"Welcome to Level Six," Lhira said, voice no longer sharp like in the lower bay, but still cold enough to chill bone. "NeuroRelay Interface. The heart where operator and Stabilitor become one."
Zephyr scanned the vast space. There was no machine thunder here—just a soft hum, as if the air whispered secrets only metal understood. Ahead, a vault door carved with layered runes hissed open in two halves, misting faint steam.
Inside, rows of chairs shaped like skeletal spines faced curving control panels. From above, mechanical arms dangled—tipped with tiny sensors glittering like insect eyes or jeweled lashes waiting to blink.
"These are Relay Seats, Model T9. Where we bind an operator's brain signal directly to the crystal's sync thread. Not mandatory... but for someone with your... sensitivity—it's the sharpest blade we could ever forge," Lhira said, her coat whispering over the floor like a distant hush.
Zephyr stepped closer. Beside each chair, a pillar of opaline glass pulsed with a calm rune glow, mirroring the flicker in his own arm.
"Every operator with rune potential works here. This—" Lhira tugged a hair-thin transparent filament from the back of the seat, "is called a Filament Synaptica. It attaches at your nape—catches sync waves as you align the crystal with the Stabilitor."
Arin's voice floated from behind, teasing the dread from the air.
"And trust me, first time feels like a nightmare. Or a revelation. Depends on how rotten your head is."
Zephyr just nodded slowly. The air here felt... thicker. Sharper. As if the entire chamber held its breath with him.
Lhira gestured at a convex chromium panel on the far wall.
"That's the Rho Panel—where we input the crystal's signature data. Each crystal carries its own energy fingerprint. The system pairs it with the right rune pattern. When you're in that chair, you'll feel if they fit... or if they fight you."
Zephyr's eyes stayed locked on the filament tips and the rows of optic sensors—each staring back as if alive.
Lhira's tone softened, only by a hair.
"Don't be afraid. If you truly have a link with these runes, your body will know before your brain does. You'll feel it... here—" she tapped her collarbone, "or here." She pointed at his marked arm.
"Like when that crystal rejected me." Zephyr's voice was a husky echo.
Lhira nodded once.
"Exactly."
Then she lifted a prism-shaped alpha crystal, hollow at the center, breathing a faint violet glow from within.
"Take your seat in the T9. I'll bind you to the master relay. This isn't a test. It's an introduction. Listen to your body."
Zephyr lowered himself onto the cold metal spine. The back shifted, adjusting to cradle him exactly. On either side, the sensor arms drifted inward. The Filament Synaptica touched his nape—ice at first, then heat—then it sank in.
In an instant, the world bent around him.
When the Filament Synaptica detached from the back of his neck, Zephyr still felt the echo of the link—like a bell's hum lingering long after the strike had faded. The world snapped back into ordinary focus, but something inside him was undeniably altered. The runes on his arm still pulsed faintly, as if they had just awakened from a long sleep.
"How did it feel?" Lhira asked, watching his face intently.
"Like... like I could hear the crystal breathing," Zephyr murmured, still half-dazed. "And it was as if the entire city was connected—one living network."
Lhira nodded, clearly pleased. "You have exceptional resonance. Over the next few days, you'll start feeling the vibration of every Stabilitor in Akar Vhazryl. It's normal for operators with heightened sensitivity."
Arin grinned. "Welcome to your new world, Zephyr. A world where you can feel the city's heartbeat."
As they stepped out from the sixth floor toward the main lift, Zephyr had no idea that this new sense—this fragile, flickering bond with the city's veins—would soon be tested in a storm far more dangerous than simply syncing a crystal. Somewhere deep within the city, tension long buried was rising—ready to boil over.
Yet behind the ceaseless thunder of machinery and the haze of factory smoke, a smoldering tension had long coiled within Akar Vhazryl. This city—built upon fragile promises—had turned its back on the very backbone that once raised its towers skyward. The Kahahn, beast-headed humanoids famed for their raw strength and endurance, had carved the city's bones with sweat and muscle. Now, they were little more than expendable labor—treated like cattle to be driven until they dropped.
One sweltering, stifling afternoon, as Zephyr and Lhira worked atop one of the largest Stabilitors—the beating heart of Blackstone Factory that fed power to all of Akar Vhazryl—a strange commotion rattled the hall. The ever-present rumble of engines mingled with an uproar of furious voices.
