The caverns beneath the Blackridge Mountains were older than any civilization Jack—or Tarkhan—had ever known. Winding tunnels carved by water, time, and pressure formed a labyrinthine underworld, now half-forgotten even by the frontier settlers who lived in the shadows of the ridgeline.
As Jack, Lyra, and Verix descended deeper into its maw, the surface world fell away behind them, muffled by layers of stone and ancient silence.
A soft luminescence guided their path—veins of bioluminescent crystal that pulsed faintly like a subterranean heartbeat. Jack's pendant responded to the light with subtle flickers of its own, as if acknowledging a kinship.
Verix led the way, moving with uncanny confidence. The illusion of her masculine disguise had long since been dropped; beneath the cloak, her lithe, elven form moved with the grace of a predator at home in the dark.
Pale silver hair fell freely past her shoulders, catching stray glimmers of cave-light.
"These tunnels were part of an ancient Vexari migration network," she explained, her voice reverent yet crisp.
"Before the Conclave's dominion, before even the First Kingdoms, our ancestors carved paths through the roots of the world. Few remember them now. Fewer still dare to walk them."
Lyra's hand remained near the hilt of her blade. "And we can trust these paths will take us to Settlement Seventeen?"
Verix offered a faint smile. "They will take us close. But more importantly, they will keep us hidden. No scryer can penetrate this depth. No imperial construct can survive the ether saturation this far below."
Jack nodded. He could feel it—the hum in the air, like static before a thunderstorm. The cultivation energy down here was… different. Denser. Wilder.
If surface cultivation were a stream, this was an ocean, dark and deep and filled with unknown currents.
They walked in silence for hours, the air growing cooler and heavier as they descended. Jack's thoughts wandered, spiraling inward.
The matrix had grown more stable since Verix joined them. Her presence had balanced something in the construct, smoothing its more volatile reactions.
He could feel it now not as a separate artifact but as a symbiosis—a rhythm between his thoughts and something deeper, older.
Yet there remained an emptiness. A vacancy.
Three points in the matrix. A triangle. Stable, but incomplete.
"We need a fourth," he murmured aloud.
Verix turned her head slightly. "You feel it too."
Lyra arched a brow. "Another compatible?"
Jack nodded. "A fourth resonance point. The matrix craves it. We're balanced, but not whole. Without a fourth, we risk structural collapse as energy scales."
"Then we find one," Lyra said simply.
"Preferably one not hunted by imperial assassins."
"Preferably," Verix echoed dryly.
They emerged hours later into a vaulted chamber—a natural cathedral within the mountain.
Towering columns of stone rose like petrified trees, and in the center of the chamber, a still pool mirrored the crystalline ceiling.
Verix knelt by the water's edge. "We rest here. This place is safe."
Jack sat cross-legged near one of the columns, letting his breath slow. The energy here was palpable, like heat from a forge. He placed his palm against the stone and closed his eyes.
The matrix responded, threads of thought weaving into pattern, into vision—
—a girl, her eyes dark as the void between stars, seated before a broken altar. She was alone, yet the air around her shimmered with potential.
She reached toward something unseen, and the pendant around Jack's neck pulsed in time with her breath—
He gasped, pulling his hand away. The vision dissipated like mist.
Verix studied him. "A fourth?"
"She's real," Jack said.
"Somewhere north. Not far. But… different. She's not like us. Her energy felt… fractured. Like a mirror broken but still reflecting."
Lyra exhaled through her nose. "Sounds promising."
"Or dangerous," Verix added. "The matrix seeks resonance, but not all resonances are benevolent."
Jack stood, resolve hardening. "We'll need to find her. But first—"
A tremor shuddered through the stone beneath their feet.
Lyra's sword was half-drawn before the second tremor hit, stronger this time. Dust drifted from the ceiling. Cracks formed in the mirrored pool.
"Move!" she barked, grabbing Jack by the shoulder.
The ceiling groaned. Then, from the far end of the chamber, the stone wall ruptured with a deafening roar as something massive tore through it.
It was a golem—twelve feet tall, wrought from obsidian and brass, its single cyclopean eye glowing a menacing crimson. Imperial make, but unlike any Jack had seen in Tarkhan's memories.
"Kill-on-sight protocol," Verix muttered, drawing two slim crescent blades from beneath her cloak.
"They must've traced the matrix's last spike before we went underground."
The golem's chest split open, revealing a seething core of volatile energy. It raised an arm, palm unfolding into a cannon-like aperture.
Jack dove aside as it fired, the beam carving a molten path across the chamber. Steam hissed where the pool vaporized.
Lyra was already in motion, darting forward, using the columns as cover. Her blade struck the golem's leg with a ringing clang, but barely scratched it.
"Core's vulnerable!" Jack shouted. "We need to overload it!"
Verix blurred into motion, her elven speed dazzling. She scaled a column and launched herself toward the golem's back, slashing at the control conduits. Sparks flew, but the golem roared and spun, swatting her aside.
Jack reached inward, tapping the matrix.
"Guide me," he whispered.
The pendant flared. Threads of energy unfurled from it—one to Lyra, dancing like flame; one to Verix, cold and sharp like moonlight.
He raised his hand. "Now!"
Lyra leapt, striking the golem's cannon arm, forcing it upward.
Verix's blades cut through the exposed core housing.
Jack focused the matrix's energy, channeling a resonant pulse into the golem's open chest. The reaction was instantaneous.
The core shrieked and imploded, dragging the rest of the construct inward before detonating in a shockwave of force and light.
When the dust settled, only scorched stone remained.
They stood, panting, bruised but alive.
"They're escalating," Lyra said grimly. "This wasn't a scout."
"No," Verix agreed. "It was a warning."
Jack stared at the smoking crater. "Then we respond. We find the fourth. We finish what Jaro started."
Lyra looked to him. "Where to?"
Jack closed his eyes, reaching again for that lingering vision. He saw the girl once more, sitting amid ruins, surrounded by fractured light.
"North," he said. "To the ruins of Ardesh Hollow."
Verix tilted her head. "That place was razed during the Old Wars. Nothing remains."
"Something does," Jack said. "Something the matrix wants."
They gathered their packs in silence, the gravity of their path settling over them like a mantle. Beyond the mountain lay a world slipping ever closer to chaos. The Conclave would not relent. The empire's shadow grew long.
But Jack Morrison—Tarkhan Lavenius—no longer walked blindly. He walked with purpose, with allies, and with a spark of rebellion kindled in the depths of the earth.
As they stepped from the chamber into the next leg of their journey, none of them saw the figure watching from the high ledge—a girl with void-dark eyes and fractured energy swirling faintly around her.
She smiled.
"Soon," she whispered, and vanished into the stone.