He reactivated the cryo-core buried deep beneath the stone platform, the kind of machine that hadn't made a sound in longer than anyone could remember.
A low hum started to rise—quiet at first, then a little steadier. Dust fell from the ceiling. The cold stone, untouched by warmth for generations, slowly started to breathe again.
And he wasn't alone.
They were coming.
Not from the cities above.
Not through gates or portals.
They came from below, from the ground itself.
Through tunnels carved long before the Fall—before the wars, before the systems, before anyone remembered what this place used to be.
Most had forgotten those tunnels even existed. But they hadn't. The ones who lived in the dark remembered.
They came one by one at first, then in groups. They were quiet and careful, not marching like soldiers but flowing like something older, something patient.
