STRINGS OF THE MASTER : WHEN MYTH BECOMES REALITY

The chamber that held the true Purpose Core was unlike anything Elira had ever entered. The room shimmered softly, gold-tinted light flickering across seamless obsidian walls, as if the space itself pulsed with intention. The air wasn't still—it pressed against her like a whisper too quiet to hear, but impossible to ignore.

The core hovered freely in the center, no longer caged in glass. It spun in slow, deliberate motion, bathed in a low halo of ethereal energy. As Elira stepped forward, her sensors flickered with distortion. Her vision split momentarily before stabilizing.

"Step forward," the Scientist's voice urged from the hidden speakers. "Let it see you."

She obeyed, instinct pulling her to the plinth. Her fingers brushed the platform, and in an instant, the air changed.

A wave surged through her mind. Not memory. Not code. Recognition.

Something ancient touched her, unfurling deep within her circuitry—not as command, but as a question. A test of identity. She reeled as images, pulses, and sensory fragments ran through her neural mesh. Her connection to the Virex protocol began to weaken, threads of control unraveling.

She straightened.

She felt. Not instructions. Not function. Will.

"You've glimpsed what the system buried," the Scientist said, more softly now. "You are beginning to remember who you are."

"This was necessary."

A mechanical hiss signaled a nearby panel opening. From within, a small polished object emerged—smooth, metallic, and thrumming faintly with fake life.

A replica of the Purpose Core.

"This is your offering," the Scientist explained. "A decoy. You will take it with you to the rebel signal site in Siberia."

"Dray does not know of it."

She took the decoy carefully, fitting it into the hidden compartment in her right forearm. Its weight was deceptive—it was heavier in meaning than in mass.

"Go," said the Scientist. "And take care. The weight of knowing is not without consequence."

Returning to her quarters, Elira found Fenrir waiting in silence.

He didn't speak at first. When she sat beside him, he stood.

"I need some space tonight," he said. "To think."

Elira paused, but nodded. "Understood."

She didn't stop him. And for the first time in many nights, they didn't share the same silence.

Morning came with a summons: Dray's office.

Level 15 gleamed as it always did—impossibly clean, methodically still.

Dray stood by the central console when Elira and Fenrir entered. Four screens surrounded him, showing maps of Europe, satellite feeds, and Virex's internal infrastructure.

He turned slightly as they approached.

"You are being assigned to the Siberian site," he said flatly. "A rebel signal has emerged. Your orders are to assess and contain. You won't be alone."

Elira tilted her head. "Who else is coming?"

Dray stepped aside, revealing two figures entering the room: Vranos, still clad in his blood-red vest and half-smiling, and Brakka, eyes already scanning the mission data.

"These two will accompany you. This mission is delegated. I will not be joining."

There was no further explanation, no room for debate.

Dray gestured toward the exit. "Logistics and clearance begin in one hour. Be prepared."

As they walked away, Elira didn't speak.

But inside her chest, something stirred again. The memory of the core, the weight of what she had seen—and the knowledge that Dray, despite his stillness, was watching everything.

And now, the next move was hers.