A beautiful symphony of life and death echoes through these halls of isolation—a melody of a time when one and only one stood above, now forgotten by the past. What truly sad and unforgettable memories... what sympathy.
Ah, my heart... it beats with sadness and grief as I gaze upon those beautiful faces everywhere and nowhere. Something that once was, something that made and makes, is gone and forgotten. Its kingdom lies in shambles, yet the king himself still exists.
What a cruel world, to take what we had and twist its sympathy into a tool for destruction. Ah, such a cruel world... How I wish to find meaning above all, yet it remains beyond reach.
But I will search. And I will find its master. And when I do, I will ensure they never leave us behind again.
Sincerely,
Mr. M
---
[Unknown.]
"...Corrupted files. Right."
Archon sat staring at the map before him. What he saw bore little resemblance to the world he remembered, yet the shape was unmistakable.
'How long have I been asleep?'
Long enough, it seemed, for his city, Pyralis, to vanish entirely from memory—long enough that not even its ruins remained on the map. Only lush, green forest consumed it, swallowing the heart of the continent where it was once.
"I need a plan."
From the map, he knew he was at the far west of the continent. There was no way he could risk going straight to the center, and he knew this land was at war. The village he had passed through was no random target—those raids were for supplies. Armies needed food, and the wagons had been loaded with it.
Was this fortunate or disastrous? He didn't know which side he would support—or why he even considered taking sides. But influence was power, and power was necessary. If he was to judge this world, he needed to understand it first.
His decision was made: scout, learn, then establish a foothold in one of these nations. Then, create something useful—maybe a religion or a mercenary company. He still didn't know yet.
"AI, do we have any clothing or weapons in the base?"
[Fortunately, the armory remains fully stocked, Master Archon. However, the base contains no civilian attire—only combat gear.]
"The armory is still full? Weird. What was this bunker's purpose exactly?"
[Bunker 853-12 was designated for cloning technology and genetic modification experiments. It was shut down due to unethical testing on living subjects.]**
"Let me guess—the Knights repurposed it as their own."
[Correct, Master Archon.]
"was the experiment completed?"
[Affirmative. The clones produced were exact replicas of the original subjects.]
"How were they made?"
[Using any viable tissue sample—brain, heart, or optional DNA implantation. The clones could be customized in appearance and cognition.]
"All of that sounds too good to be true. What's the downside?"
[The subjects made by tissue sample—brain, heart, and other organs pieced together—will have lower intelligence with poor performance. But using an intact body with minimal damage, or all of the body parts of a subject, they can be an exact copy of the person or edited to the master's liking.]
"Did the knights ever used this?"
Archon's voice was cold.
[Negative, Master Archon.]
Archon sighed.
"Can my blessings be replicated this way?"
[Unknown.]
"What a useful AI you are."
[Thank you, Master Archon.]
"..."
---
Archon rose, casting one last glance at the map—more precisely, the road that would lead him home to a city.
"If any maintenance bots remain, activate them. This place needs repairs. Salvage what you can from the damaged turrets and restore the ones still functional."
[Acknowledged, Master Archon.]
"Good. And ensure no intruders are permitted entry. Deal with them accordingly."
[New directives recorded. Is Master Archon departing?]
"Yes. I don't know how long I'll be gone, so I expect significant progress upon my return."
[Understood. We shall perform to the best of our ability. Safe travels, Master Archon!]
"Thank you, AI... Actually, I'll just call you Yes Man."
[Designation updated to: Yes Man.]
With that, Archon stepped outside, still clad in the armor he had scavenged.
The mountain air was sharp, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. Below, the valley stretched out—a patchwork of forests and winding roads leading toward civilization. Somewhere beyond those trees lay the answers he sought.
"I need to blend in. This won't do."
He stripped away the plates and underlayers until only a worn white shirt and trousers remained—frayed but serviceable. The fabric was stiff with age, the seams strained from years of disuse.
"Better. But these might still be useful."
The discarded garments dissolved into the shadows around him, sinking into the darkness like a ship beneath the waves.
---
The journey began in silence.
Archon moved with purpose, his steps measured as he descended the rocky slopes. The village he had passed earlier lay in ruins, its charred husks still smoldering faintly. He did not pause. The dead had no need for sympathy.
The main road was little more than a dirt path, widened by generations of cart wheels and travelers. It cut through dense woodland, the trees looming like sentinels on either side. Occasionally, the distant cry of a bird or the rustle of undergrowth broke the stillness—but no people.
The words echoed in Zero's mind as he walked, his boots crunching on the dry mountain path. The sun had climbed higher now, beating down mercilessly, yet he felt no thirst. That realization gave him pause.
"Strange,"
he muttered, running his tongue over dry lips that should have been cracked from the heat. He hadn't drunk anything since waking in that bunker. Hadn't eaten either.
He remembered—his Blessing of the Shadow Night, the dark gift that had sustained him through the Long Sleep.
"Of course."
The shadows nourished him now. Food and water were concerns for mortal men. Now what he was mortal? He did not know.
The revelation brought no comfort. Only a quiet unease at how much of himself had become... other.
Hours passed. The sun climbed higher, its light filtering through the leaves in dappled patterns. Archon's pace never faltered. He did not tire. He did not hunger.
But he observed he's surroundings.
