The team descended into the heart of Apex Spire's final accessible level—a chamber sealed for over a decade, untouched since the First Fracture. The moment the reinforced doors hissed open, a wave of stale air and strange heat hit them like a wall.
"Smells like an ancient computer lab and burnt toast," Kael muttered, nose wrinkling.
"Hopefully there's something useful," Elara said, stepping inside with a scanning lens already active.
The chamber was vast, circular, and lined with consoles blinking faintly under layers of dust and webbed energy threads. At its center stood a cylindrical core—twenty feet tall—encased in cracked glass and pulsing with Riftlight.
"Is that…" Nuel began.
"A data spine," Corin finished. "Isla's last backup. Or what's left of it."
Elara approached the core slowly, her voice low. "We're standing in the archive of a ghost."
They spent over an hour reactivating terminals and rerouting power. Nuel helped where he could—mostly watching as Elara, Kael, and Lysander debated which nodes to avoid so they didn't accidentally set off an implosion.
Eventually, the main console came online.
A flickering projection formed, and there she was again—Isla Elowen, pale and tired, eyes red-rimmed from sleeplessness.
"Final log," she said, voice crackling. "If you're hearing this, then I failed."
Nuel froze.
"She doesn't mean you," Nyra said gently.
"No," he said. "I think she might."
The recording continued.
"Anchors are breaking," Isla said. "I can't stop it. We thought we could patch the sky—but the Rift isn't just a tear. It's a hunger. A sentient force. Every time we try to mend it, it adapts."
Corin's face darkened.
"Project Shelter was launched in desperation. I sent families underground, hidden in phased echo zones. Some survived. Some... changed. But I had to try. If even one child makes it out of this, then I didn't waste everything."
The lights flickered.
Isla looked into the camera one last time.
"To whoever finds this—stop the Echo Lords. They're not myths. They're real. And they remember you."
The feed ended.
Silence.
"Elara," Corin said, voice hoarse. "Did she say... Echo Lords?"
Elara nodded slowly. "It's an old Rift theory. Supposedly, when the Rift first fractured, entities were born inside it—pure will, pure thought. They exist to manipulate reality from beyond the veil."
Kael shifted uncomfortably. "Like gods."
"No," Lysander said quietly. "Like ideas that never died. Songs that looped too long. Memories that forgot their source."
"That's nonsense," Kael muttered.
"And yet you've seen worse," Lysander replied, his grin gone.
Nuel looked around, suddenly very aware of the walls—how they almost breathed. "So... there are Rift creatures. And then there are... them?"
"Apparently," Elara confirmed.
Nyra crossed her arms. "Wonderful. Just what this apocalypse needed. Elder gods with bad attitudes."
Elara tapped her interface. "If we're lucky, we'll never meet them."
Corin didn't look convinced.
Later, as the others continued data recovery, Nuel slipped away toward a side alcove—a small room, barely more than a storage nook. But inside, dust-covered photographs and journals sat neatly arranged on a shelf.
One picture stopped him cold.
It showed Isla smiling beside a younger man—Nuel's father. Dr. Callum Vareth. And in front of them, two children: a younger Nuel and a girl with messy hair and a gap-toothed grin.
Juno.
He lifted the photo with trembling fingers. The air in the room suddenly felt heavier.
So it was true.
They'd known Isla. Trusted her. Worked with her.
Which meant if she was building survival protocols… she'd done it for them too.
Nuel stared into the little boy's face in the photo. So naive. So protected. A world away from the one standing here now.
A voice cleared behind him.
"You alright?"
He turned. Nyra stood in the doorway, arms folded, concern softening her sharp expression.
"I found this," he said, showing her the picture.
She looked at it quietly. "That's you?"
He nodded.
"Cute," she said, smirking.
"I look like a squirrel."
"Exactly."
Nuel smiled faintly. "They were here. All this time. Helping her. And she tried to protect us. Me. Juno…"
"She might still be out there," Nyra said gently.
"That 'special protocol' entry," Nuel whispered. "What if Juno was more than a survivor? What if Isla... changed her?"
Nyra tilted her head. "Like how you changed?"
He nodded.
The bracelet on his wrist pulsed—once, then again, like a heartbeat. A faint echo traveled down his spine.
He wasn't alone anymore.
Back at the central chamber, Lysander suddenly stood very still.
"What is it?" Kael asked.
"Shh."
Everyone paused.
Lysander touched the harp's strings and winced. "They're listening again."
"Who?" Nuel asked.
"The ones on the other side. The Echo Lords. Something we did here—it shook them. Stirred memory. Or hatred."
Corin swore. "They're awake?"
"Not fully," Lysander said. "But they've turned their gaze this way."
"Then we need to move fast," Elara said. "This tower is compromised."
Nuel looked at the Rift-map they'd pulled from the archive. There were coordinates marked in red across the continent—each tagged: "Anchor Potential" or "Shelter Echo."
One stood out.
A location far north.
"Let's go there," he said.
Elara scanned it. "That zone's a no-go. Riftquake central. We don't even know what's alive out there."
Nuel stared at the map. "Then it's exactly where we need to be."
Nyra nodded. "I'm with him."
Lysander plucked a hopeful tune. "Adventure, then."
Corin sighed. "We'll prep. Gear up. And move before nightfall. If what Isla said is true… the clock's ticking."
Outside the tower, the sky shimmered faintly. The Riftline on the horizon pulsed with eerie light.
And somewhere—far north—a girl named Juno opened her eyes in a chamber of crystal and echo.
She smiled.
"They're coming."