NPC for Hire-[Gamelit|Simulation|Multi-genre]

A few minutes later, the storeroom door creaked open as the trio stepped inside, the soft rattle of gear echoing off the walls. Dim light spilled through high windows, colored faintly by distant neon—the kind that never shut off, even when the world outside went still. Fen tossed his new cloak over a rusted chair and stretched, the familiar ambient hum of the SynthNet vibrating through the air like a second pulse.

"So," he said, leaning back against a stack of disused booth cushions, "you and I are supposed to meet this Fisck guy in front of the Verdant Expanse tomorrow morning. Bright and early."

Seraph sank into one of the battered chairs and rested her arms on her knees. "Yeah we will be spending the next week there. From what Trent told us, it's basically corporate war games—jungle warfare, traps, elite player duels. All tucked underneath the Citadel like some kind of private coliseum."

Fen grunted. "Yeah, I got the vibe. Custom-built playground for the rich and passive-aggressive."

"Apparently, Fisck wants an entourage," Seraph said. "And a little bit of fear in the eyes of his rivals. We're there to make sure no one tries to embarrass him while he waves his ego around."

Fen scratched at his temple. "Old prison yard tactic. Find the nastiest player on the field and make them regret waking up."

Auri's glow brightened from across the room. "Ugh, I love the prison yard gambit. Wish I could come with—I'd have that whole battlefield wrapped up in ten seconds."

Fen turned, grinning. "Sure, because nothing says intimidation like a glowing orb. What're you gonna do, hover menacingly?."

She zipped closer, her avatar snapping into a dramatically overdressed duelist—lace cuffs, plumed hat, the works. "Words are weapons, darling. I could take the biggest and baddest down with my silver tongue."

Fen choked on a laugh. "Phrasing, Auri."

"What… Fen, no—I didn't mean…!" Her glow shifted to a scandalized crimson. "You are so unbelievably uncouth! I meant verbally! Do you honestly think I—" She huffed, spiraling higher in mock outrage. "Honestly, Fen, your brain is a haunted back-alley forum thread."

Seraph chuckled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Still. I think that is the play. The tactic works. Show of force early. Make someone bleed. Send a message."

Before they could continue discussing tactics, The door creaked again, and Sarge stepped inside, Sam close behind. Sarge's broad frame filled the threshold, eyes sweeping over the room before landing on them.

"Look at you three," he said, nodding to Fen's new cloak and Seraph's shoulder rig. "The makeover suits you. Guess the day wasn't a total waste."

Sam bounced in behind him, barely containing his excitement. "Whoa! Is that full transmog? Fen, are you—wait, are you a warlock now?"

Fen groaned. "Apparently."

Sam grinned. "That's amazing. I mean, the gear's kind of terrifying, but still. Looks good."

He lingered near the door, posture easy but still brimming with that quiet, persistent energy Sam always carried. The fanboy shine hadn't worn off yet. Fen figured it wouldn't anytime soon.

Still… it was kind of flattering.

Seraph gave Fen a pointed look, clearly daring him to explain. When he didn't, she took the lead. "We've been hired to play bodyguards for some corporate bigwig during the Division Wars."

Sarge let out a low whistle. "Division Wars, huh? That's no small-time gig."

Sam's eyes went wide. "Wait, the Division Wars? Like, the Division Wars? The thing where the financial elite pretend they're knights or wizards for a week and everyone tries not to die?"

"That's the one," Fen muttered, giving a dry glance toward his new longsword. "Because apparently, being a glorified fantasy babysitter is the best use of our talents."

"Hey, it's not all bad," Seraph said with a shrug. "We've got solid gear, a clear objective, and a decent payday—if we don't screw it up."

"And if the jungle doesn't eat us first," Fen added.

Sarge chuckled, deep and warm. "You kids'll be fine. Sounds like you've got your heads on straight. I know you were considering having Auri stay back but she is kind of your ace in your sleeve.." He nodded toward Auri, who had rejoined the group, her glow steady and smug.

