A spark of hope

The safehouse wasn't what Zora expected.

No grimy corner or rust-covered hellhole,Senn had brought them into something deeper. The place was an underground fortress stitched together from old Mechan ruins, royal debris, and raw rebellion.

"This," Senn announced proudly, leading her through a wide corridor, "is where the soul of Songrin still breathes… under Horam's ugly metal boots."

Zora followed, eyes scanning copper-piped ceiling covers and steel-paneled walls. Flickering lights cast shifting shadows, making everything feel alive.

They reached a tunnel that sloped downwards.

"What's down there?" she asked.

Senn smirked. "The real fire. Come on."

They stepped into a vast underground chamber, stone floors cracked by age, metallic plating fitted into the walls, generators humming in steady rhythm. A faint warmth hung in the air, almost nostalgic.

And then she saw them.

People.

Mechans.

Men and women in half-fused armor, some fully integrated, others bearing wires along their arms and glowing circuitry on their skin. Their children peeked from behind enclosures and posts, their eyes wide with wonder.

They weren't just looking at her.

They were staring.

A hush fell over the bunker. Then one of the women,a silver-haired Mechan wife with a blue-plated chest piece stepped forward and bent her knee.

"My lady," she whispered.

One by one, others followed. Wives, husbands and children.

Kneeling before Zora like she was still the princess from seven years ago.

Zora blinked, stunned. Then leaned toward Vektar with a dry smirk.

"Well, I didn't expect the royal welcome. Should I curtsy or flex my cyborg arm?"

Vektar didn't respond, but his posture straightened slightly. There was pride in his silence.

Zora cleared her throat and nodded to the room, awkward but sincere. "Uh… hey. Thanks. It's weird seeing you all bow. I'm still getting used to having legs again."

A few chuckles rippled through the crowd.

She moved past them, following Senn into a hallway that twisted left and opened into a high-tech surveillance chamber. Screens lined every inch of the wall, showing sectors of Songrin from above, soldier movements, drone paths, resistance pockets.

And at the center of it all stood Micah.

He turned as they entered, tall, lean, messy hair swept across a sharp face and dark eyes that seemed to study her like he already knew her.

"Micah," Senn said, "this is..."

"Zora," Micah finished. "I know."

Zora narrowed her eyes. "I'm guessing I've gone viral."

Micah smiled. "In this place? You're a legend. I'm just glad you're real."

Zora felt something loosen in her chest. For the first time since waking up, she didn't feel so… alone.

"You're not from here," she said, noticing the distinct symbol tattooed just below his collarbone.

"Gorthmic," he said. "Or what's left of it. Horam swallowed it three years ago. My father was king...briefly."

Her expression softened. "Then you get it."

"I do."

He tapped a few keys and turned the central screen toward her. A shaky video feed played, blurry, heat-sensitive, but unmistakable: a woman with fire-red hair being transported by armored guards through the volcanic ruins of Sector Twelve, near the Dismantled Spire.

Zora's breath caught.

Her fingers curled around the edge of the screen.

"That's my mother…"

Micah nodded. "Alive. Moved between outposts. The last sighting was here, three days ago."

Tears pricked at her eyes. She turned away, wiping her cheek with the back of her hand.

"Damn allergies," she muttered.

Micah watched her closely. "You okay?"

"I once helped her build armor," she said softly. "I wasn't very good at it. My pieces were always crooked. She used to say: 'You'll build a better kingdom than this someday.'"

A beat passed. She sniffed and cleared her throat.

"Guess she forgot to mention I'd need to be partially dead and half-machine to do it."

Micah chuckled. "She believed in you."

Zora's mouth curved into a small, crooked smile. "Well, if I don't save her, that quote's going to age very poorly."

Just then, a low-pitched hum echoed through the chamber.

Micah turned serious again. "There's something else. We've set up a combat chamber, a demo zone built years ago for Mechan war trials. When the heir returned… we were supposed to train them there."

Zora blinked. "You made a playground for my trauma?"

"Something like that," he said. "It simulates real battles, enemy tactics, and it's tied to the royal tech system. But no one's ever beat the final protocol."

"Why not?"

Micah looked at her. "Because only someone built with the original tech, just like you can."

Zora stared at him. "You people are seriously weird."

Still, she followed.

The demo chamber was vast, dark and circular, its walls layered with embedded weapons and glowing seals. As soon as she stepped in, a low click echoed beneath her boots.

Something activated.

Her spine jerked. Her eyes flickered. A glitch.

And then...

A hologram snapped to life.

Her mother.

Moira stood there, eyes wide with panic. "Zora. Zora, run!"

Zora gasped. "What..."

Gunshots tore through the halls. Screams echoed from above.

Micah grabbed her arm. "We're under attack!"

Vektar appeared, weapons drawn. "They've breached the entrance."

Another explosion shook the ground.

"We have to go!" Micah yelled. "I know a tunnel."

Zora turned back just in time to see Senn on the upper level, fighting off attackers with a sparking wrench in one hand and a plasma pistol in the other.

He looked down at her as a net of energy wrapped around him.

"Zora!" he shouted, voice cracking as guards surrounded him. "You are our last hope! You must save us!"

Zora opened her mouth to scream, to protest but a smoke bomb burst between them, swallowing his image.

Micah yanked her into the corridor, Vektar covering their rear. They ran through the collapsing bunker, every step echoing with fire and fear.

As they slipped into the tunnel, the world behind them vanished in screams and static.

Zora didn't cry. She clenched her fists and kept running, her eyes burning not from tears but fury.

She ran today. But next time, she wouldn't run, she'd make them wish they had.