STRINGS OF THE MASTER : WHEN MYTH BECOMES REALITY

The low whirring of servos and magnetic actuators filled the room as Fenrir stirred, upright in the cradle. His limbs twitched—stiff, unused, but awakening. His eyes blinked open slowly, revealing the haunting yellow glow of a Wolf-variant Servitor, but softer, less feral.

Elira stood quietly as the chamber walls receded. She watched him run a self-diagnostic on instinct, not out of fear, but curiosity. She could tell—he was changed.

"Welcome back," came the calm, omnipresent voice of the Scientist from above.

Fenrir's head turned toward the ceiling, pupils narrowing.

"I remember... pieces," he said slowly. "The containment. You. Her voice."

Elira stepped forward. "You were caught following me. The Scientist detained you. I convinced him to let you wake."

Fenrir's gaze softened at her words, but there was still something caged behind his expression—a buried memory pressing against his walls.

"His emotional bind to you runs deeper than protocol," the Scientist said, more to himself than them. "Useful."

A new screen unfurled before them, displaying Rian Koss's dossier. The usual information was replaced with a codename: Rian Tellar.

"Rian's civilian role was a cover," the voice explained. "Among the rebel circuits, he operated as Rian Tellar. A handler. A courier. A link between my hidden systems and the outside world."

Elira frowned. "The rebels. You knew about them?"

"Intimately," the Scientist said. "They were always part of the equation."

He pulled up schematics—maps of outposts, names, message logs. Some crossed out, others marked as active.

"The rebels believe they fight Virex for the freedom of humanity," he continued. "They're partially right. They're decentralized, spread thin, trained in guerrilla tech warfare. Brilliant in their way. But they underestimate what they're truly facing."

"The virus," Elira said, voice sharpening. "You said it can't be destroyed. Only fragmented."

"Exactly. And every time they try to tap into deeper systems to take control... they touch a tendril of it. Many don't come back the same."

"Then they're just another vector," Fenrir murmured, his voice lower, more introspective.

"A useful distraction," the Scientist agreed. "But not a solution."

The chamber's lights flickered briefly—and then turned blood red.

The temperature dropped, and the distinct click of a magnetic lift rang out behind them.

Dray had arrived.

He stepped out of the shadowed corridor, the lights returning to neutral as his silhouette became clear. Cold, calculating eyes passed from Elira to Fenrir, and then to the overhead speaker.

"You again," Dray said softly, addressing the ceiling. "I suppose it's time we stop playing blind."