STRINGS OF THE MASTER : WHEN MYTH BECOMES REALITY

For the next two days, Elira operated on quiet alert. Her movements through the Virex Tower became measured, her expressions carefully neutral. If any of her peers noticed the difference, they didn't mention it—except for Brakka, who, during a passing glance in the logistics sector, gave her a long, unreadable look and returned to his schematics without a word.

The decoded message—Ghost Protocol Activation—rattled her. The phrase came from conflict logs buried beneath layers of redacted security. It referred to dormant agents—code embedded deep in sentient constructs. Constructs like servitors.

And now Dray had triggered it.

Elira began tailing him in subtle ways—reviewing facility logs, observing meeting patterns, intercepting non-vocal transmissions. But Dray was slipping off-grid for hours, untraceable by standard sensors. There were entire time blocks unaccounted for.

Something was very wrong.

Fenrir felt it too. His presence became more territorial. He paced corridors when she worked late, even showed up unannounced at command debriefings he typically ignored. When Elira glanced at him during one such moment, she caught the faint snarl beneath his breath as his eyes followed someone else's approach.

Vranos.

The vampire had taken a strange interest in Elira—gliding into spaces she occupied, lounging against walls while she gave briefings, and watching her with a gaze just short of piercing.

"You're glowing," he said once in the shared lounge, eyes narrowing. "Like something inside you finally woke up."

Elira brushed past him without answering. But the truth was, something had woken up.

Then the message came.

From: Unknown OriginMessage: Sublevel 7. Lift lock will disengage for 5 seconds at 0300. No backup. Come alone.

The timestamp left no room for hesitation.

At precisely 0300, she disengaged surveillance on her floor for thirteen seconds, long enough to board the auxiliary lift and descend into Sublevel 7—a part of Virex so rarely used it had become myth.

The floor was dark. Cold. Not abandoned, just dormant.

A low mechanical hum vibrated through the walls. Elira stepped carefully, scanning every shadow.

A voice whispered from behind.

"You're late."

She turned sharply, only to find Brakka, emerging from a recessed maintenance shaft, his heavy boots quiet despite his bulk.

"You called me?" she asked.

"I watched you," he replied. "Since your recalibration. You changed. Just slightly, but I have the logs to prove it."

Elira stiffened. "And you thought it wise to drag me to the underbelly of Virex in the middle of the night?"

Brakka crossed his arms, a tool baton clipped to his side. "I thought it wise to tell you before someone else finds out. You're not the only one the Scientist has marked."

Elira's pulse spike rippled through her circuits.

"I don't work for him," she said carefully.

Brakka raised a brow. "That's what they all say. At first."

He handed her a datacube—etched and partially burned.

"What is this?"

"A fragment. Pulled from a hidden directory in the sublevels. It echoes something... ancient. A version of Virex before we were told it existed."

Elira took the cube, her hand trembling slightly.

Before she could respond, the lift behind her sealed shut.

Footsteps echoed in the dark.

And this time, neither of them were alone.