Following the blueprint, she moved to parts of the house she'd never studied before.
Her grandmother's bedroom was familiar — she'd been here many times — but the notes on the plan showed an unfamiliar section beyond the far wall. She had assumed she knew every inch because of the secret art studio hidden behind the antique wardrobe, but this… was something else.
The closet on the opposite wall was deeper than it seemed. A hidden latch released a narrow panel, revealing a softly lit private corridor that ended at a sealed mechanical door. A small brass plate identified it as the Private Tech Lab.
She hadn't known it existed.
A quick scan of the biometric panel confirmed it was locked to her grandmother's ID. She traced the seam of the door, committing it to memory. Whatever was inside would have to wait until she had the right access.
Next, she followed the blueprint's faintly inked line to a utility stairwell that curved down behind the pantry. At the bottom, a reinforced steel door marked the Electrical Control Room waited, its interface dark but humming faintly beneath the surface. Inside, she found neat rows of control panels, monitors tracking energy flow from solar arrays, and backup generators. Triple redundancy, just like the blueprint promised.
She noted inspection dates, checked the power readouts, and left without touching anything more.
Further exploration brought her to another unmarked panel at the far wall of the main garage — not the one hiding her grandfather's workshop, but a second, slimmer seam. It opened into a narrow passage lined with shelves, ending in what looked like a long-unused maintenance alcove.
It was small, but it could be expanded — perhaps a secure storage for emergency packs and lightweight gear. She made a mental note to add it to the defense plan.
The last location on the blueprints drew her toward the cold cellar. She moved past the hanging racks and sealed preserves, to the back wall where a faint retro crank symbol was etched in the wood.
Just as the diagram showed.
Amy rested her hand on the crank. The metal was cool, the air still.
Whatever lay behind it, her grandmother had buried it deep.
She took a slow breath.
And began to turn.
The crank gave way with a heavy click, and the panel shifted inward on hidden hinges. Cold air spilled out, stale but clean, carrying the faint tang of oiled metal.
A narrow stairwell descended into dim light, the walls smooth concrete with embedded strips of emergency luminescence. At the bottom, Amy stepped into a cavernous chamber — the hidden warehouse her grandmother had concealed for decades.
Rows of sealed storage units lined the walls, each marked with Nyxara's neat handwriting. Some contained emergency food and water supplies, vacuum-packed and clearly meant to last for years. Others held backup prototypes in polished cases — devices Amy couldn't identify at a glance. Against one wall, disassembled AI limbs rested in padded frames, their metal joints still gleaming under the soft light.
In the far corner stood a rack of specialized suits — matte black, reinforced with faintly iridescent plating. Climate-shield tech, if the blueprint's notes were right, capable of keeping a wearer safe in near-arctic cold or desert heat.
But the heart of the room drew her eye first: a long, waist-high weapons cabinet, locked with a palm scanner. A warm hum greeted her touch, the lock disengaging. Inside, each weapon lay nestled in fitted foam — Nyxara's lost creations.
Her breath caught.
The Starpetal Adaptive Saber, its surface almost fluid in the light.The Silverwing Modular Sidearm, sleek and deadly in its elegance.The collapsible Stormline Bow with its sealed quiver of specialized arrows.The Ghostfang Throwing Blades, resting in a magnetic harness.
Beside them, a case of Aegisweave bodysuits, a folded Skyveil combat jacket, and Ironlily boots sat in perfect order, along with a narrow case containing a Halo visor band.
At the far end of the warehouse, an empty wall caught her attention — smooth, unfinished concrete. Space wasted.
Her mind immediately filled it with possibility: a private training area for magic and skills once the system came, reinforced to contain damage, with additional storage built along the edges.
Near the exit, a control panel was mounted discreetly into the wall. Most of its functions were locked, but one flashing icon caught her attention: "Access Control: Attic Entry." Her finger hovered only a second before pressing it. Somewhere above, she heard the faintest click of an unlocking mechanism.