Oblivion's Edge: Voidborn

3 The Archive Breach

The voices grew louder.

Aēlion pressed his back against the cold server column, the heat of the data console still pulsing at his fingertips. His breath caught in his throat as a beam of white light swept across the archives, slicing through the shadows.

"...Zōnē 7-C hās trīggērēd ā lōcāl āccēss brēāch," a deep, filtered voice crackled. "Infrārēd pīckēd ūp ān ēnērgy sūrgē frōm ōnē ōf thē ōld tērmīnāls."

"Cōūld bē ānōthēr rāt snīffīng ārōūnd" another responded, bored.

Aēlion clenched his jaw. He couldn't leave without the file. He spotted it, an old quantum slate glowing dimly on the desk, buried beneath layers of security glass.

He had already unlocked most of its layers, just one more protocol, just one more bypass.

He glanced toward the voices. Two silhouettes stood in the hallway, watching the flicker of the archive's hallway lights.

Now or never.

Aēlion dove forward, fingertips dancing across the console. The final barrier cracked open. The slate hissed softly as it released from its sealed pedestal.

He grabbed it in a way that was cool and slipped it inside the lining of his uniform, just as the archive lights blazed to full brightness.

"Yōū! Stēp āwāy frōm thē cōnsōlē!"

Aēlion turned. A tall, angular figure stood in the entryway.

Dark robes lined with the badge of the Lore Division.

Lorekeeper Veydrān.

His presence filled the room like static, silent, watchful, suffocating.

"°Aēlion-197," Veydrān said smoothly, as if he had been expecting him. "Cūrīōsīty māy bē ā vīrtūē īn lēgēnds, būt īn thē Ēdgē... īt's ā dīsēāsē."

Two guards grabbed Aēlion from behind.

He didn't struggle. Not visibly. The file pressed hard against his ribs inside his tunic.

He kept his face neutral, his voice silent.

"Ēscōrt hīm tō thē Āscēnsīōn Tōwēr. Nōtīfy Prime-Dexūs," Veydrān said without emotion. "Hē's trēspāssēd āgāīn. Thīs īs thē thīrd tīmē."

- Info: Difference between English and Nūrēlliān: all Nūrēlliān vowel carries a macron e.g ā, ē, ī, ō, ū except on special cases when they appear in names like Aēlion or Vehlarā where only one vowel carries a macron.

The Ascension Tower stood at the heart of the Edge. It was tall, gleaming, and empty at its core.

A spiraling hollow of metal and mirrored glass. It wasn't a place of ascension at all. It was judgment.

Aēlion knelt before Prime-Dexūs, a figure carved from stillness and power. White robes. Eyes the color of old ice.

His voice was soft, precise, every syllable weighted with something darker than command.

"°Aēlion-197," Dexūs said, voice deep, precise. "Thīrd ōffēnsē. Trēspāssīng. Dātā brēāch. Ūnāūthōrīzēd āccēss ōf Prē-Cōllāpsē hīstōry."

Aēlion said nothing.

"Yōū knōw, ōf cōūrsē, thāt āny ōnē ōf thōsē ōffēnsēs īs pūnīshāblē by nēūrāl rēstrīctīōn ōr rē-āssīgnmēnt."

He met the leader's gaze. "Yēs, sīr."

"Thēn why dō yōu cōntīnūē?"

Silence again.

"Yōu thīnk trūth īs ā pūzzlē wāītīng tō bē sōlvēd?" He circled Aēlion slowly. "Sōmē stōrīēs ārē sēālēd fōr ā rēāsōn. Īf yōu dīg lōng ēnōūgh īn thē ōld grāvēs, ēvēntūālly... sōmēthīng rēāchēs bāck."

Aēlion didn't look up.

"Yōū'vē bēên wārnēd bēfōrē. Thīs īs nōt cūrīōsīty ānymōrē. Īt's dēfīāncē."

Prime-Dexūs stopped behind him.

"Ōnē mōrē īnfrāctīōn," he whispered, "ānd Ī wīll ūnmākē ēvērythīng thāt dēfīnēs yōū."

He nodded to the guards.

Back in his quarters, Aēlion stared at the slate beneath the false floorboard where he'd hidden it.

The technology was sleek and ancient. He could feel its hum even when untouched.

He powered it on. An icon shimmered across the display, but nothing happened.

Locked.

A message blinked in faded gray:

**"Interface module required: Type-Ether/PreNurellian class." **

Whatever it was, it hadn't been used in decades. Maybe longer. Maybe it didn't even exist anymore.

That night, he sat beside his mother but the silence between them hung heavy.

She must have sensed the shift.

"Puedo decir que algo pasa, ¿qué le pasó a mi hijo?" she whispered. I can tell something is up, what happened my son?

Aēlion hesitated. Then replied, equally low: "Robé un archivo de los archivos y ahora no se abre." I stole a file from the archives and now it won't open.

Vehlarā went still.

"Sabes que robar es un delito que se castiga con una restricción neutral o algo peor." You know stealing is a crime punishable by neutral restriction or worse.

Aēlion replied. "Lo sé, mamá, pero necesito saber la verdad. Este ícono..." I know mom but i need to find out the truth. This icon..

"¿Sabes lo que significa?." Do you know what it means?

"No... pero lo necesito. Quiero saber." No... but I need it. I want to know.

She looked at him, truly looked like she hadn't in years.

Her eyes widened. "Let me see."

He handed her the file. She turned it over, inspecting its smooth edges.

"This... this is not meant to exist anymore. You need a Class-IV codec to read this. Those were decommissioned decades ago but I know a place where it might still be."

He looked at her with hope.

"¿Dónde?" Where?

She glanced at the door, lowering her voice. "There might still be one in the Decentral Archive Annex. Restricted. Abandoned. Guarded."

He raised an eyebrow. "So... getting in is impossible?."

She smiled faintly, switching to Nūrēlliān. "Īt's nōt īmpōssīblē"

"Hōw?"

She hesitated, then looked at him with resolve. "You can't go. The eyes are on you now, mi niño. But I can. I still know my way around there."

His breath caught. "No. Mamá, no."

Vehlarā touched his cheek gently.

"Sí," she whispered, and kissed his forehead. "Voy a ayudarte. Cueste lo que cueste." Yes. I will help you. No matter what it costs.

And before he could stop her, she was already preparing.

His chest ached.

With guilt.

With fear.

But also something else...

Hope.

...