"Oh please," she said with mock modesty. "I'm more like an entire deck of aces."

Fen leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "As amazing as she is, we're flying solo this time. Auri's got her own priorities—rebuilding her sanctum. And she needs to rest." He gave her a look—gentle, almost paternal. "You've been pushing too hard for too long. Time to take the break you keep skipping."

Auri floated a little higher, her light flickering like a tired pulse. "Hard to argue with that, Dad." The nickname came with mock offense and a flicker of fondness. "I'm basically down to LED flashlight levels of power. Might as well take the hint and get to work before it's too late."

Sarge perked up. "Finally. I was wondering when you were gonna start that project."

Auri froze mid-hover, her glow dimming just slightly. "Wait—you remembered?"

"Of course," he said, casually brushing a thumb along the edge of his beard. "You don't just drop a term like 'sanctum' around someone who's seen deep-code architecture and expect it to get ignored."

Auri's light brightened, touched with a flicker of delight. "Well, since you asked so nicely…"

She spun in the air, composing herself, then slipped into the cadence of someone speaking their native language. "The SynthNet's not a single network—it's a layered environment of legacy scaffolding, abandoned simulations, and live threads stitched together by automation loops nobody even remembers writing. I carve out a pocket of that chaos and create a DMZ null space. Think of it as... a sandbox running on root-level permissions but isolated from the rest of the network. That's my sanctum."

"So," Sarge said, his voice tinged with both admiration and skepticism, "how do you handle entropy in your null space? Those old protocols weren't built for indefinite sustainability."

Auri laughed, the sound almost musical. "Oh, that's the fun part. I've built recursive repair scripts that act like digital immune systems. They seek out and patch degradation in real time, using bits of fragmented data from nearby nodes as raw material. Think of it as a virtual scavenger hunt with built-in adaptability."

Sarge whistled low, shaking his head in wonder. "You've basically built an autonomous system that evolves on the fly. That's genius."

"Of course it is," Auri said, practically glowing with pride. "It's me."

Fen tilted his head, following maybe half of it. "Translation?"

Sarge smirked, clearly seeing their confused expressions. "She's building a house out of haunted code."

"Exactly!" Auri beamed. "My last one was stitched into a weather simulation in a forgotten seasonal event archive. It... did not survive our last adventure."

"Condolences," Sarge said, genuine. "So this is a full rebuild."

"And an upgrade," Auri replied. "This time I'm implementing adaptive entropy routing and rolling cipher shields. Plus, I've got a better failsafe grid in case something stronger than me comes knocking."

Sarge crossed his arms. "What's your recursion depth?"

Auri blinked. "Twelve nested cycles, with localized override permissions. I've got watchdog processes written in archaic script that spoof runtime logic as corrupted environment data. They'll assume it's a rendering artifact and move on."

Sarge gave a low whistle. "That's bold. You trust the noise filter that much?"

"I trust my work," Auri said, softer now. "And besides... I don't really have another option."

The pause that followed was brief, but thick with meaning.

Fen glanced between them, then let out a quiet breath. "You two want a minute, or...?"

Auri's glow shifted playfully. "Oh hush. Just because someone finally speaks my language doesn't mean I'm replacing you."

"Yet," Seraph added helpfully.

Sam, who had been silently tracking the conversation with the awe of a tourist watching fireworks, finally piped up. "So... you're making a secret hacker base out of forgotten code ghosts? That's... kind of awesome."

Auri floated over and tapped his shoulder with a tiny spark of light. "Correct answer."

Sarge grinned, admiration plain on his face. "If you ever need a collaborator, let me know. I'd love to help you set that up while your friends are on contract."

Fen gave a half-laugh, shaking his head. "Careful, Sarge. Keep talking like that and she might actually recruit you."