A broken cart wheel. Scorch marks on the bark of an oak. Boot prints pressed deep into mud—many of them, moving in formation.
Soldiers.
He crouched, running a finger along the edge of a footprint. Fresh. Within the last day.
Ahead, the trees thinned, revealing the first glimpse of his destination—a fortress-city nestled in the mountain pass, its walls towering over the landscape.
banners bearing a golden sun fluttered from its battlements.
Archon exhaled slowly.
"Time to become someone else."
He pressed a hand to his face, feeling the bones shift beneath his fingers. His features melted like wax, reshaping into something softer—youthful. Long black hair spilled over his shoulders, and when he opened his eyes, they were a clear, piercing blue.
He looked at the sun at the sky and took a deep breath.
"Such beauty... and yet, forgotten by tomorrow."
---
The city wasn't just built in the pass—it was the pass. Its massive walls filled the entire valley mouth, towers rising like fangs from the stone. The gates themselves stood three times the height of a man, reinforced with iron bands as thick as Zero's arm.
Up close, he could see the scars of countless sieges—pockmarks from catapult stones, blackened streaks where fire had licked at the wood, and newer, cruder repairs where the city's defenders had patched holes with whatever came to hand.
A line of merchants waited before the open gates, their wagons laden with goods. A bored-looking guard in iron armor with sun insignia waved them through one by one as a clerk collected tolls.
Zero hung back, observing. The guards barely glanced at pedestrians.
He was about to step forward when a meaty hand clapped his shoulder.
"You look lost, boy."
Zero turned to see a grizzled old man with a white beard and a merchant's embroidered vest. The man's eyes were sharp despite his age, missing nothing as they raked over Zero's ragged clothes.
"Not lost, Just new."
The merchant barked a laugh. "That much is obvious. You've got the look of a man who's never seen a city wall before." He brings out he's calloused hand. "Borin of the Eastway Caravan. And you?"
Zero hesitated for a moment. "Zero."
"Just Zero?"
"Yes, just zero."
Borin's bushy eyebrows rose, but he didn't press. "Well, 'Just Zero,' you planning to stand here all day, or were you actually going inside?"
---
The city swallowed them whole—a cacophony of shouting vendors, clattering carts, and the ever-present hum of too many people in too small a space. The streets twisted like a maze, buildings leaning so close their upper floors nearly touched overhead.
Borin led the way, his stride confident. "First time in Sunspire?"
Zero nodded, eyes darting to a pair of iron clad guards harassing a street vendor.
"Thought so. You've got that wide-eyed look all newcomers get." Borin chuckled. "Stick with me, boy. This city eats the unprepared alive."
"How so?"
The old man took a deep breath, it looked like he was little on edge.
"Dragoncrest bastards hitting supply caravans. Been going on three months now." He jerked his thumb eastward. *"Road to the east closed completely. Had to reroute my whole operation through the mountain passes—cost me two weeks and three good men to bandits."
"Sorry for your lose."
"Don't be, they know what they get themselves into its just a shame we couldn't carry they body's back."
"..."
They turned into a small square where a dozen merchants had set up stalls. Borin's was a modest affair—a folding table piled with bolts of cloth and a signs Zero couldn't understand.
'I can't read it.'
He couldn't read any of them and now that he thought about it how can he talk in a language he never spook of so fluently.
"Can you read that?" Borin asked, catching his gaze.
Zero shook his head.
"Didn't think so." The merchant sighed. "What can you do, besides look pretty kid?"
"I know math."
Borin looked surprised at him.
"Math, Kid are you a noble or what?"
"Not a noble but I know a thing or two about it."
Borin smiled.
"If so then prove it, what's 9+10?"
Zero almost said the correct answer but bite his tongue.
"19."
"And 10×3?"
"30."
Borin's eyes narrowed. "Hmph. Maybe you're not useless at all." He rubbed his chin. "Tell you what—work for me today. If you don't steal anything or scare off customers, I'll pay you. Maybe even teach you those letters you're so desperate to know."
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why help me?"
The merchant's expression softened. "Because everyone deserves a chance, boy. Even ragged strangers."
Zero almost smiled. "Understood."
---
The hours passed in a blur of haggling and heavy lifting. Zero learned quickly—which fabrics were valuable, which customers were serious, and when to step in with a well-timed compliment to seal a deal.
By midday, his throat was dry. Out of habit, he reached for the waterskin at his hip—then stopped.
He wasn't thirsty.
Not even a little.
The realization should have been comforting. Instead, it settled in his stomach like a stone.
"You alright, boy?" Borin asked, noticing his hesitation.
"Fine." Zero forced himself to take a sip anyway, for appearances. The water tasted like nothing.
Borin studied him but said nothing.
As the sun dipped below the walls, the evening bell rang—two deep, resonant tones that echoed through the streets. Around them, merchants began packing up.
"Not bad for your first day," Borin said, counting out coins. He pressed ten silvers into Zero's palm. "Get yourself some decent clothes and a bath. In a nicest eay possible You smell like a shit."
"Thanks, it's Generous of you."
"Practical. Can't have you scaring off customers tomorrow." Borin shouldered his pack. "At Dawn be here. Don't be late."
Zero watched him go, the coins heavy in his hand. For the first time in centuries, he had a place to be in the morning.
It shouldn't have mattered.
But it did.