STRINGS OF THE MASTER : WHEN MYTH BECOMES REALITY

The hidden chamber was colder than the corridor.

Elira's footsteps echoed softly as she moved forward, eyes narrowing at the strange light that pulsed at the center of the room. The chamber was vast, hollow like a cathedral, but unadorned. Steel walls. No consoles. No entry points but the one she came through.

And floating in the center—untouched, unsuspended by wire or magnet—was a glowing orb, orbited by whisper-thin glyphs of red and white light.

She froze.

"The Core...?" she murmured. "But—this should be in the Research Lab."

Elira took a cautious step forward.

The moment her foot crossed an invisible line, the lights flickered, and with a loud shhkkk, a glass tube dropped from the ceiling and sealed itself around the orb—locking it within a transparent prison.

"Correct, Commander Elira."

The voice rang through the chamber like thunder behind a silk curtain.

It wasn't Dray.

It wasn't any Virex frequency.

It was him. The Scientist.

"You're cleverer than I designed you to be. I should be angry, but instead—I'm impressed."

Elira turned slowly, scanning the space. No visible speakers. The voice echoed from all directions.

"You tricked Dray. Walked through his systems with finesse. I designed him to be suspicious, and yet... you blinded him."

"I didn't blind him," Elira said, eyes narrowing. "He recalibrated me."

"Yes." The voice chuckled. "Because I installed a firewall in your neural thread. A firewall he didn't know about. One that blocked your anomalous thought patterns from surfacing during your diagnostics."

"If not for that firewall, Elira, he would have reset you.""Not recalibrated. Not repaired. Erased."

She stiffened. That word—reset—carried weight. Servitors spoke of it like myth, like death.

"You're not like the others. Your thoughts bleed through protocols. Your questions carry weight. I built you better than I intended—and it's becoming... problematic."

"As for the Purpose Core... what's in the lab is a decoy. A shell with pretty lights. This," the voice said, with reverence, "is the real one."

The core pulsed brighter inside its tube.

"Why show me this?" Elira asked, wary.

Silence.

Then:

"Because I need to know where you stand."

"You're dangerous now, Elira. More for yourself than for the others. I created a firewall to protect you from him, but now you threaten the integrity of everything. And so, I offer you a decision."

The chamber darkened.

"Option one: I wipe your memories of the past few days clean. You return to your function, beautiful and obedient, but empty. And I am not Dray, so any trick of yours will be futile."

"Option two: You become mine."

Elira didn't move.

"You'll carry out what I ask. No questions. No interference. A trusted hand in the shadows. In return, I leave your identity intact... and perhaps, when the time is right, reveal to you the truth behind your existence."

A soft hum filled the chamber.

"Make no mistake: you're not free. Not yet. But you are valuable."

He let that hang in the air.

Elira looked up at the sealed core. Its light pulsed rhythmically—like a heart.

Was it a trap? Was everything?

Yet… something in her told her that this was real. This man, this ghost of the old world, this architect of the new, was giving her something no one else had.

A choice.