The path out of the Garden of Silence terminated at a set of heavy, rusted transit gates blocking the base of the central tower. Centuries of tectonic settling had fused the iron tracks, sealing the access shaft to the upper levels.

  I stepped up to the seam, wedging the solid, desecrated crowbar I had forged from the Captain's shield deep into the gap. "Hold the left panel, Rook," I directed. "When I apply the torque, push." The massive golems optics flickered at the opportunity to be useful, wedging his white-steel fingers into the opposing seam. I threw my weight against the makeshift gold-and-steel lever, Rook matched my force, venting a sharp hiss of steam.

  The ancient architecture shrieked in protest. Metal ground against metal, the grinding friction echoing off the polished marble courtyard as the rusted locking pins inside the gate snapped. The sturdy doors gave way, sliding apart just wide enough to admit a golem-sized person at a squeeze.

  Simultaneously, the makeshift crowbar failed. Forged hastily and without a proper heat temper, the holy steel reached its tensile limit. It shattered in my hands with a loud, violent crack, raining useless, jagged shards of gold and iron across the cobblestones. No proof of any wrongdoing now, I suppose.

  I dropped the fractured handle, shaking the stinging vibration from my cast-iron knuckles. Enjoying the chance to be one up on the nobles for a change, I kicked a piece of the shattered holy crest into the dark shaft—"It served its purpose."

  Mara stepped through the breach, her staff illuminating the vast, vertical throat of the machine ahead of us. "A crude key, Artisan. But effective." We stepped into the access shaft. A massive, twisting river of blue light flowed upward through the empty air—the Ley-Stream.

  “The platform is too unstable,” I said, eyeing the drifting slab of basalt. “It’s a calcified blood cell, not a freight elevator. It has a weight limit.”

  I turned to Rook.

  “You’re two tons of dense matter, big guy. You step on that, and it drops out of the sky like a stone. The magnetic field can’t hold you.”

  Rook made a low, whirring sound of distress—a venting of steam that sounded like a mechanical whine. He stepped closer, his massive shadow falling over me.

  “ROOK… ANCHOR,” he rumbled, his blue optic cycling nervously. “ANCHOR… STAYS.”

  “Not where I’m going,” I said. “This is a sprint, not a siege.”

  I looked at Mara. She was already stepping forward, her jaw set in a line of stubborn pride.

  “Do not ask me to wait in the dirt, Artisan,” she warned, clutching her staff. “I spent three centuries in a box. I do not care for sitting still.”

  “It’s not about will, Mara. It’s about density,” I said, tapping the frail bone of her shoulder. “The ascent requires terminal velocity. The G-force will be crushing. My Mantle can take the kinetic stress; your bones can’t. You would snap before we hit the halfway point.”

  Mara stiffened. She looked at her hands—still trembling slightly from the amber stasis atrophy. She hated the logic, but she couldn’t argue with the math.

  “I hate that you are right,” she hissed, turning away to hide the frustration in her eyes. “Go, then. Break your own neck.”

  Rook reached out, one massive white-steel finger hovering near my chest. He didn’t want to let go of the Trinity Link.

  “MAKER… SOFT,” he rumbled, his voice dropping to a vibration that shook my ribs. “WHO… KEEPS… SAFE?”

  I tapped the golden bristles of the [ Mantle of Gullinbursti ].

  “I’m not soft today, buddy,” I said. “I’m gold-plated.”

  I pointed to the ground. “Hold the floor. I’m going up alone.”

  I stood at the base of the district, looking up into the throat of the machine.

  The Admin Dome wasn’t just a building; it was the Brain. A massive, pulsing hemisphere of obsidian and translucent glass suspended miles above the cavern floor. It hung there, tethered by thick, glowing cables that stretched down into the darkness like the optic nerves of a titan.

  I needed to get up there. But the spine was broken.

  The physical infrastructure—the stone bridges and spiral staircases that once connected the Garden to the Dome—was shattered. Petrified roots from the wild growth below had strangled the masonry, cracking the stone ribs of the city until they fell into the void.

