The air inside Apex Spire had a taste—like old copper and static. Nuel stood near the central console where Isla's hologram had reappeared. She flickered slightly, her expression calm, composed. And yet, even in projection, her eyes held the weight of sleepless years.
"I knew you'd find this place," Isla's voice said. "Or someone would, eventually. If you've activated the Anchor protocols, then the world is far worse than we feared."
"Understatement of the century," Kael muttered, brushing ash off his coat.
Corin stepped forward, his face unreadable. "Isla… what did you bury here?"
The hologram continued: "This is Apex Spire's core vault. It holds residual energy maps from the First Fracture, Rift echo traces, and classified data on survival enclaves... including Project Shelter."
Nuel's breath caught.
"Elara," Corin said, sharper now, "extract that file."
Elara moved fast, fingers dancing across the console. Her eyes widened as lines of encrypted data flooded the display. "Project Shelter. That was her fallback plan in case the main cities fell."
"What kind of plan?" Nyra asked.
"Evacuation," Elara said. "But not just away from danger—beneath it."
Corin nodded. "She was developing Rift-shielded bunkers, hidden inside fractured zones. If some of them worked…"
Nuel leaned in. "Does that mean survivors? Families?"
Elara scanned the data, then turned to Nuel slowly. "Your family was on the roster."
The words struck like thunder.
His mouth went dry. "What?"
"Your name's here," she confirmed. "And your mother, father... and a line that just says 'Juno – Special Protocol Enacted.'"
"Juno?" he echoed. His sister. He hadn't heard that name aloud since... before everything.
"Special protocol?" Kael asked.
Elara frowned. "Encrypted. But it's linked to Rift-adjacent memory threads. I'll need time to decode it."
Nuel stepped back, head spinning. He'd spent months assuming the worst. Letting himself believe his family had been taken by the Rift. But now—possibility bloomed like light through cracks.
Alive?
Somewhere?
His fingers curled unconsciously. The bracelet glowed faintly, reacting to the shift in his thoughts.
"Focus," Corin said gently. "This is just the start. There's more buried here—and possibly more people coming to stop us from getting it."
As if summoned, the alarms flared again.
Not as loud this time—but urgent. Rhythmic.
Movement detected.
The group tensed, spreading out near the atrium's high arches. Elara pulled up a camera feed on her wristpad.
"Someone's coming through the western gate," she said. "Alone. Humanoid. Not Rift-touched... I think."
"Think?" Kael said.
"Low resolution. They're wearing a cloak."
Thera's voice came through a nearby speaker. "We see them too. They're not from the enclave."
"Do they look armed?" Nyra asked.
Elara paused. "They're carrying... a musical instrument?"
There was a beat of silence.
"A what?" Nuel asked.
They waited just inside the Spire's entrance hall as footsteps approached. At last, the figure stepped into view—tall, wrapped in layered grey robes, a satchel at his side, and slung across his back, a harp made of polished bone and glowing strings.
"Hello there," he said, stopping with an easy smile. "You wouldn't happen to have tea, would you?"
Kael blinked. "What?"
The stranger nodded politely. "Tea. Steeped leaves. Infused calm. All that."
"I—what?"
Nyra tilted her head. "We're inside a Rift-anchored apocalypse tower and you're... looking for tea?"
"Apologies," the stranger said. "I forget myself. Name's Lysander. I follow the Resonance. The tower called me."
"The tower called you?" Corin said cautiously.
Lysander's fingers brushed the harp's strings, and the notes echoed faintly through the air, resonating with the Spire's walls.
"The Spire remembers. The Rift listens. And I... play what echoes between," he said. "Also, I'm quite useful in a fight."
Elara raised a brow. "You're a bard."
He grinned. "With a body count."
Nyra actually laughed. "I like him."
Corin stepped forward. "If the Spire let you in, then you're part of this. For now."
"Lovely," Lysander said, stepping lightly across the stone floor. "By the way, you've triggered something below. The melody's changed. Darker now."
The lights above them dimmed slightly.
"Elara," Corin said. "Where's the disturbance?"
She checked her interface. "Level three. Looks like something's breaking through containment."
"Then we'd better intercept it before it comes looking for us," Nuel said, already moving toward the stairwell.
Level three was a maze of collapsed hallways and suspended bridges. Everything here had a green-blue tint, like they'd stepped into a dream. Or a memory.
As they moved forward, Lysander played soft notes on his harp, and the walls pulsed with rhythm. "This tower has soul," he said. "It remembers pain."
"Do you always narrate your surroundings like this?" Kael muttered.
"Only when they're listening," Lysander replied with a wink.
They reached the core of the level just in time to see it rise—a Riftborn creature larger than the last, with two heads and an array of flickering wings that seemed to phase in and out of reality.
Nyra exhaled. "Alright, this one's ugly."
It roared—both heads splitting into rows of jagged jaws—and lunged.
Nuel didn't wait. The bracelet responded instantly, coating his arms in shimmering energy as he dove forward. His blade, summoned mid-motion, slashed into the beast's side—but its form warped, reforming like liquid shadow.
"Hold it still!" Corin shouted.
"Working on it!" Nuel yelled, dodging a tail swipe.
Kael flanked the beast, unloading bullets into its jointed knees, slowing it.
Lysander struck a low chord on his harp, and a visible pulse rippled outward—disorienting the creature as its wings stuttered mid-phase.
"Your music hurts it?" Elara asked.
"I play in A minor," Lysander replied cheerfully. "The key of agony."
With the creature stunned, Elara hurled a charged baton into its core. It lodged between plates—and Nuel leapt.
He drove his energy blade downward.
Light erupted.
The creature shrieked, twisted—and finally shattered into shards of frozen Riftlight.
In the aftermath, silence returned.
"Well," Lysander said, brushing his robes, "I'd say we're a decent ensemble. Lacking a percussionist, perhaps, but otherwise balanced."
Nuel leaned against a wall, heart still pounding. But inside, something felt... lighter.
The Tower was waking. His path, once obscured by fear and doubt, was beginning to form beneath his feet.
And somewhere out there, his family might still be alive.
He wasn't just surviving anymore.
He was chasing hope.