Coren sat at a long table in the middle of the cataloguing room, her fingers idly brushing over the pages of her assignment log. Rows of artifacts—small, mysterious remnants of the pre-Severance era—were spread out neatly in front of her and the other students. Each one was labelled with tags, accompanied by holographic projections that displayed the artifact's details: material composition, size, suspected use, and the location where it had been unearthed.
The room was quiet except for the occasional scratching of pens against paper and the buzz of the climate control unit. Solarix I to III had largely avoided the worst during the severance, but that didn't mean its ruins weren't filled with treasures waiting to be catalogued. This wasn't fieldwork, but it was vital to preserving humanity's fragmented past.
Coren stifled a yawn and leaned forward, her hands lightly brushing over a polished alloy storage container marked "Artifact #293-B." Her satchel, now heavier with her Serakey tucked inside, sat beside her. She hadn't had time to practice this morning, her thoughts consumed by the fields training. She wanted nothing more than to get back to the box and figure out how to keep it open, but life at the academy didn't stop for her personal breakthroughs.
"This one's next," the voice of Stewie, the postgraduate student leading the class, broke her train of thought. He was tall and lanky, his glasses just slightly askew on his face. His energy was contagious, though sometimes a little much, as he handed Coren an unassuming piece of metal, its edges worn with age.
"Remember," Stewie said, pacing between tables like an eager lecturer, "every piece we catalogue is a piece of our shared history. A connection to who we were before the Severance. And while these artifacts have been checked and deemed safe, I expect each of you to follow protocol to the letter. Gloves on, scans complete, and proper storage tags applied. No shortcuts!"
Coren smiled faintly, his enthusiasm pulling her out of her distracted thoughts. "Got it, Stewie. Gloves on, tags ready."
She adjusted her gloves, her fingers tracing the edges of the artifact in front of her. It was small and rectangular, about the size of her palm, with faint etchings running across its surface that looked like a mix of text and geometric designs.
Coren examined the object in her hands, its smooth surface etched with faint, spiralling patterns that caught the light. It was unlike any other artifact they had catalogued that day, exuding an almost magnetic pull that made her reluctant to put it down.
"Looks like an access panel of some kind," one of the students nearby muttered, leaning over a similar piece under a magnifying glass. "But these designs don't match anything in the database."
Coren flipped the artifact over, her fingers tracing the intricate markings. The holographic data hovering beside it was frustratingly sparse: Pre-Severance. Origin unknown. Possible decorative or technological use. Recovered near the base of a collapsed structure on Solarix III. It didn't explain the subtle energy she could feel emanating from it—a sensation that sent a faint vibration through her palms.
A soft glow flickered at the edge of her vision as Sol emerged, hovering discreetly at her shoulder. His light pulsed faintly, a signal she'd come to recognise as his way of initiating private communication.
"This artifact," Sol said, his tone calm but insistent. "You need to take it with you."
Coren frowned, her grip tightening on the artifact. "You know I can't do that," she murmured under her breath, careful to keep her voice low.
"You don't understand," Sol pressed. "What's inside—"
"No," she interrupted, shaking her head. "It's against the rules, Sol. Every artifact stays here until it's catalogued, analyzed, and cleared. You know that as well as I do."
Sol's glow dimmed slightly, a sign of his frustration. "If you leave it here, it may take weeks—months—for anyone to study it properly. You don't have that kind of time."
Coren set the artifact down firmly, trying to ignore the lingering sense of unease. "I'm not stealing from the lab," she said quietly. "End of discussion."
That night, sleep came reluctantly, her mind restless as she replayed the day's events. When she finally drifted off, it was as if her subconscious had been waiting for her.
She found herself in the same stark white mental space she'd seen during her test, the air humming faintly with an otherworldly resonance. The light was blinding at first, but it softened as two figures emerged from the brightness.
The man—tall, with warm eyes and a knowing smile—stepped forward, flanked by a massive, glowing companion whose form radiated power and dignity.
