First Clue

Lyra and Coren stood just outside the forward base, the early morning light casting long shadows over the rugged terrain. The horizon was streaked with soft hues of orange and red, a fragile calm at odds with their simmering frustration. For the past hour, they'd tried—and failed—to pry more answers from Sol and Lex about the Valtau Empire, the Accord, and the unsettling hostility Lex had displayed in the tomb.

"You're bound by this 'Accord' to protect us," Lyra said, her tone sharp as she paced near the FusionRider. "But you can't explain what it is? That doesn't make any sense." Her gaze flicked toward Lex, his red glow dim and unreadable as he hovered nearby.

"It's not a matter of secrecy," Sol said, his voice as calm as ever. His glow remained steady, a quiet counterpoint to Lyra's agitation. "It's a matter of readiness. The knowledge you seek isn't something we can simply give you—it must be earned through your own efforts."

Lyra stopped pacing, turning to face him with a look of incredulity. "Not ready? We're literally unearthing the past one artifact at a time, risking our necks, and you're telling me we're not ready? What exactly does 'ready' look like to you?"

Sol remained silent, his glow unwavering. Lex, too, offered no response, his presence almost passive, as if the question didn't warrant an answer. The silence stretched, heavy and impenetrable.

Coren glanced at Lyra, catching the flash of frustration in her mentor's eyes before Lyra let out an exasperated sigh. "Fine," Lyra muttered, throwing up her hands. "If you won't talk, we'll just dig harder. Maybe we'll uncover something you will let us understand."

Coren followed as Lyra stalked toward the FusionRider, the frustration of the unanswered questions pressing against her own thoughts. Sol drifted beside her, his silent presence somehow both comforting and infuriating. She shot him a sidelong glance but didn't bother asking him anything further. By now, she'd learned that when he clammed up, prying wasn't worth the effort.

The next seven days were a gruelling exercise in patience and persistence. Armed with the drone data, Coren and Lyra meticulously checked each flagged location, their routine a blend of careful scanning, precise digging, and painstaking recording. The sun was unrelenting during the day, casting long, jagged shadows across the uneven terrain, while the nights brought a biting chill that seeped into their bones no matter how close they sat to the fire.

There were finds, of course—pieces of ancient tech corroded with age, scattered tools whose purposes were lost to time, and fragments of metal faintly humming with Field resonance. Each discovery brought a flicker of hope, a quick exchange of glances, but none of it led to the larger truths they were chasing. The mysteries of the past remained just out of reach, like a song whose melody refused to resolve.

Lyra had taken to riding the Wolfliger during their surveys, its sleek, striped form gliding effortlessly across the jagged landscape. The creature's presence was imposing yet oddly graceful, its amber eyes scanning the horizon as though it, too, were searching for something. Lyra perched on its broad back with practised ease, her coat flowing behind her like a banner. The sight had become an unspoken ritual, a comforting constant in their otherwise monotonous routine.

"You're really not going to name it?" Coren asked one evening as they packed up their equipment, the glow of their portable lanterns casting soft halos of light around them. She glanced at the Wolfliger, who sat nearby, its ears twitching as though it understood the question.

Lyra shook her head, running a hand along the creature's muscular flank. Its fur was surprisingly soft beneath her fingers, the stripes blending seamlessly into its thick, wolf-like mane. "No point," she said simply. "I can't take it back with me. Naming it would make it harder to leave behind."

Coren frowned, glancing at the Wolfliger. To her, it already felt like part of their little team—a silent, watchful guardian that had saved them more than once. "Feels like it deserves a name," she said quietly, but Lyra only smiled faintly and shook her head.

The days blurred together, each one a mix of anticipation and disappointment, until the morning of the seventh day. One of the drones flagged something unusual—a faint outline buried deep beneath the earth. The shape was irregular at first glance, but as the drone's sensors mapped it in greater detail, Coren felt her breath catch.

"It's humanoid," she murmured, her fingers brushing against the display screen as though touching it might make the discovery more tangible. The shape wasn't natural—there was a strange symmetry in its lines.