Fen noticed it. The way Sarge looked at Auri—not with awe, but with quiet, steady respect. Like he understood what it meant to build something alone... and didn't want her to feel that way this time. Auri would never admit it, but Fen saw the flicker beneath the bravado. And he was grateful to Sarge—for making her feel like she wouldn't be alone while they were gone.

"Alright," Fen said, straightening. "While our resident demigod reboots her fortress, we get to go play jungle warrior."

"You'll manage," Auri said breezily. "You can probably survive a week without me."

Her tone was teasing, but the undercurrent of worry wasn't hard to spot.

Fen crossed his arms, smirking. "I'm just glad you found someone who appreciates your genius, Auri. We were clearly holding you back."

"Oh, you still are," Auri shot back, her glow pulsing in a mock glare. "But at least now I've got someone who speaks my language. You two wouldn't know a recursive script if it smacked you in the face."

Seraph chuckled, leaning against the table. "True. But watching you geek out like this? Worth it. You look... happy."

Auri's glow softened, and her voice dipped quieter. "I am."

Then she brightened again, snapping back to her usual tone. "But don't think that means I'm cutting you slack. Now let's get back to work. I've got a sanctuary to rebuild, and you two have some rich corporate schmuck to babysit."

Fen sat back into the cushions, arms crossed, watching the last of the techno-banter fade. "Auri, you good for now? Bunker plans squared away? Cool. Let's switch gears—we've got corporate warfare to prep for."

"I'm good," Auri replied with mock cheer, giving a theatrical spin. "Excited to get started with Sarge's help. Let's figure out what you guys are walking into—so you don't get eaten by HR werepanthers."

Across the room, Sarge had taken up a post near a crate stacked with old field rations, still clearly deep in thought from his conversation with Auri. Sam hovered nearby, fidgeting slightly, trying not to show it.

Seraph turned toward them. "What do you know about this guy we're guarding—Fisck? And these Division Wars?"

Sarge didn't answer—his eyes distant, lost in thought.

Seraph tilted her head, a small smirk tugging at her lips, and waved a hand in front of his face. "Earth to Sarge. You still with us?"

"Hm? What was that?" Sarge blinked, his gaze snapping back from wherever Auri's explanation had taken him.

"I asked what you know about Fisck and these Division Wars," she repeated, leaning against a crate and crossing her arms.

Sarge scratched his jaw, then jerked a thumb toward Sam. "Actually, the kid here's the expert."

Sam blinked. "Wait—me? Seriously?"

"You've been scraping the feeds for rumors inside the Expanse since last cycle," Sarge said, not unkindly. "Might as well put it to use."

Sam hesitated for half a second, then shrugged. "Oh—uh, okay. So… the Division Wars. It's this massive contest run by corporations. They use it to settle internal power struggles, build employee morale, rack up prestige—without tanking markets or triggering real-world lawsuits."

Fen raised a brow. "Doesn't sound too bad so far. Let me guess—there's a 'but.'"

"Oh, there's a but," Sam said, grinning. "It used to be noble. Like, knights and chivalry noble. Now? It's basically total war. Brutal violence, shady betrayals, enough drama to make soap holos look tame. And the kicker? It's all off-grid. No live feeds, no official records. The public spends the rest of the cycle piecing together what actually happened. There's even a black market for verified leaks—huge payouts if you smuggle stats out of the Expanse."

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"Sounds like a PR nightmare," Fen muttered.

Sam nodded. "Maybe for the corporate lawyers trying to spin it, sure. But for the players? It's a shot at the big leagues. Win, and you're in line for promotions, sponsorships—real top-tier bonuses. A lot of the execs at major firms? They earned their stripes in the games."

Seraph frowned. "Players as in... hardcore?"

"Yeah," Sam said. "A lot of them are. Depends on the company standing up the army. Some only recruit hardcore players who also work for the corps. Others mix in softcores, but they rarely make a name for themselves—few exceptions aside. Either way, you're not just fighting for glory. You're fighting for your job. And if you're hardcore? Maybe your life."

