Sleep was impossible.
The dim glow of the hidden archive danced across Aera's face as she sat cross-legged before the terminal. The others still slept soundly in the floor above, unaware that beneath their feet lay the buried truth of an era lost to silence and ash.
She stared at the blinking prompt.
> FILE: SYRIX_07.LOG> CREATED: 5 YEARS AGO> AUTHOR: ???
Aera hesitated… then tapped the screen.
The interface dimmed.
The log began to play.
A static filter cleared, revealing a dimly lit room—this room, the one she was sitting in now. But it wasn't derelict in the recording. No, it was alive with light. Cables were organized. Panels were polished. The central quantum core behind the terminal was glowing with soft, blue radiance. And at the center of it all stood—
Kael Riven.
Younger, perhaps. But still unmistakable.
His black hair was unkempt, his sharp eyes dulled with fatigue. His voice came through, crisp and measured.
"Archive Log Syrix_07. Date: Cycle 213. Purpose: Final calibration report on the Syrix Quantum Energy Reactor Model V.0.7."
He turned slightly, typing something into a terminal.
"When I arrived here two weeks ago, the old core was unstable—drawing power from a misaligned quantum lattice, causing recursive entropy. The original design was… flawed. Not due to ignorance, but ambition exceeding theory. I've corrected it."
Kael motioned toward the glowing reactor behind him.
"No meltdown. No energy bleed. The quantum field is stable—contained within a harmonic shell of seven mirrored regulators. I've written new protocols to ensure containment. Probability of catastrophic failure: less than 0.01%."
Aera leaned closer.
His voice was calm, clinical. But there was something else beneath it. A flicker of… pride? Satisfaction?
"The original team didn't fail because they were foolish. They failed because they didn't know."
He paused.
"Now we do."
Kael moved toward the camera, his face taking up the frame.
"This log is not for glory or recognition. It is a record. Data must be preserved. Humanity's survival depends on progress, not sentiment."
He stared into the lens.
"If others find this place, let it serve as proof: knowledge must be reclaimed. Even from the ashes of failure."
And just like that—the screen went dark.
Aera sat in stunned silence. Her heart pounded against her ribs.
He had been here.
Not just passing through, but working, improving, rewriting history with the same calm detachment he wielded in battle.
He made it work.
He made the impossible function.
She leaned back, looking toward the sealed core behind her, its outer frame still humming with latent energy. It wasn't some forgotten ruin. It was a legacy. His legacy.
And yet… there had been no message for her. No explanation. No warmth.
Just data. Just cold calculation.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached for her datapad, opening her journal again.
He was here. Kael was here five years ago. He fixed what no one else could. And he left without a trace. Why didn't he tell anyone? Was this just another stepping stone in his path? Or did he think no one else deserved to know?
Her thoughts tangled in the silence.
Then a faint gold light crept in from the stairwell.
Dawn had come.
She closed her journal, the questions still spinning in her mind like fragments of an unfinished equation. The others would be waking soon, and she would have to decide—
To tell them?
Or to carry this truth alone?
She stood slowly, casting one last look at the quiet terminal.
There was no answer waiting there.
Only silence.
And Kael's ghost.