Lyra stepped up beside her, her gaze narrowing as she studied the screen. "That's no ordinary find," she said, her tone measured but laced with excitement.

Coren felt her pulse quicken as they prepared their gear

"A body?" Coren asked as she studied the holographic projection on Lyra's data pad.

Lyra nodded. "Maybe. Could be another warrior from the tomb, or just a scavenger who didn't make it."

The thought sent a shiver down Coren's spine, but she pushed it aside as they prepared their equipment. The possibility of finding another body meant they might uncover more answers—or more questions.

They reached the site before midday and began the painstaking process of excavation. The outline grew clearer with each layer they removed. It wasn't long before Coren realised something was off.

"It's not a body," she said, frowning as her tool struck something metallic. "At least, not a human one.

Lyra crouched beside her, brushing away the dirt to reveal the figure beneath. What they uncovered wasn't flesh and bone, but a humanoid machine—its metal frame tarnished with age, its joints locked in a frozen, crumpled position.

"A robot," Lyra said, her voice tinged with both surprise and curiosity.

The machine was humanoid in shape, but its design was unlike anything Coren had seen before. The limbs were sleek, almost skeletal, and its head was oval-shaped, with faint grooves where facial features might have been.

"What do you think it was for?" Coren asked, leaning closer.

Lyra scanned the robot with her device, her brow furrowing as the readout provided limited information. "It's hard to say," she murmured, tilting her head. "It's definitely pre-Severance. It might've been a worker or some sort of personal assistant, but its design is… strange. Almost artistic."

Coren's gaze lingered on the robot's smooth, humanoid form. Its polished surface gleamed like brushed silver, unmarred despite the passage of time. The lines of its body were fluid, flowing seamlessly from joint to joint as though the machine had been sculpted rather than constructed. Its faceplate bore no discernible features, yet the subtle contours gave it an air of serenity, like a mask of quiet dignity.

Her eyes moved to the robot's hands—or rather, the object it was holding. Its slender metallic fingers curled gracefully around a small, cylindrical device, its surface etched with delicate, swirling patterns that shimmered faintly in the light. The etchings seemed to move, catching the eye and drawing Coren in, as though the device were alive in its own right.

"It's beautiful," Coren said softly, almost to herself, unable to take her eyes off the elegant interplay of form and function. There was nothing utilitarian about this machine. It was a work of art.

"What's that?" Coren asked, reaching out instinctively for the cylindrical device.

"Careful," Lyra said quickly, grabbing her wrist before she could touch it. "We don't know what it is—or if it's active."

Coren pulled back reluctantly, her eyes fixed on the object. There was something about it, something she couldn't quite put into words. She could feel the faintest tug at the edges of her awareness, like the device was calling to her.

"We need to record this first," Lyra said, pulling out her holo-tablet. "Let's get all the data we can before we do anything else."

They spent the next few hours scanning and documenting the robot and the object it held. The robot itself didn't react, its systems long since dormant, but the device it clutched continued to shimmer faintly, its markings shifting subtly as though alive.

That night, back at the forward base, Coren couldn't stop thinking about the device. She sat cross-legged on her cot, her eyes fixed on the containment box where it now rested.

"Something about it feels… important," she said aloud, glancing at Sol, who hovered nearby.

"It resonates strongly with the Fields," Sol replied, his tone neutral. "But you should exercise caution, Coren. Its purpose is unknown."

"I know," Coren said, but her gaze didn't waver. The pull she felt toward the device was undeniable. It wasn't just curiosity—it was instinct.

Lyra had already gone to bed, but Coren couldn't bring herself to sleep. She moved quietly to the workbench where the containment box sat, her fingers brushing the lid.

"Are you sure about this?" Sol asked, his glow dimming slightly.

Coren hesitated, then nodded. "I have to know."

The moment Coren's hand touched the artifact, the world around her dissolved in a flash of light. Her breath caught as she felt the familiar pull of a mental space forming around her, but this time, The room in the mental space was distinctly structured—smooth, blue walls that pulsed faintly with light, almost like breathing. The air felt sharp and sterile, like the inside of a freshly cleaned lab.

