Chapter 8: The Atrium Beckons

The rails whispered beneath them like veins under skin—old and forgotten, yet not lifeless. The sound wasn't just mechanical. It felt... rhythmic. Like something was calling.

Xander and Lyra stood in silence at the hatch, their breath fogging in the cold, stale air.

Then, a soft sound broke the quiet.

Clink.

Metal against metal.

Veyr appeared, stepping lightly out of the bunk car, his patchwork coat fluttering behind him like a shadow with too many seams. "I couldn't sleep either," he said quietly, eyes reflecting the rusted tracks. "The dreams come faster now."

Xander turned to him. "Visions?"

"No. Warnings."

He walked to the edge of the platform and crouched, placing a hand on the old tracks.

"They're waking," Veyr whispered. "The other ones like me. Ones that weren't saved."

Lyra tensed. "Meaning?"

Veyr stood slowly. "If Thorne opens the Atrium... they won't stay asleep."

Xander exhaled sharply. "Then we don't wait."

He turned back toward the train car, hand curling over the glyph still etched on his palm.

> "Protocol imprint recognized," the voice echoed faintly in his mind. "Access route: viable. Gate signature detected."

The map Lyra had pieced together lit up on the holographic slate. A new node shimmered at the far corner of the projected lines—a place buried beneath several junctions of failed circuits and long-abandoned districts.

The Atrium of Silence.

No more myth. No more guesses.

Xander looked at them both. "We head there at dawn."

Lyra nodded. "I'll start prepping the crawler."

Veyr simply said, "Good. I'm tired of running."

---

Two hours later

Echo-Line, South Sector Rift

The crawler was a gutted transit cart reworked into something between an armored tank and a maintenance vehicle. It groaned as Lyra piloted it across shattered rails and cracked ferroglass tunnels. Distant echoes—too precise to be natural—hummed around them like distant bells tolling out of sync.

Xander sat beside her, watching the tunnels blur past, eyes glazed but focused inward.

The Protocol voice had gone silent since dawn. But the glyph on his palm still tingled with warmth—like an ember waiting for wind.

Veyr was in the back, laying out traps and glyph runes with his Phantom Glyphs. "In case anything follows," he explained. "Or tries to precede us."

Lyra raised an eyebrow. "You think the Atrium's being guarded?"

"I think it wants to be opened—but not by us."

---

They reached the threshold by noon.

It looked like nothing—just a pile of collapsed tunnel rubble. But the Voidkey flickered violently as they approached, casting chaotic spirals of light.

Xander stepped down first. "We're close."

Veyr stared at the rubble. "There's a song in the air. Wrong... out of tune. But I know it."

He placed a glyph stone into the dirt.

It vanished.

No impact. No delay. Just... gone.

Lyra's brows furrowed. "Illusion field."

Xander nodded. "Or worse."

He held up his palm—and the glyph ignited. A thread of violet energy unfurled from it, tracing along the ground like a fuse. When it touched the rubble, the illusion peeled away with a shuddering shriek.

What lay beneath wasn't just a tunnel.

It was a gate.

A massive arch of blackened stone and glimmering circuitry, half-swallowed by shadow. Symbols pulsed faintly across its surface—dozens of languages, none fully readable. Only one word kept repeating in Common:

> FORGOTTEN.

Veyr stepped back instinctively. "Something's wrong with the resonance."

Xander didn't hesitate. "We go through. Now."

---

Inside the Atrium

It was dead silent.

Not quiet. Not muted.

Silent.

No breath. No movement. No hum of air vents or distant echoes. Even their footsteps made no sound.

The Atrium stretched endlessly in all directions, its floors a checkerboard of obsidian glass and data-cracked stone. Giant obelisks hovered midair, etched in spirals of code and memory glyphs. Fragments of faces flickered across their surfaces—memories on loop, buried too deep to erase.

Lyra activated her comm-link. No response.

Veyr clutched his coat tightly. "I can't feel anything. Not even fear."

Xander reached out to touch one of the obelisks.

The moment his fingers brushed its surface, everything changed.

---

Flash memory — Protocol Fragment Surge

A city. Burning.

People screaming. Circuits shorting. The sky rupturing like torn paper.

Xander stood atop a shattered tower, his eyes glowing.

A girl—her face hidden—held his hand, whispering: "Don't forget. Even if you have to break yourself."

Then a roar. A monstrous figure rising behind them—Thorne, fused with spiraling cables and ghostlight eyes.

Xander turned.

Blood on his hands.

"Activate Ghost Protocol," he said.

The memory fractured.

---

He snapped back.

Fell to his knees.

Lyra and Veyr rushed over.

"I saw..." he breathed. "I saw me. And someone with me. We were... ending things. Locking it all down."

Veyr placed a hand on his shoulder. "You wrote this place. Or helped build it."

Lyra frowned. "Or sealed it. Maybe all of the above."

Suddenly, the silence broke.

A whisper. Cold and feminine.

"You returned too soon."

They turned.

From behind a shifting veil of glass and data, a figure emerged.

She was tall. Regal. Composed of woven mirror shards and circuitry. No face—only a fractured, kaleidoscope reflection of them all.

Lyra aimed her weapon. "Who—what are you?"

The voice echoed from everywhere and nowhere.

> "I am the Sentinel. Ghostwatcher of the Atrium. Bound by Croft's final protocol."

Xander stepped forward. "You know me?"

"You knew yourself. Once. You burned that knowing to protect what comes next."

Veyr whispered, "Why is she active now?"

The Sentinel's gaze fell on him. "Because you breached the seal. Not Croft."

Xander blinked. "Wait—he wasn't supposed to come here?"

The Sentinel tilted her head. "Not alone."

Her hand raised—and a glyph circle appeared midair.

From it, a vision played:

A future.

Lyra, dead. Veyr, broken. Xander, alone—his mind fracturing under pressure. The city in ruin. Thorne—no longer human—ruling from a tower of screaming wires.

> "This is the path if you walk alone," the Sentinel said.

Xander's voice shook. "Then how do we stop it?"

"You remember enough. But not all. One fragment remains. The last lock. Hidden... within the one who betrayed you."

Lyra's eyes widened. "Nuel."

Xander's hands clenched. "Where is he?"

The Sentinel paused.

Then whispered: "Already inside."

---

A shudder ripped through the Atrium.

Lights flared red. The obelisks glitched—faces screaming silently as the silent atmosphere splintered.

"Someone just entered the inner ring," Lyra shouted. "From another route."

Veyr's eyes darkened. "It's him. I can feel it."

Xander turned to the Sentinel. "Can you guide us?"

She bowed her head. "Only the bearer may pass."

The glyph on Xander's palm burned—and a circular door of black fire opened behind her.

"Step through," she said. "But know this—what waits ahead is not a battle of fists. It is a war of memory. You must remember who you were... and decide who you will become."

Xander looked at Lyra.

She nodded. "We've come this far."

Veyr placed a hand on Xander's shoulder. "We go in together."

The door pulsed.

Xander took a breath.

And stepped into the fire.