"Welcome back," the man said, his voice gentle but firm.
Coren stiffened. "You're… you're not real. This is just a dream," she said, though the familiarity of the space made her doubt her own words.
The man tilted his head, his smile widening faintly. "Real or not, I think you already know why you're here."
Before Coren could respond, the companion's deep voice reverberated through the space. "You should have listened to Sol," it said simply.
Coren's brow furrowed. "This is about the artifact?"
The man nodded, gesturing toward a shimmering projection that materialized between them. It was the artifact, suspended in midair, its spiralling patterns glowing faintly.
"What's so important about it?" she demanded. "Why should I have taken it?"
"Because it holds something you'll need," the man said, his tone patient but unyielding. "For your expedition to Earth. Without it, your path will be much harder."
Coren stared at the projection, her hands clenching into fists. "I can't just take something without permission. That's not how this works."
The man tilted his head, his expression a mix of confusion and exasperation. "But if it's only going to be locked away, what's the harm in using it? It's just sitting there, gathering dust."
Coren's jaw tightened. "You don't get it," she said, waving a hand dismissively toward him as if to shoo away his argument. "There are rules for a reason. I'm not about to throw them out just because you think it's convenient."
The man sighed, his warm eyes tinged with disappointment, but he stepped back without another word, fading into the light as the mental space collapsed around them.
The next morning, Coren wasted no time seeking out Professor Varik. She explained the dream in detail, her voice tinged with both urgency and uncertainty.
Lyra listened carefully, her expression thoughtful as she sipped her morning brew. "Dreams are strange things," she said finally, setting her mug down. "But you've never struck me as someone prone to flights of fancy, Coren. If this artifact is truly tied to our expedition, we should analyse it together."
By the time they reached the lab, Coren's nerves were fraying. She retrieved the artifact from the storage room under Lyra's supervision, setting it carefully on the analysis table.
As the scanner activated, the artifact's surface pulsed faintly, its markings shifting as though alive. Coren reached out instinctively, her fingertips brushing the smooth surface—and suddenly, the world around her dissolved.
She was standing in a green-hued mental space, the air filled with energy. It was different from the stark whiteness of her previous visions, more vibrant and alive.
At the centre of the space was a glowing screen, its surface flickering with strange symbols and patterns. Words began to form, sharp and deliberate:
ENTER CODE.
Coren's pulse quickened as she stared at the glowing screen in the endless green mental space.
"What code?" she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. She glanced around, but the space remained empty and eerily silent. No hints, no guidance—just the persistent glow of the screen, waiting.
With a frustrated sigh, she exited the mental space and found Lyra in the analysis room. "It wants a code," Coren said, recounting what she'd seen.
Lyra frowned, her sharp green eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "A code? That complicates things."
Sol and Lex materialized nearby, their respective lights pulsing faintly as they hovered close. Sol's calm voice broke the tension. "This is an excellent opportunity," he said. "A chance to develop a hacking song."
Coren arched an eyebrow. "A hacking song?"
Sol inclined slightly, his glow steady. "The security systems were built to recognise patterns in the Fields. The song you play doesn't just unlock—it convinces the system to grant access."
Lex's red light pulsed faintly as he added, "It will only work because the AI managing this security is dormant. If it were active, brute-forcing a code or crafting a song wouldn't even be an option."
Coren exchanged a glance with Lyra, her unease clear. "So, how do we start?"
For the next few hours, Sol and Lex guided them through the basics of crafting a hacking song. Sol explained how to combine the Communication Field with the Cognitive Field to mimic and manipulate the patterns of the security system. "Precision is critical," he emphasized. "Even a minor imbalance could cause the system to reject you—or worse."
The room filled with energy as Coren and Lyra practised together, but no matter how hard they tried, the song didn't land. The notes felt flat and lifeless, and the screen in the mental space remained stubbornly unchanged.
Frustrated but determined, the two decided to revisit the mental space for clues.