Coren turned in a slow circle, taking it all in. The design was sleek, modern, and oddly pristine—nothing like the ruins they'd been digging through. Just as she began to wonder where she was and why the space felt so… corporate, she heard the sound of metallic footsteps echoing in the distance.

She froze, her body tensing as a figure approached from the shadows. It was the same robot they had unearthed earlier that day, its sleek, skeletal frame now upright and moving with an eerie, fluid precision. The brushed silver of its form reflected the dim light, giving it an almost spectral quality. Its glowing blue eyes locked onto her, unblinking, as it came to a stop a few feet away.

"I am Avatar X-23-B," the robot announced, its voice crisp and precise, devoid of emotion but disturbingly articulate. "Welcome to Axel Defense Corporation Headquarters. How may I assist you today?"

Coren's breath caught as her mind raced to process the words. Axel Defense Corporation? Headquarters? The very name Axel Defense stirred faint echoes of things she'd read in fragmented historical records, but nothing concrete.

"I—uh…" she began, faltering as she scrambled to form a coherent question. "I need information about this facility. Can you tell me what this place is?"

"Access denied," the robot replied smoothly, its tone unwavering, as though she had asked the most routine of questions.

Coren frowned, her frustration growing. "What about the artifact? The device you were holding—what is it, and why was it being stored here?"

"Access denied," the robot repeated, its voice devoid of inflection, a perfect echo of its earlier response.

Her jaw tightened. So much for smooth-talking a machine. "What permissions do I need to access this information?" she asked, her tone sharp with exasperation.

The robot's glowing eyes pulsed faintly as if processing her question. "Required permissions include Level 3 Axel Defense Corporation Executive clearance or equivalent credentials. Current clearance: unauthorized."

Coren stared at the robot, caught between disbelief and irritation. "Executive clearance?" she muttered under her breath. "That's just great. Who's supposed to have that after twelve centuries?"

The robot tilted its head slightly, as if processing the question. "Only registered users with authorized clearance may access Axel Defense Corporation's archives. Please register at the front desk to proceed."

Coren let out a sharp sigh. "There is no front desk! I dug you out of a hole in the ground, for gods' sake!"

The robot didn't react, its expression—or lack thereof—remaining neutral. "Unauthorized users are not permitted to access classified data," it said simply.

Coren clenched her fists, the sterile blue of the room pressing in on her like an invisible weight. Every question she asked was met with the same infuriating response: "Access denied." The words rang in her ears, robotic and absolute, like a locked door slamming shut over and over again.

Her eyes snapped open, and she found herself back in the forward base, the artifact still cool under her fingertips. She exhaled sharply, her frustration giving way to determination as her mind raced.

"Is this the same as storage artifact?" she muttered to Sol, who hovered beside her, his light pulsing with quiet encouragement. "The storage tablet from last semester—it had the same layered security. I can sense that AI is dormant but there is still an automated routine working, so it won't be as simple to hack."

Sol floated closer, his glow flickering faintly in thought. "The hacking song could serve as a foundation," he said. "However, the complexity here suggests additional barriers. You'll need to refine your song to address the nuances of this system."

Coren straightened, her fingers drumming lightly against the table as she replayed the hacking song in her mind. It had worked before—splicing together the Communication and Cognitive Fields to bypass basic locks and engage dormant systems. But this artifact hummed with a deeper resonance, a more intricate web of encrypted melodies.

"I felt the layers," she said slowly, her voice thoughtful. "The surface layers were easy to reach and understand, but beneath them—there's something more. A hidden harmony, like overlapping chords. If I don't match it perfectly, I fear I will trip the failsafe."

Sol's glow brightened faintly. "Precisely. The Communication Field will still establish the connection, but you'll need to tune the Cognitive Field more finely to use your brain to analyse the lock."

Coren nodded, her shoulders squaring as resolve took root. She'd done this before. This was just another challenge, another puzzle waiting to be solved. She closed her eyes, tuning into the faint Melody within the artifact. It was a whisper, layered and complex, but familiar enough to make her pulse quicken.