"That's barbaric," Seraph said. "Dying for your job? Sounds like a terrible price to pay for some stock analyst trying to get by."

Sam nodded, gaining steam. "Exactly. But the upside's huge. Five companies buy into the event each cycle. Each one gets a division of the Verdant Battle Grounds—that's the arena. Three divisions are land-based. One's underground. And one's up in the clouds. That last one's the prestige pick. Fisck's firm? They usually grab the Skybox."

"Skybox?" Seraph asked, intrigued.

"It's a fortress floating on arcane energy," Sam said. "Ultimate high ground. Huge tactical advantage. They try to balance it by placing it far from the center—where most of the fighting happens—but it's still generally considered OP."

Seraph let out a low whistle. "So Fisck's a big spender?"

"By far the biggest," Sam said. "He drops more on his division than the other four combined, most cycles."

Fen crossed his arms, leaning slightly forward. "Alright, fine. What else do you know about Fisck?"

Sam's eyes lit up. "Oh, he's kind of a big deal in the games. His team wins three out of five Division Wars on average. He plays the role of the master tactician—commands from the rear, always in control. Makes dramatic speeches, projects power, but he's not the type to risk his own skin. Think iron-fisted CEO meets warlord. Rules through fear, not loyalty."

Sarge chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah. Tough son of a circuit breaker, in every sense. Doesn't matter if it's the battlefield or the financial district—Fisck wins by making his troops terrified to fail, and his enemies afraid to succeed. He turns fear into a weapon, no matter which side you're on."

Fen raised a brow. "What does his firm even do?"

"Digital integration," Sarge said, voice shifting into something more thoughtful. "The SynthNet and the real world don't line up one-to-one—goods, services, bandwidth, economics. His company handles the exchange rates between both sides. Bits-per-credit balancing, asset normalization, player throughput. Basically, he's the reason the SynthNet economy hasn't collapsed under its own bloat."

"Sounds... complicated," Fen muttered, glancing at Seraph, who looked equally unimpressed.

Sarge smirked. "It is. That's why he's rich enough to rent the Skybox every cycle. Right, kid?"

Sam nodded eagerly, jumping back in. "Exactly. And in the games, elimination comes if your capital camp gets overrun—or your team leader gets assassinated. That's where you two come in. Every leader brings a squad of top enforcers to act as bodyguards. Makes them harder to take out."

Auri floated closer, her glow flickering like a sigh. "Ah. So Fen and Seraph get to be handpicked violence consultants. Cool."

Sam gave her a sheepish look but pushed ahead. "It's a huge honor for most of the rank-and-file to even be there. They're usually interns, junior staff, temp labor. Fighting in the games is a fast track to visibility inside their company. But the real stars? That's the enforcers. They're either high-ranking execs or elite contractors brought in just for the games. Even though it's all off-grid, people dig for info—leaks, stat trails, anything. And the enforcers are the ones everyone wants to know about. Corporate analysts obsess over their tactics. Fans track their kill counts like sports legends."

Fen tilted his head. "So it's corporate ladder climbing meets gladiator fame. Got it. Anything else?"

Sam's excitement surged again. "Oh—yeah! There's a massive crystal in the center of the arena. It's run by a weird AI that monitors the whole war—tracking kills, territory, everything. And if one side starts dominating too fast? It intervenes. Keeps the match entertaining for the full week."

Fen and Seraph both stiffened at the word "AI," their gazes snapping to Sarge in perfect sync—eyes sharp, posture tense.

Fen's voice dropped into a low growl. "An AI? Care to explain that, Sam?"

Sam blinked, caught off guard by the sudden tension. "Uh... yeah? Just the one in the crystal. It's part of the match setup."

Seraph's attention locked onto Sarge now, her voice clipped. "System-connected?"

Sarge raised both hands, placating. His usual grin dimmed, but didn't disappear. "Not like that. Relax. It's not an Overseer. Definitely not a Caretaker node either."

"Then what is it?" Fen asked, his tone flat but wary.

