The campus had emptied by the time Tahir left the main walkways behind.
Grass muffled his steps; the air hung thick and quiet beneath a canopy of trees that blocked the
sun. He liked this part — the edge of silence where the city's noise dissolved.
Ahead stood an iron gate, chained and half-swallowed by rust. The kind of place students
ignored. But not everyone.
A boy leaned against the gate as if he'd been waiting all along.
"You too?" he said, lifting his chin when Tahir approached.
Tahir slowed, his eyes narrowing. Not a greeting — a test.
"I could ask the same," he answered. "This isn't exactly the scenic part of campus."
The boy's mouth curved slightly. "Depends what you're looking for."
His tone was light, but the eyes were sharp — observant, deliberate.
Tahir said nothing. He studied the stranger's posture, the careful relaxation that didn't quite hide
alertness. Not Union, he thought. Accent's wrong. But he listens too closely.
After a pause, the boy spoke again, quieter now.
"I heard them. Union men. Thought no one understood their tongue. But I did."
Tahir's pulse tightened. "What did you hear?"
"That they're not guarding this place," the boy said. "They're watching it. There's a difference."
Cicadas filled the silence between them. The sound pressed like heat.
Tahir gestured toward the locked gate. "And you followed that difference here?"
The boy gave a half-shrug. "Names don't matter yet. But I think you came for the same reason."
Tahir almost smiled. Bold. Dangerous. Useful.
He pressed a hand against the cold chain — thick, welded, immovable. Beyond it lay a
courtyard drowned in weeds and cracked stone. The forgotten heart of the university, left to rot
under the excuse of maintenance.
"They don't want us here," Tahir said.
"No," the boy replied. "Which means this is exactly where we need to be."
They tested the gate together. It didn't budge. Too strong.
So they searched the wall instead — ivy crawling over fractured stone, mortar crumbling under
age. Tahir found a seam that shifted when he leaned in.
"There," he murmured.
The boy crouched beside him, tracing the crack. "Together."
They pushed. Stone groaned. Dust fell like ash.
The wall resisted, then gave with a brittle snap. A slab dropped inward, revealing a narrow gap.
Tahir coughed through grit. The air beyond was cooler, tinged with rot and silence.
The boy — older now in posture than his face suggested — grinned through the dust. "Not easy
to get in."
Tahir wiped his hands, eyes gleaming faintly. "Then it's worth it."
He slipped through first.
Inside, the courtyard was a cathedral of ruin — vines choking the arches, windows shattered
into empty eyes. Every surface whispered of time and deliberate forgetting.
The boy followed, landing lightly. "They hide things well when they want to."
Tahir didn't answer. His gaze caught on a half-collapsed doorway at the far end, faint script still
clinging to its frame — eroded words, yet not erased.
He felt a shiver.
"You see it too," the boy said.
Tahir nodded once. "That's where we start."
They moved deeper until metal scraped stone behind them.
Both froze.
From the darkness ahead, a figure emerged — an old man in a faded maintenance uniform,
shoulders stooped but eyes sharp.
"You two," he rasped. "Come help me."
Caution lingered, but curiosity won. They followed.
The man led them into a side hall lit by a single bulb. Dust hung in the air like static. Shelves
and crates filled the space — hardware, stacked high and forgotten. Drives, boards, tangled
cables, the skeletons of machines long outdated.
"I've orders to clear it all out," the man said. "All of it, gone by week's end."
Tahir's gaze locked on a label: 500GB. His chest tightened.
Impossible. Not for the year. Not for here.
Beside him, the boy — finally introducing himself in tone if not name — gave a low whistle.
"They're throwing this away?"
"Waste," the old man muttered. "We've made an art of it."
They worked quietly, shifting boxes, uncovering layers of forgotten tech. Tahir's hand brushed
the drive again — that impossible 500GB brick of metal and mystery. His pulse wouldn't settle.
"You like that one?" the old man asked.
Tahir froze.
The man only smiled faintly. "Take it. And you," he said to the boy, "pick one too. A token for
your help. But keep them hidden. Understand?"
They nodded. The boy — Yassir, as Tahir would learn later — took a smaller drive. Tahir hid the
larger one beneath his jacket.
When they finished, the old man pointed toward the broken entry where they'd come in.
"Your way out. And a word of advice: curiosity's a light that burns."
Then he turned back to his work.
The night air outside was cool again, almost sterile after the dust.
Tahir and Yassir walked without speaking, the weight of what they carried pressing heavier than
the metal itself.
At the crossroads of the main path, they parted with a nod. No promises, only the quiet
understanding that they'd both be back.
Hours later, in his small apartment, Tahir sat before his flickering monitor.
The scavenged tower whirred — a patchwork of parts, coaxed to life through stubborn
patience.
He slid the 500GB drive into the slot. The machine hesitated, then hummed steady.
Directories filled the screen: empty folders, old names, ghost data.
Except one.
archive.zip
Size: 1.2 GB. Encrypted.
Tahir typed a few guesses. Failed. Tried again. Then his mind caught on something — the
graffiti scrawled across the old walls:
Ascend. Alone. The End. He.
A.A.T.H.
He entered the letters.
The archive opened.
Three files.
video.mp4
notes.txt
hello.c
He clicked the video.
Static buzzed — then an image sharpened.
A face, lean and watchful, wearing the smile of a man who once believed himself immortal.
"Hello," said the voice, calm and certain.
"My name is Qasimir Mutaz."
The crazed monarch.
And the room seemed to grow colder.