"Alright," she said, flexing her fingers as if preparing to play an invisible instrument. "Let's see if we can bring this thing to life."

She spent hours at the workbench, her focus narrowing to the faint hum of the artifact in front of her. The first few attempts were failures—the Melody slipped away from her grasp, refusing to align with her adjustments. But she didn't give up. She started to see the similarity between this artifact the storage artifact and the training box. She wondered if they were all related.

Each attempt brought her closer, the notes of the Melody beginning to come into focus. She combined the Communication Field to establish a link and the Cognitive Field to process the data within the artifact's systems. It was like threading a needle, each adjustment requiring both instinct and precision.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the Melody shifted. Coren felt it click into place, the resonance stabilising as the artifact pulsed faintly beneath her hands.

"I think I've done it," she whispered, glancing at Sol.

"Excellent work," Sol said, his tone carrying a note of approval. "You are now registered as an executive user."

Coren closed her eyes and let the artifact pull her back into the mental space. When she opened them again, she was standing once more in the blue room, its walls glowing faintly.

The robot, Avatar X-23-B, approached her again, its movements smooth and deliberate. "Welcome, Esteem User," it said, bowing its head slightly. "How may I assist you today?"

"I need information about this facility," Coren said, her voice steady. "What is this place? What happened here?"

The robot paused, its blue eyes flickering. "Accessing archives…"

A buzz filled the air as data streams flickered across the walls. Coren felt a pang of excitement—only for it to be replaced by disappointment as the streams began to fragment, lines of data breaking apart and dissolving into static.

"Error," the robot said. "Archive integrity compromised. Data corruption detected."

Coren's heart sank. "How much is left?"

"Approximately 12% of archival data remains intact," the robot replied.

Coren ran a hand through her hair, trying to push down her frustration. "Can you show me what's intact?"

The robot nodded and gestured to one of the walls. A holographic map appeared, its details fragmented but still decipherable. Coren leaned closer, her eyes scanning the layout. It wasn't just a building—it was an entire complex, sprawling underground with multiple layers and chambers.

"This is the facility?" she asked, gesturing to the map.

"Correct," the robot replied.

Coren studied the map intently, committing every detail to memory.

Before leaving, she decided to try her question once more. "What about the artifact? What is it, and why was it being held by you?"

The robot paused, its glowing eyes flickering faintly. "It is a key to the Vault of Regret."

It paused again, this time tilting its head slightly to look directly at her. Coren could feel a shift in the air—a sense that this moment was different.

"Esteem User," the robot said, its tone shifting from crisp and mechanical to something softer, almost contemplative. It paused, as though deliberating the significance of its next words. "What price is too high to pay to alleviate a single moment of regret?"

The question hung in the air, striking Coren like an unexpected blow. Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she forgot where she was. She could sense that this question had some significance to the robot, but her thoughts churned, searching for an answer.

She wanted to respond, to challenge the question or at least acknowledge it, but the words caught in her throat. Could there ever be a price too high? Would she even recognise it if there was?

Before she could speak, the mental space began to fragment, cracks spreading through its pristine surface like a fragile mirror. The robot's glowing eyes lingered, steady and expectant, until they too dissolved into nothingness.

Coren blinked and was back in the forward base, her hands still resting on the artifact. Her chest rose and fell with uneven breaths as the question replayed in her mind, clear and inescapable: What price is too high to pay to alleviate a single moment of regret?

"It seems the artifact has been deactivated, I sensed the AI woke up for a moment. What happened?" Sol asked, his calm voice breaking the silence.

Coren didn't respond to Sol right away. Her hands moved instinctively, grabbing her Holopad and sketching the map as quickly as she could, her hand moving with practised precision. She was sketching the final details of the map onto her Holopad when Lyra walked in, her hair still damp from a quick wash. She stopped in her tracks, her sharp green eyes narrowing as they took in the Holopad and the containment box holding the artifact.

"What did you do?" Lyra asked, her tone already leaning into accusation.

Coren glanced up, hesitating before sighing. "I… touched the artifact again last night."

