If this was real, if the cores were alive, then it ant that the very foundation of the world’s energy system was compromised. That everything built on affinity channels could be corrupted.
And if he was connected to it—
He clenched his jaw.
"Why tell this?"
The man’s tone dropped lower. "Because the board won’t. Kael’s already looking for a way to weaponize the core. If he succeeds, Invoke won’t just be the largest manufacturer in the continent, it’ll control war itself."
rlin’s stomach turned. "...And you?"
"I used to work for them." His voice softened, almost bitter. "Until I saw what the cores did to people who stayed near them too long."
He turned the projection off. The blue light died.
"I don’t know what you are, kid. But if it chose you... you need to decide fast which side you’re on."
rlin studied him carefully. "And you think warning will fix that?"
"No," the man said simply. "I think warning you might buy us ti."
Before rlin could respond, the terminal began to spark. Lines of code flickered across the broken screen, too fast to read. The man cursed under his breath and slamd a button, but the hologram burst back to life, pulsing violently.
rlin stepped back.
"What is that—"
The hologram’s color shifted, from blue to a deep, burning red. A voice, distorted, chanical, inhuman, echoed from the terminal.
[IDENTIFIED.]
The air trembled.
rlin’s golden eyes widened. It’s scanning .
[CONNECTION—ESTABLISHED.]
The man’s voice broke into panic. "Get away from it!"
rlin’s body locked as the red light coiled around his arm, burning cold. His system flared to life for the first ti since the labyrinth:
[Unidentified Entity Detected.]
[Analyzing Interface—]
[—Warning. External consciousness attempting link.]
"rlin!"
The man lunged forward, ripping him backward from the terminal. The connection snapped with a hiss of ozone, the light vanishing into the dark.
Both of them hit the ground hard, breathless.
For a long mont, neither spoke.
Then the man whispered hoarsely, "You’re linked to it now."
rlin pressed a hand against his temple. The echo of that voice still rang faintly in his mind.
’Identified.’
’Connection established.’
He looked at the man. "Then I guess we’re both out of ti."
The night didn’t end when rlin left the industrial zone.
It followed him.
The city lights felt sharper, the air thinner, and every passing reflection in the glass towers looked like sothing staring back at him, tracing his movents, analyzing, rembering.
He caught a glimpse of himself in a storefront window. His reflection blinked a half-second late.
He froze.
The reflection smiled faintly, a twitch that wasn’t his, and then snapped back to normal.
"...Great," rlin muttered under his breath. "Now my paranoia has a face."
The cab he’d called finally stopped in front of him, horn honking once. He slipped inside, slamd the door shut, and leaned back, pressing two fingers against his temple.
The core connected to .
The system responded.
That shouldn’t have happened. The Lazarus core was just a prototype energy reactor in the novel, a footnote in Invoke’s expansion arc. It wasn’t supposed to speak.
But this wasn’t just the novel anymore. The tiline had been branching ever since his arrival.
His phone buzzed again. A text.
This one real.
Vivienne:
Heard from Kael that you attended the dinner. Didn’t burn the place down, right?
rlin let out a small, humorless breath and replied:
Not yet. You might want to keep your fire insurance active, though.
He pocketed the phone again, eyes half-lidded as the taxi pulled into the brighter parts of the city.
For a second, the system flickered faintly across his vision—
blue text bleeding into existence.
[Residual energy detected.]
[Foreign link dormant.]
[Tracing origin: Null Source — Lazarus Core.]
"Dormant, huh?" he whispered. "Yeah, let’s keep it that way."
By the ti he reached his apartnt, the rain had finally stopped.
The streetlights glowed against the wet pavent, silver puddles rippling under the occasional passing car.
He unlocked the door quietly. Inside, the lights were dim, and the faint scent of pizza still lingered from last night.
Victoria had fallen asleep on the couch, again. A blanket half-slid off her, one hand still clutching a slice she’d apparently lost to sleep mid-bite.
rlin smiled faintly despite the exhaustion weighing on his bones. He lifted the slice gently from her hand, set it back on the plate, and covered her with the blanket.
"Sleep, glutton," he murmured.
Then he turned, the quiet of the apartnt suddenly pressing in like a wall.
He stripped off his coat and dropped into the chair by the window, the city sprawling below.
It was supposed to feel victorious, his first official week as part of Invoke’s board. The youngest shareholder in the company’s history. But now, all he could think about was that voice.
Identified.
Connection established.
rlin reached out with a faint pulse of mana, testing his body’s channels.
Everything felt normal, except for one thing.
A subtle current running under his affinities, pulsing faintly in rhythm with his heartbeat.
The sa frequency the core had emitted.
"...What the hell are you?" he muttered.
His system gave no answer this ti, not even a flicker.
It was like sothing else had forced it into silence.
Hours passed before dawn started bleeding into the sky.
He hadn’t slept. His mind kept replaying every detail, the man, the core, the voice.
When the sun finally began to rise, rlin stood, stretched, and splashed cold water on his face. His golden eyes in the mirror looked sharper, but distant, like they didn’t fully belong to him anymore.
He changed into casual clothes and slipped out quietly. Victoria was still asleep. He left a note on the counter:
Out early. Don’t eat my share of the leftovers.
He pocketed his phone and left.
Invoke’s tower glead under the early light. Its silver-and-blue façade rose like a blade into the clouds. Security nodded him through this ti without hesitation; word had already spread about "the mysterious young shareholder."
rlin hated the attention, but it worked in his favor.
It let him move freely through the building, or so he thought.
When he reached the upper research levels, the automatic door hissed open to reveal soone waiting.
Regina Hale.
Her usual calm expression was still there, but her eyes were sharper than he’d ever seen.
"You’re early," she said.
"So are you," he replied, tone neutral.
"I heard you were with Adrian last night," she said, stepping closer. "Then I heard you left before the board dinner ended."
"Maybe I don’t like dessert."
Regina’s lips twitched, the faintest ghost of amusent. "Funny. Because the last ti soone left early from an Invoke dinner, they ended up in a different company’s accounting records."
rlin tilted his head. "You saying you’re keeping tabs on ?"
"I’m saying," she said, voice soft but asured, "you’re making the board nervous. You buy eight percent of a weapons company, walk in like you already own the place, and then disappear into the night."
She folded her arms. "If you’re planning sothing, Mr. Everhart, you’d better tell us before it involves blood."
He t her eyes. "You wouldn’t believe if I did."
Regina studied him a long mont, like she could tell he wasn’t lying, but couldn’t see why. "Try ."
rlin hesitated. He couldn’t talk about the system. Couldn’t ntion the connection. But he could plant doubt where it mattered.
"Tell sothing," he said. "The Lazarus core... you’ve been running stability tests on it, right?"
Her eyes narrowed. "You shouldn’t know that."
"Answer the question."
She didn’t. Not verbally. But her silence was enough.
"It’s not stable," he said quietly. "And it’s not chanical. Whatever it is, it’s watching."
Regina’s composure flickered, barely, but enough. "Where did you hear that?"
"Call it intuition."
"Intuition doesn’t access restricted project files."
rlin smiled faintly. "Guess I’m not normal."
"Clearly."
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