Ignition Pulse
Chapter 18 – Ignition Pulse
The void shimmered, weightless and wide. Still. Silent.
Donte stood alone in the wreckage of his mind.
His boots rested on a fractured slab of metal and stone, suspended in nothing. Around him, the remnants of a once-great workshop drifted like shipwreck debris—workbenches split down the middle, mechanical arms frozen mid-task, overhead cranes twisting in slow, rusted spirals. Every surface was cracked or broken. Sparks blinked softly from frayed wire ends. Gears the size of wagon wheels turned fractionally, driven by power that no longer flowed.
In the center of it all, high above the shattered floor, floated the engine.
The Forge-Heart.
It pulsed—barely. A rhythm like a failing heartbeat. Aether-light flickered across its runic housing, dull purple coiling inward from shattered rings. Jagged wires hung from its underbelly, sparking in stuttering bursts. Its outer shell was suspended by five magnetic limbs, each drifting just slightly out of sync. Each rotation sent a subtle tremor through the mindscape, like the forge itself was in pain.
Donte stared up at it.
The voice hadn't spoken again since last time. He wasn't sure if it was watching. Listening. Waiting.
He didn't wait long.
He stepped off the platform beneath his feet—and the world shifted with him.
His next step landed him on a floating catwalk, which hummed beneath his boots. The path ahead zigzagged in sharp turns, forcing him to climb fragmented metal struts and cross a rusted beam that wobbled beneath his weight. Every time he moved closer, the Forge-Heart responded—its inner glow brightening in short, twitching pulses.
He could feel the connection. Deeper than bone. Older than thought.
When he reached the final platform—little more than a half-circle of shattered iron—he looked up at the engine.
It didn't move.
Didn't respond.
Didn't speak.
He reached out anyway.
His palm met the metal.
And the world shuddered.
The Forge-Heart flared.
The runes came to life.
Three of them—positioned at the front of the engine, engraved just above the central stabilizer—lit up in sequence, purple with white edges. The energy they gave off wasn't heat, but intention. Their shapes twisted, burned into his vision: curved lines intersected with slashes and closed symbols. He didn't know how he knew it—but each one carried weight. Meaning.
Then the voice returned.
"Primary ignition pattern detected. Resonance alignment initializing."
Its tone hadn't changed. Still cold. Still distant. Like a machine running ancient code.
Donte's hand trembled.
He could feel something flowing—not into him, but through him. It wasn't a rush of power. It wasn't warmth. It was like turning a key in a lock that had never been opened. Something internal clicked into place.
The Forge-Heart's glow stabilized. The outer rings began rotating slowly, catching rhythm for the first time. The cables hissed with new energy.
Donte stepped back, breathing hard.
"Spirit Resonance…" he whispered.
He didn't know why, but the term came easily now.
Then the hum began to fade.
He blinked.
The three runes dimmed. Stabilized—but nothing else happened. No new surge. No progress. The flickering resumed, like a fire left too long unattended.
Something was wrong.
Donte stepped forward again and touched the surface.
Nothing changed.
He narrowed his eyes, then clenched his jaw.
"Think," he muttered.
He felt like he was on the edge of something—but he couldn't see what.
He stared at the three glowing runes.
They weren't just decoration. They weren't just lights.
They were code.
Intent.
Language.
Slowly, he lifted his other hand—and summoned the feeling in his head, the one that had stirred in his room the night after the Awakening. The itch behind his eyes. The whisper in his skull. It wasn't instinct. It was a skill.
He activated it.
The world didn't shift—but his understanding did.
The three runes shimmered brighter. Not in light—but in clarity.
The first rune—three horizontal bars stacked unevenly, crossed by a sharp vertical spike—felt like a foundation. An anchor. It carried weight. Stability.
The second—like a rotating spiral with a break in the circle—gave off the sense of movement. Spark. Initiation.
The third was more complex: two intersecting triangles, surrounded by looping lines. It felt active. Continuous. Like breath given to machinery.
Donte reached out, hand hovering just shy of the first rune.
A faint pulse of recognition met his fingertips.
Not understanding—resonance.
But it wasn't enough.
He turned slowly, stepping around the floating engine. As he did, his heart sank.
Behind the core, dozens of other runes—scattered, half-formed, or shattered—lined the chassis. Some were cracked through the middle. Others faded into sparks before the eye could fully register their form. The entire back half of the Forge-Heart was in disrepair.
Donte stared at them, pulse quickening.
This… this was why the resonance failed.
Only the three primary runes were functional. The rest?
Broken.
Incomplete.
"Of course," he muttered.
He wasn't just supposed to touch the core. He had to repair it. Restore the full sequence. Align the engine. Only then could he continue the resonance.
But how?
He stepped closer, examining the damage. His skill was still active, but the ruined runes provided no clear insight. Each flickered in and out of visibility, and the symbols twisted when he tried to hold them in his mind. There was no blueprint. No guide.
Just the three functional ones.
He would have to use them as a reference.
Start simple.
Reverse-engineer the system from what worked.
Donte sat down cross-legged on the floating platform and closed his eyes.
Behind his eyelids, he called up the memory of the three stable runes. He saw them clearly—anchored in place like glowing scars.
One for stability.
One for ignition.
One for continuity.
He began to sketch them in the air with his finger, over and over. Repetition wasn't pointless here—it was a tool. He wasn't carving the shapes. He was building familiarity. Teaching his mind to hold them like words on his tongue.
Again and again, he traced them.
And as he did, he felt it.
Alignment.
Something deeper than recognition. A settling. A subtle click in his chest and fingertips.
When he opened his eyes, the three runes on the Forge-Heart pulsed in time with his breath.
That was progress.
But the others… they remained broken.
He stood and approached one of the damaged runes. It was little more than a half-loop, trailing lines bleeding into static. He touched it gently—and felt nothing.
No hum.
No warmth.
No connection.
But he wasn't discouraged.
This wasn't failure. It was design.
This is what I'm supposed to fix.
His class wasn't brute strength.
It was understanding.
Reconstruction.
Tinkering with the soul.
Donte looked up at the Forge-Heart—its rings spinning just a little smoother now. The cables had stopped sparking. The runes glowed with a quiet, patient rhythm.
He exhaled slowly, lowering his hand.
There was still so much he didn't know.
But this?
This was his beginning.
Behind him, the voice returned. Its tone unchanged. Unfeeling. But there was a rhythm now. A pattern beneath its words.
"Core ignition stable. Resonance entry initiated.
Runic interface… partially operational.
Awaiting user synthesis."
Donte looked up at the floating engine.
The flickering forge.
His forge.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
He stepped back, drawing in another breath, and focused his gaze on the broken runes surrounding the core.
"I'll rebuild you," he whispered.
"One rune at a time."