Lyra's eyebrows shot up, her expression somewhere between disbelief and frustration. "Coren. You've got to stop doing things like this without consulting me first. What if something had gone wrong? What if the artifact had triggered something we couldn't stop?"

"I know, I know," Coren said quickly, holding up her hands. "But I had to. There's something inside it—some kind of system or intelligence. It had information Lyra, important information."

Lyra crossed her arms, her expression softening slightly, though her voice remained firm. "You got lucky this time, but luck won't always be on your side. Artifacts like these are ancient. We barely understand how they work, let alone what might happen when you interact with them. Promise me you'll consult me next time before you go poking around in things you don't understand."

Coren nodded sheepishly. "I promise," she said, her voice quiet.

Lyra sighed, pulling a chair over to sit beside her. "Alright. What did you find out?"

Coren handed her the Holopad, the holographic map glowing faintly. "I managed to extract this. It's a map of the complex. Most of the data in the artifact is corrupted, but this part was intact. And…" She hesitated for a moment, then added, "The robot AI—or whatever it was—called the artifact a 'key to the Vault of Regret.'"

Lyra's eyes widened slightly as she leaned closer to the Holopad. "The Vault of Regret?"

Coren nodded. "I don't know what it means exactly, but it sounds significant. If the artifact is the key, then the vault must be somewhere in this complex."

They both studied the map in silence for a moment.

"There's just one problem," Lyra said, tracing her finger across the holographic display. "The map isn't complete. Look here." She pointed to an area near the far side of the complex. "There's a blank section where a room should be. It's like something's been erased—or hidden."

Coren frowned, leaning closer. "You think that's where the vault is?"

"It's the only place that makes sense," Lyra replied. "If it was important enough to hide, it's probably exactly what we're looking for."

Coren nodded, her excitement tempered by the name of the vault and what it might contain. She hesitated, then glanced at Lyra. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," Lyra said, still focused on the map.

"The robot asked me a question," Coren said softly. "It asked, 'What price is too high to pay to alleviate a single moment of regret?"

Lyra's gaze drifted, unfocused, as if the question had summoned a memory she'd rather not confront. She reached up almost absently, her hand brushing over the small necklace she always wore—a fragment of metal, charred and worn, hanging from a simple leather cord. "I suppose it depends," she said eventually, her tone distant. "On the moment. On what it would change. But… sometimes, regret isn't meant to be fixed or that no price will fix it."

A shadow flickered across her face, and her fingers tightened briefly around the necklace before letting it fall. "It's not something I like to dwell on," she added softly, her voice carrying a faint edge of finality.

Coren recognized the shift in Lyra's tone, the subtle signal that the topic was closed. Whatever memory the question had stirred, it was one Lyra wasn't ready to share. Respecting her mentor's silence, Coren nodded, her own thoughts heavy with the weight of the question as they returned to the map.

It took another two gruelling days of digging to reach the blank section of the map. The work was slow and tedious, but both Coren and Lyra pushed through, driven by the mystery of the vault.

Finally, on the afternoon of the second day, they uncovered what they had been searching for: a massive door embedded in the rock wall.

The door was unlike anything they'd seen so far. Its surface shimmered faintly, the material shifting as though it were alive. Intricate markings covered it, swirling and twisting in patterns that seemed to rearrange themselves as they watched. The writing wasn't in any language they recognized—it was alien, yet somehow it felt familiar, resonating faintly with the Fields. It reminded them of the writing in the Hall of Music.

"It has to be the vault," Lyra said, stepping closer. Her eyes fell on a circular indentation in the centre of the door—a perfect negative of the artifact Coren had been holding.

Coren approached slowly, the artifact clutched tightly in her hands. "It is a key," she murmured, glancing at Lyra for confirmation.

Lyra nodded. "Go ahead," she said, her tone steady but tinged with anticipation.

Coren glanced at Sol and Lex, hoping they might say something, but both had been silent since the discovery of the map. She couldn't help but wonder if they already knew what was inside.

