Location: Planet 10 – Solmerea, Dominion Territory: Vanyress Expanse
Time: [Drift Level: Controlled / Core Interference: Minimal]
Ren had visited a lot of places across the Verge.
Most were loud. Brutal. Covered in sand or guilt.
But Vanyress?
It was… quiet.
Not in the empty way.
In the judging librarian kind of way.
The Dominion of Vanyress wasn't built like a kingdom.
It was a giant archive that decided to become a country.
Every building? A vault.
Every street? Lined with sigil-stone that whispered facts when stepped on.
Every person? Trained in memory management like it was breathing.
BLAZE (grumbling):
"I don't like this place. Too quiet. Too clean. Feels like everyone here writes passive-aggressive history books."
FROST (reading a wall that auto-scrolls when she blinks):
"They're literally monitoring what we look at.
These walls are adaptive parchment.
They remember what you remember."
REN:
"So this whole city is a brain.
And we're giving it data just by walking."
The group moved through the upper district — a hexagonal plaza with floating obelisks, each one humming with glowing runes.
In the air above, tiny drones shaped like crystal quills darted around, scanning residents and recording their expressions, tone, and even eye twitch patterns.
SNARKSTEEL (muttering):
"If one of those little feather-bots gets near me I'm slicing it. I don't care if it's holding a library card."
A local archivist passed by, wearing layered robes embedded with old languages sewn into the hems. She nodded at Ren, then paused mid-step.
She stared at him for a second too long.
Eyes widening.
Then?
She bowed. Deeply. Silently. And walked faster.
REN (raising an eyebrow):
"...Okay that's not creepy at all."
FROST:
"They've probably flagged you.
Your Aetherium Core is pinging everything with admin permissions."
AETHERIUM CORE:
pgsqlCopyEdit> LOCAL DOMAIN IDENTIFIED: VANYRESS STATE ARCHIVE > ACCESS PRIVILEGES: GRANTED (TEMPORARY) > SECURITY RESPONSE: NEUTRAL CURIOUS
They turned down a descending path lined with carved face-statues — giant stone masks, each engraved with a memory pulled from public record.
One spoke as they passed:
"The last Riftborn touched this path… 63 years ago. He bled into the stone. His breath was archived. He did not return."
REN (pausing):
"...He came here."
GRAVITY (calmly):
"He left something behind.
But not by choice."
Ahead of them, the street bent downward into a massive chasm.
A staircase stretched along the wall — more like a library ladder built into the side of a cliff.
At the bottom: a dim violet glow.
Faint. Pulsing like a heartbeat.
A sign was etched into the gate:
DEEP SPIRE ARCHIVE – LEVEL ZERO
Where Memory Ends. Where Truth Rots.
BLAZE (eyeing it):
"That's... not a welcoming slogan."
REN (exhaling):
"We find the echo of the split here.
We find him."
But before they took a step forward, a tall robed figure emerged from a side corridor.
Eyes glowing with data-light.
Wearing a mask shaped like a keyhole.
She raised a hand.
ARCHIVE KEEPER:
"Entry requires clearance.
Name your search."
Ren blinked. Froze.
He had a thousand thoughts. None of them helpful.
REN (panicked):
"Uhhh... I'm looking for… uh… ancient snack recipes?"
FROST:
"…Are you serious right now?"
REN (sweating):
"I meant—fractured timelines! Fractured timelines and snack recipes. Because… history is... tasty?"
The Archive Keeper didn't blink.
She tilted her head.
Her glowing eye mask dimmed ominously.
Then—a small chime went off behind her.
A door opened. Four floating enforcers entered.
They were tall. Silent. Wearing blank memory-glass armor. Each one held a weapon shaped like a quill crossed with a blade — not designed to kill, but redact.
ARCHIVE KEEPER (monotone):
"False request detected.
Abuse of inquiry protocol.
Requesting containment."
REN (eyes wide):
"WAIT NO I WAS KIDDING—I'M JUST BAD AT TALKING TO MASK LADIES."
BLAZE (giggling):
"Oh my gods he actually got arrested by a librarian."
SNARKSTEEL (sighing):
"Why is it always you?"
📍 1 HOUR LATER – VANYRESS TEMPORAL DETENTION CELL
Ren sat in a glowing cube-cell with a tea machine, a philosophy scroll, and the most uncomfortable chair known to any galaxy.
REN (head in hands):
"This is the dumbest jail I've ever been in."
FROST (outside the cell):
"It's literally made of projected shame. The walls are replaying your 'snack history' line on loop."
WALL (echoing):
"—because history is… tasty?—tasty?—tasty?—"
BLAZE (laughing so hard she's wheezing):
"Please. Never escape. I need this forever."
AETHERIUM CORE (flashing gently):
> USER INTEGRITY: INTACT > SOCIAL INTEGRITY: CRITICAL FAILURE > SUGGESTION: STOP SPEAKING 📍 13 HOURS INTO VANYRESS TEMPORAL DETENTION CELL
Ren lay on the cot, staring at the glowing ceiling as the walls continued echoing his shame.
WALL (cheerfully mocking):
"—history is… tasty?—tasty?—tasty?—"
REN (groaning):
"Okay. I get it. I panicked and metaphor'd badly. Can we stop now?"
No response.
He sat up, glancing around the room. No visible doors. No guards. Just a cube of politely oppressive silence.
But something tugged at his instincts — something in the walls.
The same glyph-lining that'd pulsed when he'd mentioned "fractured timelines."
Only now… it glowed faintly in a pattern.
REN (mutters):
"That's not security... that's data storage."
He got up, pressed his palm to the wall.
The glyphs shifted slightly. Not like an alarm.
More like… an invite?
REN (grinning):
"Oh you shouldn't have done that."
AETHERIUM CORE (whisper-ping):
markdownCopyEdit> WARNING: USER ATTEMPTING UNSANCTIONED ACCESS > COMMENT: This Is Technically A Felony > PERMISSION OVERRIDE: ...Fine. But Make It Cool.
Ren traced the pattern. A hidden seam opened, revealing a narrow panel tucked behind the projection layer.
Inside?
A folded light-indexed slate labeled:
"REJECTED INQUIRIES: Metaphorical Access Terms"
"Filed By: Subject #000-R (Driftborn Echo)"
REN (eyes widening):
"This... this is a list of people who tried to sneak into the archive using bad metaphors."
He flipped to the first page.
"The ocean of truth is a bowl of soup."
"Reality is just a half-written song in a broken harp."
"I am a key, and pain is the lock."
REN (cackling):
"Okay, that last one was almost badass."
Then he spotted something scrawled in the corner of one of the pages.
A name:
"R/Null-Kael—Access Denied (Attempt #43)"
Ren froze.
REN (quiet):
"He tried.
He kept trying."
The real reason he was flagged — wasn't because of the snack metaphor.
It was because his signature was dangerously close to a previous violator.
Other Ren.
He hadn't been rejected just because he was awkward.
He was denied because he looked too much like someone they were trying to erase.
Suddenly, the lights dimmed.
Security glyphs ticked up in the corners of the walls.
AETHERIUM CORE (blaring):
markdownCopyEdit> ALERT: CELL ACTIVITY DETECTED > EXIT LOCKDOWN INCOMING > GUARDS EN ROUTE
REN (pocketing the metaphor slate):
"Not escaping. Just… borrowing academic material."
He quickly tapped the panel closed and flopped dramatically back onto his cot.
DOOR (opening with hiss):
The guards entered. Silent. Mechanical.
GUARD:
"Your observation period is over."
Ren looked up innocently.
REN (casually):
"Cool. Learned so much about snacks.
And guilt."