Chapter 3: The Fracture
The alarms screamed through the Spire, reverberating off the walls like the pulse of a dying heart. Isen staggered into the hallway outside Kyria's chamber, disoriented by the sound and the erratic flickering of the lights overhead. The sterile white corridors were now pulsing with crimson warning beacons, as if the very Spire were bleeding.
"Containment breach detected," the mechanical voice of the Spire droned overhead, eerily calm. "Initiating lockdown. All Archivists report to primary stations."
Isen's head throbbed as he tried to focus. Lockdown protocols meant every corridor would seal shut within minutes. If he didn't move now, he'd be trapped — and he had a sinking suspicion that was exactly what "they" wanted.
"Run, Isen," Kyria had said.
Run from what?
He gritted his teeth, pushing the question aside. The truth would have to wait. For now, survival came first.
---
As Isen sprinted down the corridor, the floor beneath him vibrated with each lockdown gate slamming shut. The Spire was sealing itself like a clenched fist. Archivists were trained for emergencies, but this wasn't a drill, and it certainly wasn't protocol. Something was very, very wrong.
His personal interface buzzed against his wrist.
"Archivist Vrail, unauthorized access to classified Ark data has been detected. Report immediately to Council Oversight."
The message blinked in red letters, insistent and damning. Isen felt his stomach turn. They knew. The Council had seen him open the Ark. They must have seen what he'd done — or worse, what Veridica had done to him.
A hiss echoed ahead of him as another containment door began to close. Isen surged forward, adrenaline propelling him faster than he thought possible. He slipped through just as the gate slammed shut behind him with a metallic groan.
His comm buzzed again, but this time it wasn't the Council. It was a whispered, distorted voice.
"Isen… you can't let them take you."
He skidded to a stop, breathing hard. "Who is this?" he hissed, glancing over his shoulder.
The voice crackled again, faint and broken, but it was unmistakable. It was Kyria.
"They're rewriting you already. It's starting. You don't have much time."
He swallowed, cold fear snaking through him. "What do you mean 'rewriting'?"
Before Kyria could respond, a heavy metallic thunk sounded behind him. Isen froze. The hallway darkened as power flickered again, and in the sudden silence, he heard footsteps. Heavy, deliberate, mechanical.
The Enforcers.
Archivist protocol dictated that Enforcers — the Spire's autonomous sentinels — were only activated in cases of extreme insubordination or corruption. They were efficient, unrelenting machines, and they answered only to the Council.
They're coming for me.
Isen darted into a side passage, heart pounding in his throat. The Enforcers didn't run — they didn't need to. Once they locked onto a target, they would hunt it down with merciless precision. He needed to get out of the restricted zones and into the lower levels, where his access codes would still hold weight.
The passage led him into a maintenance shaft — narrow, dimly lit, and lined with pipes that groaned under pressure. He crouched and moved quickly, careful to keep his footsteps light. Somewhere above him, he could still hear the thudding march of the Enforcers.
The shaft eventually opened into a lower control bay — a hidden room filled with old machinery humming softly, forgotten beneath the Spire's core systems. Isen stumbled inside and shut the hatch behind him, gasping for breath. For now, at least, he was alone.
He sank to the floor, his mind reeling.
Veridica. The impossible city that shouldn't exist. A memory that refused to die. Kyria's words echoed in his head.
"They're rewriting you."
What had she meant? Was his mind already compromised? Was he becoming corrupted? No. Isen shook his head firmly. He was still himself — he could feel it. But the line between what was real and what was memory had begun to blur, and he didn't know how long he could trust his own thoughts.
He activated his personal interface again, tapping quickly into the Spire's restricted channels. If he was going to survive this, he needed more information.
"Access Ark anomaly logs," he muttered under his breath.
The display flickered to life, scrolling through reams of encrypted data. Most of it was locked behind Council-level clearance, but Isen's position granted him enough leeway to glimpse fragments of the reports. What he found made his blood run cold.
Ark Designation: Veridica
Origin: Unknown
Stability Index: Negative
Containment Status: Compromised
Below the technical readouts was a string of text, repeated over and over, as though the system had glitched:
"The city remembers."
Isen's hands trembled. "What the hell does that mean?"
"It means you're seeing the cracks."
Isen jerked upright, the voice behind him shattering the silence. He spun around to see Kyria standing there, somehow inside the sealed control bay. Her hair hung like a dark curtain around her face, and her glass-bright eyes seemed to glow faintly in the dim light.
"How did you—?" Isen stammered.
Kyria stepped closer, her movements almost ghostly. "Does it matter? You need to listen now, Isen. You need to understand."
He backed away slightly, his pulse hammering. "What's happening to me? What's happening to the Spire?"
Kyria smiled faintly. "The Spire isn't real, Archivist. Not in the way you think. It's a cage — a dream that keeps humanity blind. But Veridica… Veridica is the truth breaking through the cracks."
"Truth about what?" Isen demanded.
"About us," Kyria said softly. "About the memories you think you're saving. About the lives you think you're preserving. You aren't curating the past, Isen. You're creating it."
The words hit him like a physical blow. "That's not possible."
Kyria took another step forward, her expression both serene and sorrowful. "You're starting to feel it, aren't you? The fractures. The pieces that don't fit. The more you chase Veridica, the more you'll see how deep the lie goes."
Isen's vision blurred for a moment, flashes of Veridica superimposing themselves onto the room around him — the shimmering bridges, the golden light, the impossible skyline. He blinked hard, trying to ground himself.
"If this is true," he whispered, "then why does the Council hide it?"
"Because control is easier than freedom," Kyria said simply. "They built the Arks to give you a past — one they could manage, curate, and rewrite as they saw fit. But Veridica…" She paused, her eyes locking onto his. "Veridica doesn't obey. It's the memory they couldn't erase."
The alarms outside blared louder, the Enforcers drawing closer. Kyria extended her hand to him. "Come with me, Isen. Before they find you."
Isen stared at her for a long moment, his mind a swirling chaos of doubt and fear. He could stay and face the Council, trusting the system he'd devoted his life to, or he could step further into the unknown — into Veridica — and uncover whatever truth lay hidden there.
With a steadying breath, he grabbed her hand.
Kyria's glass-like eyes glimmered with approval. "Good choice, Archivist."
Together, they vanished into the shadows just as the Enforcers breached the room, their mechanical eyes scanning the empty space where Isen Vrail had stood.