Coren took a deep breath, her hands trembling slightly as she raised the artifact to the door. The moment it touched the indentation, the swirling markings on the door lit up, glowing with a soft, golden light.

The door began to move with a resonance that seemed to vibrate through the very air around them. The markings shifted faster now, the patterns aligning into something almost legible, though neither of them could understand it.

Then, with a deep, mechanical groan, the door began to slide open.

Coren and Lyra stepped back instinctively as a rush of cool, stale air escaped from the opening. The darkness beyond the door was absolute, but there was no mistaking it.

They had found the Vault of Regret.

Chapter X-

As the door slid open with a resonant groan, a gust of cold air spilled out, brushing past Coren and Lyra like a whisper from the past. The chamber beyond was shrouded in darkness, its stillness almost oppressive. The metallic tang of aged machinery hung in the air, sharp and unyielding, a stark reminder of how long this place had been left undisturbed.

Their boots clicked against the polished floor as they stepped cautiously inside, the sound echoing faintly in the cavernous space. The beam of their lights cut through the gloom, revealing walls that seemed to shimmer faintly. The surface wasn't smooth but alive, composed of the same enigmatic, living material as in the gate room its subtle movement almost imperceptible.

The chamber was vast, circular, with a domed ceiling that disappeared into shadow. At its centre stood a raised platform, commanding attention like an altar in an ancient cathedral. Intricate lines of blue and gold wove across its surface, pulsing faintly with an inner light. The rhythmic glow wasn't steady; it ebbed and flowed, like the measured thrum of a heartbeat, lending the room an eerie vitality.

A low whine filled the air, soft at first, then growing louder as the platform began to stir. Without warning, the space above it shimmered and coalesced, light bending and warping until a figure emerged—a hologram, vivid and precise. It depicted a man with sharp, angular features, his expression as piercing as his unnervingly vivid eyes. His attire was distinctly militaristic, the lines of his uniform clean and severe, blending an ancient elegance with futuristic sophistication.

The hologram tilted its head slightly, as though studying them, its gaze unnervingly lifelike. "Species verification required," it intoned, its voice deep, resonant, and tinged with an otherworldly echo.

A soft beam of light emerged from the platform, sweeping over Coren and Lyra in a gentle arc. It left behind a faint tingling sensation, not unpleasant but uncanny, as though the light itself were probing their very essence.

"Human detected," the hologram said after a pause, its tone shifting from neutral to something almost… relieved. For a moment, it seemed almost human itself. "Good," it murmured, its voice softening further. "Some of you survived."

Coren exchanged a glance with Lyra, her brow furrowing.

The hologram continued, its expression shifting into something almost wistful. "I had feared the worst. If you are here, then X-23-B succeeded in his mission. That is… comforting."

"Mission?" Lyra asked cautiously.

The hologram didn't respond immediately. Instead, it gestured to the platform beneath it, its glowing lines pulsing brighter.

"This vault contains my greatest regret," the hologram said solemnly, its voice heavy with emotion. "A mistake that cost humanity more than I could have ever imagined."

Before Coren or Lyra could ask what it meant, the hologram raised a hand. The lights in the chamber dimmed, and the glowing lines on the platform shifted, forming a circular projection in the air.

The image flickered for a moment before stabilising. A young woman appeared, standing on a grand stage beneath a vast, starry sky. She couldn't have been older than her mid-20s, her presence commanding despite her youth. Her dark hair was tied back, and her piercing gaze swept over an unseen crowd as she smiled with a charisma that seemed to radiate from her very being.

"People of the galaxy," the young woman began, her voice clear and powerful, filled with passion. "We stand on the brink of a new era. An era where our differences will no longer divide us, but unite us."

The projection panned slightly, revealing a vast audience of diverse species, their alien forms illuminated by the soft glow of the stage. The woman's tone shifted, becoming more intimate, as though she were speaking directly to each individual.

"For too long, we have allowed fear to rule us. Fear of the unknown. Fear of each other. But today, we have the power to change that. Together, we can build a galaxy where every species, every culture, every voice has a place. Not as enemies, but as allies. As family."

