The lock clicked with a sound like a final, settling breath. Kaelen stared, his own blood a stark, red smear on the cold metal of the keyhole. The journal had drunk his blood and found it worthy. The simple, terrifying truth of that sent a shiver down his spine.
Hesitantly, he lifted the cover.
The first page was not a map. It was a letter, written in his father's familiar, looping script. The sight of that handwriting was a punch to the gut, more visceral than Roric's fist. It was his father's voice, captured in ink.
"My son,
If you are reading this, then Silas has seen the same fire in you that I always feared and hoped for. And it means I am not there to guide you myself. For that, I am more sorry than words on a page can ever convey. Please, tell your mother and your sister that I am sorry, too. I failed you all in my obsession, and the weight of that failure is the only burden I carry from this life.
I was not the husband or father you deserved. My search made me a ghost in our home long before I became one in truth. I was chasing a feeling, Kaelen. A conviction that there was something more amidst the reality we accept. A layer hidden beneath the Aether, a truth behind the traits. I saw glimpses, but never the whole picture. I believe our family—you and I—are meant to see what others cannot.
But to see clearly, you must first go where the veil is thinnest. The map on the following page will lead you to Conduit Station 7 in the Old Sector. It is a place of immense power and immense danger. It was my starting point. When you arrive, hold this journal against the central core. I believe it will resonate with the energy there. It will show you what it showed me.
What lies there is not a trait. It is not in the blood. It is something else entirely, and it will demand a price, as all true things do. You must be stronger than I was.
Be careful. Trust no one. And know, my brilliant, brave boy, that everything I did, I did in the hope of a better world for you, for Lira, and for your mother.
With all my love,
Your father,
Ashburn"
Kaelen read the words once, then again, his vision blurring. The apology was not just for him, but for their whole family, and it was laced with a love so fierce it ached. But beneath the love was a chilling warning. It will demand a price. Be stronger than I was. What had this quest cost his father?
He turned the page with a trembling hand. There, meticulously drawn, was a map of the Old Sector. It was far more detailed than any public record, noting collapsed tunnels and patrol schedules for the Aegis Corps. A red line snaked through the labyrinth, its destination clear: a star-shaped symbol labeled Conduit Station 7.
The weight of the decision settled on him. This was no longer a vague fantasy. It was a set of instructions. A mission from his dead father. Going to the Old Sector after curfew was a crime. Trespassing in a decommissioned Conduit Station was a one-way trip to a Quarantine cell.
He looked down at his clothes, stained with dirt and blood. He felt the deep ache in his stomach. He remembered the contempt in Roric's eyes, the terror on Lira's face.
He had no choice.
Folding the map carefully, he tucked the journal inside his jacket, the leather warm against his heart. He stood up, his body protesting, but his resolve was a steel rod in his spine. He knew where he had to go.
The journey to the Old Sector was a descent into a corpse. The functioning glow-strips of the city gave way to the hollow eyes of broken windows and the occasional flicker of a failed Aether-conduit. The silence was deep, broken only by the skittering of unseen things and the distant, low hum of the active city above. He moved like a shadow, using the map to avoid the periodic sweep of a Corps patrol skiff, his father's guidance keeping him one step ahead of the law.
Finally, he saw it. A massive, circular hatch, rusted and scarred, set into the ground at the end of a dead-end street. It was exactly as the map depicted. The access point to Conduit Station 7.
There was no fancy lock here, just brute force. Gripping a heavy, rusted lever, he threw his weight against it. For a terrifying moment, it refused to budge. Then, with a shriek of metal that tore through the silence, it gave way. The hatch slid open, revealing a yawning, black mouth and a ladder descending into the earth.
The air that wafted up was ancient and cold, carrying the ozone tang of dormant, powerful machinery.
Taking a final, steadying breath, Kaelen began to climb down into the darkness, his father's journal a burning promise against his chest. He was going to find the core. He was going to hold the book to it.
And he was going to see what his father had only glimpsed.