Inside the green expanse, the screen's glow greeted them, unwavering as ever. Coren was about to suggest another attempt at the song when a familiar figure emerged from the void.
It was the man from her dreams.
But something was different this time—his form seemed less solid, like a flickering projection struggling to stay cohesive. He didn't speak, his warm eyes meeting Coren's and Lyra's for a fleeting moment before he reached into the folds of his shimmering robe and withdrew a musical instrument.
It was a strange, hybrid creation—a blend of string and percussion, its sleek, futuristic design making it look more like a sculpture than an instrument. Without a word, he began to play.
The song was simple yet haunting, each note resonating through the space with an almost tangible weight. When he finished, he played it again, but this time, the differences were subtle—some notes were softer, others sharper, and the tempo shifted ever so slightly.
On the third playthrough, the differences became clearer: the adjustments in volume, rhythm, and emphasis made the piece feel alive, dynamic. And then, as suddenly as he had appeared, the man faded, leaving them alone once more.
Coren's brow furrowed, her frustration mounting. "What was that supposed to mean? It's the same song, isn't it?"
Lyra shook her head, her gaze distant as she replayed the melody in her mind. "Not exactly," she murmured. "He wasn't just playing the notes—he was shaping them. Two people can play the same piece, but a true master adjusts the details—volume, tempo, emphasis—to make it resonate."
Realization dawned on Coren. "We've been focusing on the notes themselves," she said slowly. "But it's not just about the notes. It's about how we play them."
Lyra nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Exactly. A song isn't just a sequence of notes—it's the intent behind them. If we want to hack this system, we need to think like the person who built it."
With renewed determination, the two began practicing again, this time focusing not just on the notes, but on the subtle nuances of how they played them. With their focus sharper than ever, Coren and Lyra played the hacking song one final time, weaving the notes with precision and intent. This time, the Melody resonated with the artifact. The screen in the green mental space flickered, and the words "Access Granted" glowed brightly before the entire display transformed.
Coren and Lyra were pulled from the mental space abruptly, the real-world artifact glowing faintly beneath Coren's hands. A holographic projection emerged, displaying a sleek, minimalist menu. The only option available blinked at them:
FusionRider AT3.
Coren exchanged a confused glance with Lyra before looking to Sol, who hovered nearby, his glow steady but unmistakably pleased. "FusionRider AT3?" she asked, tilting her head.
Sol floated closer, his voice calm but with an undertone of excitement. "This artifact is a dimensional storage device," he explained. "Specifically, it's designed to house a pre-Severance vehicle—the FusionRider AT3, to be exact. It's a remarkable piece of engineering and one that will serve you well. But…" He paused, his light dimming slightly. "It would be unwise to summon it here."
"Why not?" Coren asked, frowning.
"Because," Sol said, his tone firm, "this technology is far too advanced to unveil on Solvix III, especially in a university setting. The Fieldwielder Association would intervene immediately, and the artifact would be confiscated."
Coren nodded slowly, her mind spinning as she tried to imagine what kind of vehicle would warrant such secrecy. "So we wait until we're on Earth?"
"Precisely," Sol confirmed.
Lyra leaned against the table, studying the projection thoughtfully. "How do you know about this, Sol?"
For a moment, the Companion was silent, his glow steady. Then, he spoke. "The man you've encountered in the mental space guided a Fieldwielder to this artifact so that it would end up here. He has been influencing events for a long time, ensuring the right tools and knowledge are available when needed."
Coren frowned, her fingers brushing against the glowing artifact. "Why me? Why now?"
"I can't say," Sol admitted, his light dimming slightly. "But it's clear that you are part of something much larger than yourself. The answers will come, but for now, we must be cautious."
Lyra straightened, nodding resolutely. "Then we'll wait. Earth will be the perfect place to test it, away from prying eyes."
The hologram dimmed as Coren deactivated the artifact, her thoughts racing. The man in the mental space, the deliberate placement of the artifact, and now the revelation of the FusionRider—it all felt like pieces of a puzzle she didn't fully understand yet.