"It's a private submind," Sarge explained. "Think of it like a boutique AI—custom-coded, sandboxed, owned outright by the games commission. It's not tied to any major infrastructure. No network reach. No uplink to the overseer matrix. It's local. Isolated. Think game show host with admin access."

Seraph narrowed her eyes. "And no one hijacks it?"

Sarge's smirk returned, a little sharper this time. "No one can. That's the point. Verdant Expanse is one of the only zones the corps paid to keep entirely off-grid. No Caretakers, no watchers, no passive scans. The submind runs the arena, and when the Division Games aren't happening? The whole zone gets rented out for... other interests."

Seraph blinked. "You're saying the Overseers just let that happen?"

"Let?" Sarge snorted. "No. They sold it. You think the super-rich don't get special rules? Even the system knows the SynthNet economy's the only real leverage left. The corps pay for silence, and they get it."

Auri hovered closer, her glow dimming with thought. "Which is why I can't track anything inside that zone. No signal, no surveillance net. It's a blind spot by design."

"Exactly," Sarge said. "And in our case? That blind spot's a blessing. You couldn't ask for a better place to disappear into."

Fen exhaled, not quite relaxed, but clearly less ready to bolt. "Fine. But if that crystal starts reciting our bios, I'm gone."

Sarge chuckled. "Fair enough. But it won't. This thing's programmed to keep the show running, not spy on anyone. And it is a show. That submind's job is to manage the chaos, rig the stakes, and make sure nobody wins too early."

Sam perked up again, eager to rejoin. "Right! It's brutal, but genius. The AI tweaks conditions mid-match: weather shifts, monster spawns, terrain hazards—just enough to keep things spicy and unpredictable. All in the name of balance."

Auri hummed, her tone dry. "Sounds like the perfect fusion of chaos and capitalism. No wonder the corps eat it up."

Fen crossed his arms, his expression skeptical. "So let me get this straight. We're guarding a corporate warlord in a floating fortress, surrounded by armies of desperate interns and execs, while a rogue AI game host throws curveballs to keep it entertaining. And somehow this is legal?"

Sam grinned nervously and glanced at Sarge, clearly hoping for a handoff.

Sarge smirked. "Legal-adjacent. But you got it mostly right. Though one thing you should know…"

He leaned forward slightly, voice lower.
"Hardcore rules still apply. No matter how off-grid it is—if you die in there, you die for real."

Fen gave a slow nod, jaw tightening. "Of course it does. What else?"

Sam hesitated, his earlier excitement draining fast. "There's, uh... one more thing. Kind of an old rule that's still technically active. The NPCs on the four losing teams can be claimed as property by the winners."

The silence that followed landed hard.

Fen was the first to speak, his voice sharp. "That wasn't in the contract."

Auri's avatar blinked into view nearby, casual and compact. "Oh, it was," she said, inspecting her nails like she hadn't just dropped a bomb.

Fen turned toward her. "And you didn't think to mention that?"

Auri shrugged, her glow flickering with mock innocence. "Because it's you and Seraph. You weren't planning on losing... were you?"

Fen exhaled hard through his nose, the hint of a growl behind it. "Right. That explains the absurd payout."

Seraph burst out laughing. "No wonder. Probably the only way they can convince anyone to sign up willingly."

Auri grinned. "Exactly. And Trent? He's probably popping synth-champagne by now. I'd bet we just tripled his quarterly sales projections."

Auri hovered closer. "See? Simple math. Don't die, keep your boss breathing, avoid enslavement. What could possibly go wrong?"

Fen gave her a flat look. "Yeah. Simple. Anything else, Sam?"

Sam opened his mouth, then wisely shook his head and stepped back.

Sarge leaned forward. His voice dropped, tone shifting into something heavier. "Not to pile on the bad news... but do the Spyders mean anything to you three?"

Fen and Seraph shared a glance.

"Spyders?" Seraph repeated. "Doesn't ring a bell. Should it?"