The crowd erupted into cheers, their voices mingling into a thunderous wave of sound.

Coren felt a chill run down her spine as she watched, the woman's words stirring something deep within her—an anticipation she couldn't name.

A hologram of the man flickered to life in an alcove on the side of the room. His voice, calm yet weighted with emotion, filled the chamber. "That's the Empress—the greatest humanity had to offer. My company, Axel Defense, was charged with her protection."

Lyra nodded silently, her gaze fixed on the projection.

The image shifted slightly, revealing two figures standing behind the young woman. One was a man, tall and imposing, his presence commanding even in silence. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were locked on the young woman, a flicker of pride barely visible beneath his stoic exterior.

The other figure was a Companion—a massive one, easily ten times the size of Sol or Lex. Its form shimmered with white light, its edges rippling like waves of energy, and its presence seemed to radiate raw power.

"Is that the man from before and is that… his Companion?" Lyra whispered, her voice filled with awe.

"That's them! That's the man and the Companion from my test, and he's the one who showed up to help us," Coren said excitedly.

Lyra shook her head, unable to tear her eyes away from the projection. "I don't know who they are, but… look at the older woman beside him."

Coren's gaze shifted, and her breath caught. An older woman stood slightly behind the man, her posture regal and composed. Her features were lined with age, but there was a warmth in her expression—a quiet pride as she watched the young woman give her speech.

"She looks… proud," Coren said softly.

"She should be," Lyra replied. "If that's her daughter up there…"

Coren turned to her, startled. "You think that's her mother?"

"It's her adopted grandmother," Lex interjected suddenly, his glow dimming as if the memory weighed heavily on him.

Lyra nodded slowly. "Look at the way she's standing—like she's watching something she's helped build. Something she believes in."

The projection began to flicker, the edges of the image distorting and breaking apart.

"Wait, what happens next?" Coren asked, stepping closer, her voice filled with urgency.

But the recording faded, and the hologram of the man reappeared, his expression heavy with sorrow.

"That moment…" he began, his voice trembling slightly, "we were so proud. Humanity leading the galaxy, peace in our time. But it was not to last."

The recording started up again, the image sharpening as new scenes began to play. But before Coren could focus on the next part, both Sol and Lex abruptly left the room.

"I can't watch this again," Sol murmured as he floated toward the exit, his voice unusually soft.

Coren watched them go, her heart heavy with questions. Whatever was about to unfold, she had the distinct feeling it would change everything.

The hologram of the man flickered back to life in the alcove, its faint glow casting long, soft shadows against the smooth walls of the vault. His expression, as always, was stoic, but there was something in his eyes this time—something haunted.

"They say pride comes before the fall," the man began, his voice low and heavy, each word steeped in regret. "I was sure we had everything covered. Our defences were perfect. Our strategies flawless. We were the best."

The glow of the hologram dimmed slightly, as if the weight of the memory itself were drawing energy from it.

"But the Valtau Empire," the man continued, his tone darkening, "were better."

The room grew still as the projection shifted again, replacing the hologram with a vivid scene that filled the air above the platform.

The image began in the middle of a vast city square, framed by towering buildings of sleek, iridescent metal. The structures gleamed under the light of a bright, dual-sunned sky, but their beauty was overshadowed by chaos. Thousands of people filled the square—a gathering of species from across the galaxy. They were cheering, their faces filled with hope and unity as the Empress stood on the grand stage above them, her regal presence commanding the crowd's attention.

Coren and Lyra watched as the young woman from earlier—the Empress—raised her arms, her voice echoing in the air like a melody of peace. Her charisma, her vision for unity, seemed almost tangible, even through the recording. But the moment of hope was about to be shattered.

Without warning, the crowd began to shift and ripple, panic spreading like wildfire.

And then, chaos erupted.

From the edges of the square, soldiers in dark, jagged armour began to pour in, their forms unmistakably Valtau. Their weapons pulsed with an eerie, greenish glow, discharging bolts of energy that ripped through the air.

