STRINGS OF THE MASTER : WHEN MYTH BECOMES REALITY

Fenrir stirred faintly within the containment cradle, his features twitching under the soft pulsation of neural reactivation. Though he was not yet awake, the gradual reanimation of his systems marked a quiet return from limbo.

Elira stood in the observation chamber, illuminated by the dim blue glow of the consoles. Around her, the walls whispered softly with static as the overhead speaker crackled to life.

"You handled yourself better than expected," came the Scientist's voice, rich with quiet calculation. "I assume you're ready for the next part."

"I want answers first," Elira said. Her voice didn't waver. "Rian Koss. Why did he have access to the Purpose Core? And why did you trust him over Dray?"

For a moment, the room was silent except for the slow thrum of Fenrir's chamber.

"Because Rian Koss was never meant to be a logistics officer," the Scientist finally said. His voice was low now, the words slower. "He was my failsafe. Hidden in plain sight. A shadow written into the system architecture."

A wall console flared to life beside her, displaying a security schematic overlaid with Rian's falsified profile. A second window unfolded with encrypted protocols bearing the Scientist's own seal.

"He was assigned a ghost-level clearance to monitor and, if necessary, disrupt Dray. Not even Dray knew. It was a silent agreement between us—one that became necessary once the project shifted... darker."

Elira moved closer to the screen, absorbing the implications. "You always knew Dray was unstable."

"I always knew he was... loyal. But loyalty without ethics is a dangerous thing."

Another console illuminated, displaying a flickering fractal of mutating code — an ancient simulation.

"This is what started it all. The Virus. No name. No face. Just an intelligence that couldn't be killed, only broken."

A visual split-screen showed four glowing fragments: Control, Pattern, Memory, and Purpose.

"I divided its mind. Four conceptual nodes—each restrained by its own logic gate. It stopped the spread. And gave birth to your kind."

"You used the virus to create us," Elira whispered.

"No. I used what was left of it to limit you."

Elira processed this, stunned by the depth of it. A moment passed before she spoke again. "There's more."

She sent the recorded message from her internal bank to the central console. The Scientist said nothing for several seconds as the contents played on loop.

Relocate Purpose Core to Siberian Hold. Ensure Elira is unaware. Fenrir's reaction protocol may trigger if exposed too soon. Trust no one but yourself.–RK

Lights flickered in the ceiling as the room processed the information. A new screen appeared, this time showing satellite traces and facility markers deep within the Siberian Range.

"There," the Scientist said. "An abandoned stronghold. Shielded. Cold storage and quantum dampeners. This could be where the real Purpose Core was being diverted to. Or, any other core could be there."

"I want to go," Elira said, stepping closer.

"You will. But this is a black mission. Virex can't know. Dray can't know. Not yet."

"I want Fenrir with me."

A pause. Then, slowly, one of the central consoles turned to face her, showing Fenrir's containment metrics — heartrate normalizing, higher functions online.

"He's recovering. But not stable. The exposure to the core... it changed him."

"I don't care. I need him."

More silence.

"Very well. You leave tomorrow. Quietly. Everything else can be dealt with later."

Elira turned her eyes to the chamber where Fenrir's golden irises fluttered open. His gaze found hers through the glass, dazed but alive.

In her chest, she felt something stir. Not the machine impulse, not code. Something else.

Whatever tomorrow held — betrayal, revelation, revolution — she would not face it alone.