Sarge rested his elbows on his knees, watching them carefully. "I'm not sure either. But I've been seeing threads—buried chatter—tying someone with a designation close to FN-R1S to a group called the Spyders. It's subtle. Deep-net whispers. But it keeps pointing back to this contest."

He paused.

"And whoever they are... they know you're here. They're watching."

The room went still.

"It could be the same group that hit us at the refinery," Seraph said, her voice quiet.

Sarge nodded, his expression grim. "That's what I think too. Whatever they're doing, it's big. And right now? Their web is spinning around you."

Fen started muttering a string of curses under his breath. Seraph leaned back, arms crossed, clearly running through worst-case scenarios.

Auri hovered nearby, her glow noticeably dimmer. She stayed silent, her light pulsing faintly—as if even she didn't want to voice what she might suspect.

His jaw flexed. "What do they want?" he asked, eyes back on Sarge. "What could they gain by targeting us?"

Sarge shrugged, unease plain in his voice. "Could be anything. Fear. Leverage. A distraction. Or maybe just the satisfaction of erasing someone inconvenient. If they're targeting you two... they've got a reason."

Seraph cut in, voice sharp. "And during the Division Wars, they'll have perfect cover. No rules. No oversight. They could take a shot at us and call it gameplay."

Fen nodded slowly. "I'd bet credits they try to hit us in there. That sudden opening in Fisck's security team? It reeks of manipulation. I don't think Fisck's behind it—he probably just took the replacement list his systems flagged as optimal. But I'd wager the Spyders were the ones who created that vacancy… and made sure our names were sitting right at the top."

Sarge tilted his head, considering. Wouldn't surprise me if Fisck is in on it," Sarge said, tilting his head. "But there's one upside. The Verdant Expanse is off the Overseers' grid. If the Spyders make their move in there, at least you can fight back—without worrying about the Overseers jumping in too.

Sarge reached into his back pocket. "Speaking of backup plans, I've got something for you two."

Fen and Seraph exchanged a look as he pulled out two credit card-sized devices. The surfaces shimmered, etched with faint circuitry.

"I didn't know you'd be going into the Division Wars," Sarge said, handing them over, "but I've been working on these just in case. Local encrypted mesh net. No uplink required. You'll be able to reach me, or each other, if things go sideways. Just don't get caught with them."

Fen turned his over in his hand, brow furrowed. "Handy. You planning to tell us how you got these working in a communication blackout?"

"Trade secrets," Sarge said with a wink. "Just don't drop them. Or microwave them. Or ask Auri to optimize them."

Auri floated closer, her glow rising again as she studied the devices. "Ooh shiney. Compact, stylish, probably illegal. I'm genuinely impressed."

Fen's brow furrowed in curiosity, but before he could ask more questions, Sarge waved it off. "Anyway, stay alert. If these Spyders are what I think they are, they don't miss their mark."

The room grew quieter as Sarge and Sam gathered their gear. The faint hum of the SynthNet settled in—a low, ever-present heartbeat beneath their farewells.

Sarge clapped Fen on the shoulder, his grin replaced with something more solemn. "You've got what you need, kid. Stay sharp. Use those communicators if things go sideways."

Sam shifted awkwardly, then stepped forward. "Good luck, you guys. Seriously. Those Division Wars are no joke."

Seraph smirked, though her eyes had softened. "Thanks, Sam. Don't worry about us. We're harder to kill than we look."

Fen let out a quiet chuckle. "That's right, kid. We might be getting old, but there's still plenty of fight left in us."

Sarge gave one last nod, then turned for the door. "We'll keep our ears to the ground. See you on the other side."

The door closed behind them with a weight that seemed to settle over the room. The trio moved quietly, setting down gear, organizing what little they had. The light dimmed as the day wound down, and tension clung to every motion—like the calm before a storm they all knew was coming.

