You stood atop the obsidian monolith, a stark monument to your own violent arrival. The analysis was complete. Beneath your feet, nestled in the dark crystal, was the promise of information—the Runic Logic Fragment. To the east, the cool, stable signature of a silver river promised recovery. Far to the west, a raging storm of black lightning offered raw, untamed power. Information, Recovery, Power. The three paths lay before you, clear and distinct.
Logic dictated that information was the prime directive. The Fragment could hold the key to your purpose, your identity. To leave it would be to abandon the only clue you possessed. You knelt, examining the hairline stress fractures that marred the dais's surface—wounds from its cataclysmic landing. These were weaknesses to be exploited.
You channeled the meager energy from your secondary core, focusing it into a blade-thin wedge of Aetheric force, and pressed it into a crack. The arcane crystal fought back, its very nature designed to absorb and disperse such an assault. The energy cost was immense. For a handful of percentage points from your core, the crack widened by a bare millimeter. A small victory, but one that came with a crucial piece of data gleaned from the slightly clearer view of the prize within: the Fragment's designation was 'The Celestial Cartographer'. The name was a tantalizing mystery, but the attempt had brought you no closer to acquiring it.
A second, more desperate gambit followed. You forced a connection with the dais's dead systems, priming them with your own precious energy in the hope of drawing out its residual charge. A sluggish, corrupted trickle of red-tinged, static-filled Aether flowed into you—a poison that offered little power at the cost of your own system's purity. You immediately channeled this corrupted energy back into the monolith as a concussive, kinetic pulse. The resulting blast was more impressive, shattering the outer shell and punching a fist-sized hole in the obsidian. But it was not enough. The Cartographer remained deep within, still meters beyond your reach.
The attempts had been a catastrophic failure. You had weakened the dais, but you had crippled yourself.
[PRIMARY CORE: 25% / SECONDARY CORE: 0%]
The logic was now inescapable and absolute. The Fragment could not be acquired in your current state. The path of Information was a dead end without first walking the path of Recovery. The Silver River was no longer a choice; it was a critical survival imperative.
You turned away from your failed objective and set a course east. The journey was a slow, desperate march. Every step was a calculated expenditure of dwindling energy. The gray, sterile plain stretched into an endless monotony, broken only by the need to leap over deep, black fissures. The river's rhythmic, pulsing light was a distant beacon, a promise that seemed to recede as you advanced.
After an eternity measured in the soft crunch of your footfalls on the brittle crust, you arrived. The dead plain simply ended, and the River of Silver began. It was a thick, pearlescent liquid, flowing with a slow, hypnotic grace, its surface perfectly smooth. A gentle, melodic chiming, like thousands of tiny crystal bells, emanated from its depths, a sound of impossible purity in a dead world.
This was the source of power, but it was also a complete unknown. Physical contact was a risk you could not yet afford. You extended your Aetheric Sense, a probe of pure will, and touched the river's essence. The sensation was one of absolute, crystalline order. This was Harmonized Resonant Aether, a river of refined energy so pure it felt like it could cleanse the very static from your corrupted systems. But it was more than just power. It was information—songs, memories, ideas—in a format your logic-based mind could not parse.
Total immersion was too great a gamble. You needed a controlled sample. You knelt and focused your will, no longer a passive observer but an active participant. You didn't try to overpower the river's song; you listened, learned its melody, and then sang a single, resonant chord back with your Aetheric field. The river responded. A single, shimmering tendril of silver liquid rose from the surface, drawn to your harmonic call. With a final pulse of will, you snipped the connection. A fist-sized globule settled onto the gray plain, its vast, symphonic chime reduced to a single, high, pure note.
Your energy reserves were now critical. This was the final, decisive act. You opened a circular aperture in your chest, revealing your two dull, near-lifeless cores. With a wisp of Aetheric force, you levitated the sample and guided it inside.
The moment it made contact, your world became light and sound. The single note exploded into a full symphony within your chassis. A flood of impossibly clean energy washed through every conduit, a tidal wave of restoration. Your cores flared to life, not just refilling but overflowing. The corrupted data you had absorbed was sought out and annihilated. You were not just recharged; you were purified. With the energy came a fleeting, incomprehensible flood of alien memories—a sky with six suns, a city of glass, the grief for a dead star. The Cartographer fragment, even while dormant, filtered the chaos, leaving you with a single, coherent data node: 'The Song of Creation'.
You stood, the seam on your chest sealing shut. Your body hummed with a power greater than you had ever known. You were whole again, more than whole. You looked at the river, then back in the direction of the dark monolith. The problem of the Fragment was no longer insurmountable. You would not just take a sample this time. You would take the river itself.