an insult to the infinite potential of mankind. They remove effort and strip away value, not to mention that they represent the sinful act of assuming the role of the Creator. Despite the separation of church and state, the majority of the population still aligns with our teachings. Thus, I am afraid you will not find the support you seek anywhere in the Republic.”
In the end, Governor Lainik had no option but to conclude the meeting and allow the industry representative to depart.
“Now, regarding the concerns of the Church, I can assure Bishop Behelis that central police command and my administration are doing everything possible to apprehend the thief involved in the New Liceas University incident.”
“My age has made me a patient man,” the elder replied with a gentle smile, “but I have begun to consider possible involvement from the Vatican—or even the Inquisition, if necessary.”
The mere mention of those organizations sparked a faint interest in Jor’Sen’s eyes, though he remained outwardly stoic.
Before the conversation could proceed further, a sudden knock interrupted them. The commander opened the door to find a uniformed officer who had rushed in with urgency.
“I believe I made it clear that we were not to be interrupted,” the commander scolded his trembling subordinate.
“Central Command has received a report regarding our primary investigation target, as well as a potential mass disorder in the underworld.”
The two officers exchanged hurried whispers.
Bishop Odogaron remained calm, almost amused.
“Gentlemen, this matter requires my immediate attention. Governor, Bishop—if you will excuse me,” the commander said before departing.
At the same time, Jor’Sen picked up his briefcase.
Stolen novel; please report.
“I believe it is time for me to rest. Governor, Bishop…”
Before he could leave, the governor rose quickly from his chair.
“Jor’Sen, what you said about the Syndicate earlier—is it true?”
The yellow ceiling light reflected against the man’s glasses. “Perhaps.”
The Shipyards lay at the base of the skyport megastructure. Unlike the docking stations along the surface sides, these yards were responsible for constructing exospheric vessels traveling between nearby systems. Incomplete structures hung over the nightly abyss, from which the surface lights and the moon’s reflection in the clouds could be seen.
Lorien noticed a significant decrease in Syndicate personnel after the events in the black market district. It was as if the entire shipyard had become a ghost town. Only a few armed guards remained at the entrance.
By then, he could no longer afford to dwell on what had happened to the others during the shootout or the hysteria. Still, he attempted to avoid the guards, moving toward the warehouse perimeter.
Near the metal fence, Lorien closed his eyes and summoned the white sparks of the Vault, dissolving the iron particles into air and opening a gap through which he slipped inside.
Now within the complex, he recognized the difficulty of locating the exact place where Aristarchus was being held. Searching building by building would take too long, and time was running short before the confrontation between the city forces concluded.
Desperation crept in, though he understood the need for swift action. Ironically, just as he lamented lacking assistance, Lorien noticed a dark silhouette standing atop one of the storage buildings.
It was the shadow fiend, Laplace—still unseen by others beneath the veil of his cloaked invisibility.
“Laplace… I need your help!” Lorien called out, attempting to bargain. The being of shadows merely scratched his jaw in thought.
“I’m not entirely sure what you expect me to help with.”
“I need to find Aristarchus. He has to be somewhere in here.”
“And why would I know where your tortured friend is being held?”
“You seem to know quite a lot about everything…” Lorien admitted, only to pause as the word struck him. “Wait—did you say torture?”
The exchange was cut short when Lorien’s raised voice alerted the guards patrolling beneath the storage building where the shadow stood.
“What’s going on? Who’s there?” one of the grunts shouted.
Lorien reached for Laplace once more, but the shadow had already vanished. The Syndicate men drew their weapons and aimed them at the boy.
He attempted to retreat but froze under their threats. “Stay where you are!”
Lorien raised both hands, the Vault still clutched in one of them. “I… suppose I’m the Almoner you’re looking for,” he admitted awkwardly. “There’s no need for violence.”
One grunt shoved the other’s cannon downward. “The boss will be disappointed if he isn’t brought in alive.”
After a brief exchange of looks, they holstered their weapons and approached him instead, relying on their physical strength.
“I came here to rescue a man. If you release him, I’ll make sure none of this falls on you. Please,” Lorien pleaded.
“If we capture you, the boss will move us up the ranks,” one replied, clenching his fists. The other nodded. “Sorry, kid. Nothing personal.”