The people in the crowd screamed as panic overtook them, scattering in every direction, only to be met by more Valtau soldiers closing in from all sides. The square became a battlefield in an instant, the hope of unity replaced by raw terror.

But the Valtau were not unopposed.

The camera view shifted, focusing on a line of soldiers who surged forward to intercept the attackers. They wore sleek, dark uniforms bearing the logo of Axel Defense, their armour glowing faintly with energy shields that absorbed the Valtau's initial assault. They moved with precision and discipline, each of them a match for the invaders.

Above the chaos, a shimmering dome of light appeared, encompassing the Empress and the older woman beside her. The shield pulsed with raw energy, impenetrable to the initial wave of Valtau fire.

And then, the man entered the frame.

He moved like a force of nature, teleporting in bursts of energy that left trails of light in his wake. One moment he was on the stage beside the Empress, the next he was amidst the chaos, a blade of pure, radiant energy in his hands.

Coren's breath caught as she watched him move. He was precise, brutal, and unstoppable. Every swing of his blade cut down a Valtau soldier, their weapons unable to keep up with his speed. He was shielding the crowd, shielding his soldiers, and shielding the Empress—all at once.

The Companion—the massive white one—hovered above him, its form shifting like a living flame. Waves of power radiated from it, reinforcing the energy shield around the Empress and blasting away clusters of Valtau soldiers in bursts of light.

For a moment, it seemed like they could win. Axel Defense was holding the line, the man was untouchable, and the Empress was safe within the shield.

But then came the ships.

From the skies, a fleet of Valtau warships descended, their streamlined, angular forms blocking out the light of the sun. The ships opened fire, sending waves of energy bolts and plasma beams raining down on the square.

The camera shook as explosions tore through the crowd. People screamed as they were vaporized where they stood. Buildings collapsed under the assault, and Axel Defense soldiers were overwhelmed, their shields flickering and failing under the barrage.

The man was everywhere at once, his blade deflecting bolts of energy, his power shielding as many as he could. But it wasn't enough.

In the chaos, the Valtau revealed their true plan.

A lone soldier broke through the front line, his movements erratic and desperate. He held a weapon unlike the others—sleek and small, its tip glowing with an unnatural green hue. Before anyone could react, he darted through the crowd and plunged the weapon into the shield around the Empress.

The dome shattered with a deafening crack.

The Empress turned, her expression one of surprise as the blade found its mark. The poison spread quickly, veins of sickly green creeping across her skin.

The man was there in an instant, attempting to cut the Valtau soldier down, but it was too late. The soldier had disappear.

The Empress collapsed into his arms, her strength fading rapidly. Her body seemed to wither, the poison consuming her until only ash remained, slipping through his fingers.

The camera focused on the man's face as he stared at the empty space where the Empress had been. His stoic exterior crumbled, replaced by a look of raw, uncontainable grief.

And then, he screamed.

It was a sound unlike anything Coren or Lyra had ever heard—inhuman, primal, and filled with such pain that it seemed to reverberate through the very walls of the vault.

The screen flickered, the image distorted as the scream reached its crescendo.

And then, silence.

The hologram of the man reappeared, his expression heavy with sorrow.

"One moment," he said softly, his voice trembling. "What price could I pay to alleviate the regret of that moment?" His gaze seemed to linger on Coren and Lyra, as though searching for an answer. "I uploaded myself conscience to this machine so I could spend lifetimes asking myself that question, and still… I don't know."

Coren swallowed hard, her chest tight. The weight of the scene they had just witnessed pressed down on her, a stark reminder of how quickly hope could turn to ash.

Lyra broke the silence first. "Who were the Valtau? Why did they attack? And who… who is that man?"

The hologram didn't answer. Instead, it shook its head, its expression returning to its usual stoic mask. "I have fulfilled my purpose. The rest is for you to uncover. You will find your answer as you follow the path to the Vault of Grief"

The projection faded, leaving the room in heavy silence.

Lyra turned to Coren, her face pale. "I recorded everything," she said, her voice unsteady. "But… what do we even do with it?"

Coren didn't reply. Her mind was racing, replaying the man's words and the devastating scene they had witnessed.