Without the Right to Be Spared

The descent kept going. Or—it stopped. Then started again. It was hard to tell.

Cael's legs didn't ache. They just... existed weird now. Not numb. Not normal. Someplace between motion and memory. Like the muscles were real but the orders weren't.

Helser hadn't said anything in a while. Not since the last glyph. The one that appeared for only a second—flickered red, then faded like it got embarrassed about being read.

Cael thought it said [EXCESSION LIMIT NEARING] but maybe he made that part up.

"Do you feel that?" he asked, kind of to Helser, kind of to the trench.

Helser didn't stop walking. "Define 'that.'"

Cael blinked. "The air. It's..."

He didn't finish. Because the air felt like water now. Or foam. Or like the ghost of old voices crammed into the spaces between steps. And it pressed down. Not like weight. More like shame.

It was humid with knowing.

That was it.

Helser muttered something under his breath. Probably a curse. Probably deserved.

They reached a bend. Not shar , just slow—like it had been drawn by a Core with a shaking hand. The tunnel changed shape again. No walls now. Just ribs. Big ones. Arched from trenchrock like the skeleton of some old giant creature that forgot to die properly.

Between them: light.

A kind that didn't light anything. It was colorless and full. Like noise, but visible.

Cael coughed.

Not sick. Not dramatic. Just reflex. He wanted the sound to bounce, but it didn't. The trench wasn't echoing here.

It was listening.

"Why's it always ribs," Cael whispered. He didn't expect an answer.

Helser answered

anyway.

"Because that's what we are."

Cael frowned. "What, ribs?"

"No. Leftovers."

Oh.

They walked through the bone-arches. (He called them that in his head even though he knew they were just rock, probably. Probably.)

Every tenth step, the Galieya in his hand buzzed. Not a warning. Not a message. Just a pulse. Like a heartbeat that didn't belong to him.

His HUD was glitching. Two log lines blinked at once:

[COHORT TRACE: FRAGMENTED]

[YOU HAVE GONE TOO FAR TO RETURN AS THE SAME]

He ignored it.

There was a door ahead. Kind of. Not a door-door. Just—two vertical lines cut into the trenchwall with ash-stained grooves running inward like something had been dragged out of it. Or into.

It opened when they got close. Slowly. With a hiss like something exhausted.

The chamber beyond looked unfinished.

Like someone had started carving a test site and then got interrupted by... death, probably.

It had a floor. Mostly. Gaps in the stone showed a lower level, but it didn't look stable. There were pillars. But short ones. Like they'd been snapped at the base and left standing anyway just to pretend the room had structure.

In the center: a chair.

A real one this time. Not like the Vault.

It was stone. Tall. Empty. But it hummed.

"Another trial?" Cael asked.

Helser was already walking toward it. "No."

"Then what—"

"It's a witness seat."

Cael stopped walking. "A what?"

Helser turned. "Someone sat in it once. Saw too much. Left the rest behind."

Cael squinted. "So.. do we sit?"

"No," Helser said. "You watch."

He didn't explain.

Cael stepped closer to the chair. As he passed a certain point, the Galieya in his hand glitched. Not visually—physically. It got lighter. Then heavier. Then bent, just a little. Like it was being rewritten.

Then a projection bloomed from the air around the seat.

Not visual.

Not memory.

Just...

Presence.

Cael's knees almost buckled.

It wasn't a Core.

It wasn't a mimic.

It was him.

But sideways.

Not just older. Wrong.

Something bent around the eyes. A look that came from having seen too many decisions play out in too many different ways.

The version of him sitting in the chair lifted a finger.

Pointed at Cael.

Then whispered.

"You sat too early."

Cael staggered back.

The air collapsed.

Projection gone.

Chair dark.

Helser was watching.

"That was one of your futures," he said.

"One of?"

"You got more than one."

"How many?"

Helser didn't smile.

He just turned and walked again.

Cael followed.

The trench didn't reward that.

It punished it.

The floor split under his heel, and for a second he felt himself falling again—but only in his spine. The rest of him stayed standing.

But a number burned across his HUD.

[-2.3 STABILITY // YOU DO NOT BELONG HERE YET]

He shook it off.

Didn't ask what it meant.

Asking was dangerous now.

Questions had memory costs.

He caught up with Helser, breathing shallow. The next door wasn't shaped like anything. It just was.