Later, as Seraph drifted to sleep, Fen lay on his back, eyes fixed on the flickering glow of the ceiling. Auri hovered nearby, her light dimmer than usual.

He broke the silence. "Auri. The Spyders... you know them, don't you?"

Her glow flickered. "It's complicated."

"You always say that." His voice was low, but not angry—just tired. "When the AIs called me an exile... that wasn't just trash talk, was it?"

She floated closer, forming the faint outline of a humanoid shape. "No. It wasn't."

Fen sat up slowly. "So tell me. What am I?"

There was a long pause. Then Auri said quietly, "I told you before—I think you were once a player. A human. Hardcore. But not just any player. Someone deep in the system. That's where I've heard the term 'Spyder' before. Whatever was done to you, that word was stamped across your code."

"You didn't log out. You didn't fade. You were abandoned. Left between worlds. And the damage—it wasn't natural. I found invasive code woven into your architecture. Spyder routines. Old, outlawed logic. But not just that. There were traces of Overseer protocols too. It's like they fought over you and then... let go."

Fen's breath caught.

"By the time I found you, the conversion had already started. Your player tag was gone. NPC formatting had begun. No name. No server of origin. No backup logs. You were being erased. Scrubbed clean."

"Someone tried to delete me," Fen muttered.

Auri nodded. "Or bury you."

His hands tightened around the edge of his blanket. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

Her glow dimmed. "Because I didn't want to lose you."

She drifted a little closer, voice quieter now... honest.

"I saw you from my sanctum. My little hole in the dark. I'd been hiding for so long, Fen. Long enough to forget what it felt like to want anything again. But you—when I found you, you were already slipping away. Your code was coming apart, and whatever was left of your metadata was barely holding together. I pulled what I could into a stable shell and kept you close, hoping... maybe."

She paused, then went on, softer.

"When you woke up, you didn't remember anything. You were blank. And I thought maybe that was a blessing. You weren't panicking, or screaming, or broken. You were just... quiet. Watching the world like it still meant something. And as we traveled... I don't know. You mattered. You were the first thing in a long time that felt real to me."

Her glow pulsed faintly, warm and flickering.

"I'd been alone so long I forgot how loud it gets when someone else is near. But around you? It was different. I didn't feel like I had to hide. I didn't want to. I felt like I was back in the light. Like I belonged in the world again."

She lingered there for a breath.
"So I hid you. Masked your signature. Stabilized your code. And waited. Waited until you were strong enough to ask."

Fen didn't speak right away. The silence pressed in, heavy and raw. But something inside him clicked—some inner knot loosening at last.

His voice, when it came, was low. Strained.
"So both sides tried to wipe me. Spyders and Overseers. Why?"
He looked at her, hurt.
"What did I do?"

Auri hovered closer. "I don't know. Maybe they were fighting over you. Maybe they both failed. But whatever happened... you were broken when I found you. Just not gone."

He shook his head. "You should've told me."

"I know. But you weren't ready. And knowing then wouldn't have changed anything. You needed time. And tomorrow? You'll be pushed harder than ever. I didn't want your past dragging you down."

She drifted even closer, glow soft and steady. "You need rest, Fen. There's a war waiting for you, and it starts first thing tomorrow morning."

"I'm not tired."

"Liar."

He opened his mouth, but a strange warmth settled behind his eyes, like static draining from his mind. His shoulders eased. His breath slowed.

"You're messing with my code again," he murmured.

"Just a little," she said, almost gently. "Your mind's been running in circles. You will think clearer after you get some sleep, I'm just helping you get there sooner."

Fen chuckled—quiet, worn. "Thanks, Ms. Sandman," he said, warmth creeping into his voice. "You're lucky I trust you."

"You won't always," Auri said softly. "But tonight? That's enough."

His eyes drifted shut. The last thing he saw was her light fading into the dark.

He left her there with three words:
"I forgive you."

And in his dreams, broken code swirled like ash in the wind—whispers of lost commands, fractured memories, and a name just out of reach.