Zephyr turned just as a column of Kahahn forced their way in—not through the usual worker passages, but boldly through the main gate, eyes locked forward with open challenge. Lhira hissed under her breath, "They think Vazhryl is their rightful dominion…"
"ARIN VEYL!" roared the lead Kahahn, his voice booming through steel and stone. He was massive, a living statue of onyx muscle crowned by the head of a black panther, golden jewelry flashing sharply against his dark fur. His eyes glowed yellow, burning with ancient resentment.
Arin descended swiftly from the upper gantry, composure slipping like oil from steel. The polite smile he wore cracked as a barrage of accusations slammed into him. His gaze swept the snarling faces.
"Bargrahn, Julakh, Lanekh. What pressing matter drags you here? Let's discuss this in my office—"
"No need, Arin!" Bargrahn thundered. "We demand that the Kahahn be permitted to work inside this factory! We have strength, we have mind! We are not disposable brutes to be cast aside when convenient! You drain our land, bleed our backs, then toss us like refuse!"
Julakh stepped forward, fanning the fire. His lion's mane, thick and sun-gold, framed a broad face and eyes that blazed emerald. Ancient silver armor hugged his hulking frame. "How long have you expanded into our territory? Two seasons of promises—no payment! The Kahahn demand reparations now!"
Then Lanekh spoke, her voice quieter but twice as lethal. A silver-furred wolf's head atop a poised body wrapped in dark armor trimmed with fur and hidden plates of metal. Her blue eyes burned frost and fury both. "You generate enough power to drown Akar Vhazryl in light a thousand times over. And yet one place remains in darkness: the Kahahn District."
She stepped closer, the shadows bowing away from her presence.
"North of this plant, where our kin huddle in the black—your flood of light never reaches us. You never come. You never fight for a single lamp for our homes, for our children. Tell me, Arin Veyl—does our life mean nothing to you but muscle to grind and soil to strip bare?"
"Enough!" Arin's hand rose, a small gesture but iron-clad with authority that cut through the angry hall like a blade. His voice, though lacking Bargrahn's raw thunder, rang with a cold resonance that compelled silence.
"I have heard your grievances, Bargrahn, Julakh, Lanekh," Arin said, tone carefully measured but an edge of disdain leaking through. "Let's speak rationally, as Miss Dennias here would advise." He flicked a glance at Lhira, using her calm presence as a thin shield.
His eyes sharpened on Julakh, voice hardening. "On territorial compensation—yes, there is a process. Blackstone expansion requires massive upfront capital. Compensation payments are tied to production cycles, profitability, and claim validation. Perhaps there have been delays—bureaucracy is a cumbersome beast. But neglect? Hardly. File your claim through proper channels, with complete documentation. Shouting in my hall will not accelerate paperwork."
Then he turned to Lanekh, and beneath his steampunk goggles a dangerous glint flashed.
"And about the so-called darkness in the Kahahn District… building a power grid that feeds an entire root-city isn't simple, nor cheap. Priorities must be set: plant operations, military supply lines, key economic hubs. Lighting your neighborhood is a complex project. Perhaps not Blackstone's highest urgency at the moment." He paused, the pause dripping acid. "Maybe if your people offered structured contributions to this factory's stability and profits—and stopped threatening the order we built—your infrastructure would find itself moving up the list."
He let out a short, humorless laugh that cracked the tense silence.
"Talk of power vacuums? Takeovers? Empty rhetoric, Lanekh. Akar Vhazryl bows to strength and order, not mobs shouting in factory halls. Any attempt to break that order, any attempt at seizure, will be treated for what it is: rebellion against rightful authority. And you do not want your 'place' redefined by Blackstone Security and our defense towers."
It was no longer a threat hidden in velvet. It was iron bared in daylight.
Lhira Dennias, overseeing the Stabilitor nearby, felt the disturbance grating against every trained nerve in her spine. As the Neuro-Optic Manager, any chaos this close to a Stabilitor was an open threat to every life inside the factory walls. She'd long been disgusted by how Blackstone used its workers like fuel—but the Kahahn's brute defiance now risked catastrophe.
She turned her steely eyes on Bargrahn, Lanekh, and Julakh. Her posture was a column of cold resolve. "Let me repeat myself—once. Calm yourselves. If you want to discuss specifics—training, compensation—then arrange a meeting through your community's representative, through the proper channels and procedures. But if you insist on this reckless spectacle—shouting threats in a critical work zone—I will treat it as aggression against Blackstone. And I will respond, immediately and without hesitation. Now... choose."