Tynrax
We’re almost back to the entrance when I notice the opening.
A side passage. Narrow. Maybe a meter wide, branching off from the main corridor about twenty meters from the exit. I didn’t see it on our way in; the angle was wrong, and our shoulder lights were focused forward.
But now, with the light hitting from a different direction, the gap in the wall is obvious.
“Go ahead,” I tell Aris. “I want to check something.”
She glances at the opening, then at me. “Another passage?”
“Possibly. Or just a structural alcove. I’ll only be a moment.”
“Want me to wait?”
“No need. I’ll catch up.”
She nods and continues toward the exit. She studies her scanner intently, fingers flying across the display as she processes the data. Her voice fades as she moves down the corridor, and I turn my attention to the side passage.
I shouldn’t be here. This isn’t my mission. But…
The opening pulls at me. Not curiosity, something deeper. There’s a resonance here, a frequency calling to the Zephyrian core of my DNA. I try to step back, to catch up to Aris as promised, but my legs move forward against my will.
I enter the side passage. My light illuminates maybe five meters ahead. The corridor curves slightly, and the temperature drops further. Cold enough now that I can see my breath.
The passage ends in a small chamber. Circular.
Maybe four meters in diameter. The walls are covered in those geometric patterns, but here they’re three-dimensional, raised reliefs that create shadows and depth.
My focus locks on the pedestal in the chamber’s center.
Waist height. And on the pedestal, an interface panel.
Not like the large platform in the main chamber. This is smaller. More intimate. The metal inlays form a circular pattern radiating from a central point. The same dark alloys that absorbed light earlier, but these seem more active somehow. Like they’re waiting.
I approach the pedestal slowly, scanning the chamber. No obvious hazards. Structure stable. Air composition normal. Just an empty room with a control interface that’s been dormant for millennia.
My markings flicker. Response to the electromagnetic field here, stronger than in the main chamber. The hum is more pronounced too. I can feel it in my chest, low frequency vibrations that resonate through bone.
I lean closer, angling my light to illuminate the central point. The metal seems to shimmer slightly. Same response we saw earlier when my markings brightened. Electromagnetic sensitivity.
The patterns are beautiful in their complexity. Mathematical precision in every curve and line. The patterns link together, suggesting a clear flow of information.
And something else.
A pull. Faint but growing stronger. Like the interface is aware of me. Reaching for me. My markings brighten in response, automatic, involuntary.
I should leave. Should call Aris. Should not touch unknown technology without proper precautions.
But the pull intensifies.
The interface wants connection. No, demands it.
Aris would tell me not to do this. Even she would be cautious here.
I wish she were here. The thought surfaces unbidden. She’d make some joke about terrible decisions. Or grab my arm and physically pull me away from doing something stupid.
Her presence is grounding in ways I haven’t examined.
But she’s not here.
Not physical. Something deeper. Something that speaks to parts of me I’ve kept dormant for years. The empathic centers I’ve spent my life suppressing.
The interface wants connection.
My hand moves without conscious decision. Reaches toward the central point. I try to stop, try to pull back, but the compulsion is too strong.
My fingers hover centimeters above the surface. This is a mistake. I know this is a mistake.
But I can’t stop.
The interface responds.
The metal brightens. Faint at first, then stronger. Violet light spreads through the inlaid patterns like liquid flowing through channels.
Contact.
My fingertips touch the central point.
Pain rips through me.
I try to pull my hand back but my muscles won’t respond. Try to step away but my legs lock. The interface holds me, and light pours through the contact point. Violet light blazing so bright I can see it through my closed eyelids.
My training kicks in automatically, emotional suppression protocols, mental filtering techniques, everything I’ve learned about controlling empathic overflow. But this isn’t empathic connection. This is something else. Something my training never prepared me for.
The facility isn’t dormant. Not any more.
And it recognizes Zephyrian biology. Reaching for it. Interfacing with systems I haven’t used since childhood, before the Suppression training took hold. Before I learned to wall off the parts of myself that felt too much, connected too deeply, couldn’t maintain proper boundaries.
Those walls crack.
Then shatter.
“Aris,” I try to say her name. Can’t form the word properly. My voice comes out wrong. Distorted.
Need to warn her. Need to tell her something’s wrong. Need to...