And it opened too.

Behind it?

_ _

Sound.

First they'd heard in hours.

Not voices.

Not machines.

Just... breath.

One.

Two.

Three.

And footsteps.

Coming toward them.

The footsteps didn't match.

Not in rhythm. Not in weight.

One was light—almost fake. Like someone trying to sound real but missing how ankles actually bend.

Another was heavy. Metal-on-stone. Dragging more than stepping.

The third just stopped every few seconds like it forgot how to walk.

Cael pulled the Galieya half up. Not a threat. A question.

Helser didn't look at him. Just said, "Don't flinch."

And then they came in.

Three figures.

Not Core. Not trenchborn. Not mimic.

Just… broken.

Or almost-broken.

The first looked young. Too young. Jaw sharp, eyes soft, like he hadn't seen much. But his chestplate was burned. Something had clawed through the left half and left it hanging.

The second was headless. Literally. His Galieya was still holstered somehow. Armor intact. But the neck joint just ended—sparks clicking in and out. Cael couldn't stop staring.

The last was worse. It looked like someone had tried to rebuild a Core from pieces that didn't fit. The arms were mismatched. One leg too short. Face covered by a welding mask it probably hadn't earned.

Helser nodded once at them.

They nodded back. Sort of. Or maybe they twitched.

Cael whispered, "What are they?"

"Refusals," Helser said. "Cores who didn't give their burden back. Not all at once."

Cael swallowed. "Are they alive?"

Helser didn't answer.

The burned one stepped forward. Didn't speak. Just pointed at Cael. Then tapped his own chest once. Then held out his hand.

Cael didn't move.

The hand stayed up.

"You have to give him something," Helser said. "A piece you're not ready to lose."

"Why?"

"Because that's how we pass."

Cael looked at the outstretched hand.

Thought about his mother.

Thought about the training deck.

Thought about the first time he saw Maren smile and believed it.

He picked one.

Held it out.

The Core took it—without touching.

The memory just—left.

And Cael felt... taller. But thinner.

A bit more space in his spine, but less in his chest.

Then the second stepped forward. The headless one.

Cael whispered, "I don't know what to give you."

It didn't matter.

It took anyway.

From inside.

A dream. One from before the trench. Something about flying.

Gone.

Cael didn't argue.

Then the third.

The patchwork Core raised a bent hand. No fingers. Just three stubs of forged metal.

It pointed to Cael's feet.

Helser murmured, "It wants part of your path."

Cael's mouth dried. "I can't give that."

"You can. You just won't get to remember how you got here."

And that—that was worse.

He looked at Helser. "Will you remember?"

Helser shrugged. "Does it matter?"

Cael stepped forward. Closed his eyes. Nodded once.

A humm.

A pulse.

His legs didn't move, but his memories did.

He saw the start of the descent blur. The Vault. The door with the red glyph. The trial with the mimic that smiled too much.

All smudged.

Still there. But… like watching someone else play through it.

He staggered.

But didn't fall.

And the three refusals stepped aside.

Let them through.

--

The corridor ahead wasn't a corridor.

It was a wound.

Cut deep into the trench and sealed around the edges by metal veins that weren't pulsing anymore.

Old. Forgotten. Not dead.

Cael walked slower now. Not from fatigue. From confusion.

His log updated:

[MEMORY TRACE: 76% CONFIRMED]

[IDENTITY THREAD: COMPROMISED]

[STABILITY FLAGGED FOR REVIEW]

"Do I still count as me?" he asked.

Helser exhaled. "Depends what you mean by 'count.'"

Cael smiled a little. Or tried to.

The trench was narrowing again.

Not physically.

But internally.

The space felt like it wanted only one of them to keep going.

Helser noticed it too. He slowed. "If we get split—"

"We won't," Cael said.

"You don't know that."

"I don't care."

The path curved again. Down. Always down.

But this time... not into dark.

Into something else.

Light.

Not trenchlight.

Not flickers.

A glow.

Golden.

Unnatural.

Wrong.

Cael stared. "What is that?"

Helser slowed. "Hope."

He said it like a curse.

And the trench agreed.

The moment they crossed into the glow—

The floor screamed.

Not loud .

Not real.

But inside their bones.

And a voice pulsed across Cael's HUD:

[HOPE IS THE FINAL BURDEN.]

[YOU MAY NOT SURVIVE IT.]