The maintenance conduit ran beneath the east wing like a forgotten vein—narrow, damp, lined with rusted pipes and the occasional flickering emergency strip.
Hana led.
Ren followed.
Aoi brought up the rear.
They moved single-file, shoulders brushing concrete, breathing shallow to keep sound low. No comms chatter—only hand signals and the soft click of Hana's old access fob against a sealed grate every few meters.
The air smelled of ozone, old metal, and something faintly golden—like incense burned years ago and never cleared.
At the third junction Hana paused—raised a closed fist.
Ahead: the first sentinel.
A floating orb the size of a basketball—matte silver, etched with faint angelic script. It drifted slowly along its patrol arc, scanning with a thin violet beam that swept the corridor like a lighthouse.
Hana crouched—motioned them down.
She pulled a small, cracked data-slate from her coat pocket—the same one she'd carried since the 2040s. Fingers moved across the screen in practiced patterns.
The sentinel paused mid-sweep.
Its beam flickered.
Then it turned—slowly—facing the opposite wall.
Hana exhaled—barely audible.
"Legacy override still works. But it'll only buy us ninety seconds per unit."
Ren nodded once.
They slipped past.
The archive vault door appeared at the end of the conduit—smooth black alloy, no visible handle, only a palm scanner and a retinal grid.
Hana placed her hand on the scanner.
Nothing happened.
She tried again.
Still nothing.
Aoi stepped forward—hesitant.
"Let me."
She pressed her palm to the plate.
Golden light flared briefly beneath her skin—Luminara's echo answering the Hall's own wards.
The scanner chimed—soft, almost reluctant.
The door hissed open.
Inside: rows of sealed cases under low red lighting. Relics. Data-crystals. Ancient tomes bound in materials that no longer existed outside museums.
And in the center—on a simple black pedestal—a single slim crystal rod no thicker than a finger.
The suppression-seal master schematic.
Ren felt the Anchor rune pulse—once, warning.
Aoi's hand found his—squeezed.
"We're here," she whispered. "We're really doing this."
Hana moved first—silent steps toward the pedestal.
She reached for the rod.
The moment her fingers brushed it, every light in the vault snapped red.
Alarms didn't scream—they hummed. Low, deep, vibrating through bone.
Hana froze.
"Secondary ward. Post-2040s. My clearance isn't enough anymore."
Ren stepped forward—twilight energy already coiling faintly around his free hand.
Aoi mirrored him—golden threads laced with shadow rising along her arm.
They reached together.
The moment their joined hands touched the rod, the red lights flickered—then steadied green.
The hum stopped.
The crystal rod warmed under their grip—data flowing into their palms like cool water.
Hana stared.
"Your balance… it reads as neutral. The system doesn't know what to do with you."
Ren pulled the rod free—small, heavier than it looked.
Aoi exhaled—shaky.
"We have it."
Hana's voice was very quiet.
"Then we leave. Now."
They turned.
The door was already closing—slow, deliberate.
Behind it: silhouettes.
Three Miracles—full tactical gear, spears materializing in gold light.
Leading them: Tanaka.
He stepped through just before the door sealed.
No anger in his face.
Only sorrow.
"Aoi."
She froze.
Tanaka looked at the rod in Ren's hand.
Then at their joined fingers.
"You really came for it."
Aoi stepped forward—half a step.
"Senpai… please. Let us go."
Tanaka's spear stayed low—unraised.
"I can't."
He looked at Hana—recognition flashing across his face.
"Lost Seraph."
Hana inclined her head—small, regal.
"Tanaka-kun. You grew up."
He swallowed.
"The Saint gave the order. If the schematics leave this room… lethal force authorized. No exceptions."
Ren felt Aoi's hand tremble—just once.
He squeezed back—steady.
Tanaka looked at her—really looked.
"One last time," he said softly.
"Walk away from him. Come back with me. I'll tell them the schematics were destroyed in the struggle. I'll take the blame. You can still have a life."
Aoi's voice cracked.
"I already have one."
Tanaka closed his eyes—for three heartbeats.
When he opened them:
"Then I'm sorry."
His spear rose—slow, reluctant.
Ren stepped in front of Aoi.
Twilight energy flared—barrier snapping into place between them and Tanaka's team.
Hana moved—violet essence rippling around her like a cloak.
"Enough."
She raised one hand.
The air between them shimmered—old seraph power meeting new twilight.
No clash.
Just… pressure.
Tanaka's spear wavered.
He looked at Aoi one last time.
Then lowered the weapon.
"Go," he said—voice rough.
"Before I change my mind."
The door unsealed—override accepted.
They ran.
Through corridors.
Past sentinels that suddenly turned blind.
Up emergency stairs.
Out a service exit into rain-soaked back alleys.
They didn't stop until they reached the extraction point—three blocks away.
A Current van waited—engine idling.
They piled in.
Doors slammed.
The van peeled away.
Inside—silence except for breathing.
Hana held the schematic rod like it might burn her.
Aoi leaned against Ren—head on his shoulder.
Ren wrapped an arm around her—tight.
Tanaka's face lingered in both their minds.
Not as an enemy.
As a ghost of what could have been.
The van disappeared into Neo-Tokyo's neon veins.
Carrying hope.
Carrying guilt.
Carrying the seed of something that might one day change everything.
Essence Level: 10.0
(stable – emotional resonance too conflicted for gain)
Current status: Schematics secured – Tanaka let them go – Return to hub imminent – War enters new phase
End of Chapter 29