Conflict became inevitable. Lorien was no fighter; he had never relied on force or cunning to defend himself. The Syndicate grunts, however, thrived on violence. Yet with no one left to protect him, Lorien had no choice but to test his fragile resolve and fend for himself.
As they prepared to strike, he anticipated their first movement and summoned the Vault’s power. White sparks flickered into existence as he held his breath.
The men flinched at the erratic surge of energy, fearing electrocution. Still, they knew the stories surrounding the Almoner. That knowledge alone gave them courage to press forward.
The first man lunged, raising his arm to knock Lorien to the ground. Lorien blocked with his right arm, absorbing most of the impact with the grapple’s reinforced casing.
A crack followed. The grunt fractured his fingers and staggered back, clutching his hand in pain. Furious, he attempted an upper jab with his other arm but missed. His balance faltered. His swings grew weaker. Moments later, he collapsed to the ground, unconscious.
Though chaotic in appearance, Lorien understood what had happened. While channeling the Vault’s power, he had transmuted the surrounding air into highly concentrated nitrogen. In excess, nitrogen displaced oxygen and induced hypoxia, shutting the body down. He had held his breath deliberately to avoid succumbing to the same invisible danger.
The second grunt hesitated, then reached for a weapon. Reacting quickly, Lorien fired the grapple. The metal claw shot forward and slammed into the man’s hand—an unintended use of his invention.
Still, it was not enough. Lorien threw himself forward to force the man down, but the difference in strength worked against him. The grunt seized his shoulder and hurled him to the floor.
The impact knocked the Vault from his grip, sending the brass cube skidding several meters away.
Desperate, Lorien crawled toward it—only to be kicked in the stomach. He coughed violently, pain radiating through his body as he struggled to rise.
Without the Vault, he was merely a boy—weak and powerless. Desperation clung to him as he reached toward the cube.
Then realization struck. His dependence on it had fueled many of his failures. Faced with a choice, Lorien abandoned the Vault where it lay and turned instead, firing the grapple directly at the man’s face.
At such close range, the propulsion shattered the grunt’s chin and teeth. Blood poured from his nose as he collapsed backward, nearly unconscious.
The grapple’s fuel depleted, Lorien retrieved the Vault and sat atop the fallen man. Exhaustion wracked his body; tears threatened to surface. Still, he raised his fist.
“Tell me… where is Aristarchus?”
White sparks ignited around him, sharp as unseen blades.
With no alternatives, the man revealed the scrap-seller’s location in exchange for mercy.
To avoid further risk, Lorien once more transmuted the surrounding air into nitrogen, ensuring the man’s unconsciousness before leaving.
He soon reached the warehouse where Aristarchus was confined. At the sound of Lorien’s voice beyond the metal door, the man stirred.
“Lorien? Is that… you?”
“...Mr. Aristarchus!” Lorien replied, a faint smile forming.
A massive metal door stood between them. Yet Lorien had prepared for such an obstacle. After confirming Aristarchus had stepped away, he transmuted part of the iron into pure fluorine—the most reactive element known. The reaction was immediate; fluorine bonded violently with surrounding matter, forming a corrosive compound that devoured the door’s structure.
Sustaining the transmutation, Lorien destroyed the supports until the door collapsed with a heavy crash.
The strain of continuous use weighed heavily on him, but he pressed forward. Leaving the Nebuchadnezzar’s Vault on the floor, he untied Aristarchus with trembling hands.
“Boy… I don’t know how you managed this—but you need to leave,” Aristarchus muttered weakly.
“It’s okay. I’m getting you out of here,” Lorien replied, lifting him with all the strength he had left.
It was not enough. Aristarchus was too heavy.
“Come on… we just have to go,” Lorien urged desperately.
“I’m afraid that won’t be happening.”
The click of a gun froze them both.
The warehouse lights flickered on, revealing a man with a golden watch and a red tie. One hand rested in his pocket; the other held an antiquated Syndicate handgun.
“To think the Almoner would arrive on his own—and after creating such a spectacle.”
Lorien’s breathing tightened. His resources were nearly spent.
He knew one wrong move was enough to end everything.