  “Calcified,” I muttered, kicking a piece of rotted stone over the edge. “The skeleton is dead.”

  But the blood was still flowing.

  I looked out into the open air of the shaft. Winding through the empty space was a massive, twisting river of blue light.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  [ The Ley-Stream ] [ Function: Flux Artery ]

  It was a current of viscous, liquid energy, flowing upward against gravity. Floating within the stream were the Vectors.

  They weren’t machines or trains. They were monoliths—massive, rectangular slabs of gray stone and amber, drifting along the current like red blood cells in a vein. They carried supplies, historical archives, and dormant constructs toward the Brain.

  “It’s a long way down,” I whispered, gauging the distance to the nearest passing slab. “Don’t miss.”

  I climbed one of the petrified roots, ascending until I was level with the flow. The air here hummed. It wasn’t a mechanical vibration; it was the static buzz of high-voltage magic, thick enough to make the hair on my arms stand up.

  A Vector approached. It was a block of rough-hewn basalt, glowing with amber veins.

  I crouched. I waited for the rhythm. The air pulsed with a heavy, rhythmic beat.

  The slab drifted past, ten feet out.

  I jumped.

  [ Agility: 18 ]

  For a second, I was weightless in the void. Then I hit the stone.

  I didn’t land on solid ground. I landed inside the field of the Ley-Stream. It felt like stepping into a storm cloud. The air was heavy, wet with static. Gravity twisted, pulling me not down, but inward toward the center of the stream. I tumbled onto the surface of the Vector, my boots skidding on the stone.

  I stabilized, gripping the rough surface. The slab was moving slow, lazily drifting toward a side channel—a sorting bay halfway up the tower.

  “Wrong way,” I said.

  I crawled toward the center of the Vector. Embedded in the stone was the heart of the platform: a pulsing, fist-sized crystal of raw amber.

  [ Component: Heart-Stone ] [ Status: Passive Drift ]

  It wasn’t a control console. It was a rudder.

  I drew the [ Gluttenous Shiv ].

  “Change course,” I growled. “We’re going to the brain.”

  I didn’t try to reprogram it. I couldn’t write code on a rock. I had to change the flow.

  I drove the dagger into the Heart-Stone.

  The crystal fractured with the sharp report of snapping bone. I didn’t break it completely; I torqued the blade, twisting the stone’s alignment. The magic inside the crystal flared from a passive yellow to an angry, turbulent red.

  I forced the magnetic polarity to shift.

  The Vector lurched. It groaned, a sound of grinding tectonic plates, and banked violently to the left. It tore itself out of the slow lane and surged into the main arterial flow, accelerating upward toward the Dome.

  The sudden speed pinned me to the stone. The wind roared, sounding less like air and more like rushing water.

  Then, the scream started.

  It wasn’t the wind. It was a harmony. A high-pitched, vibrating note that drilled into my teeth and made my vision blur.

  I looked back. Detaching from the architecture of the surrounding towers were three shapes.

  [ Target: Sanguine Cantor ] [ Classification: Aerial Defense ]

  They weren’t robots. They were gargoyles carved from red marble, their wings made of stiffened, ancient leather. They didn’t have engines. They glided on the magnetic pressure of the city, riding the Ley-Stream like sharks.

  The lead Cantor opened its mouth. It had no throat, only a hollow resonance chamber carved into the stone. It didn’t shoot fire. It sang.

  [ Attack: Resonance Cascade ]

  A wave of visible distortion rippled through the air.

  It hit me.

  It felt like my blood had turned into fizzing soda. My bones vibrated in their sockets. The sound wasn’t just loud; it was physical. It was a frequency designed to liquefy organs. I grit my teeth, tasting copper. The pressure pinned me flat against the Vector. I couldn’t stand. I couldn’t fight.

  The Cantors dived, closing the distance. They were going to shatter the platform—and me—with pure sound.

  I looked at the Heart-Stone. The Shadow-Fang was still embedded in it, vibrating wildly from the assault. I couldn’t fight them. I had to outrun them.

  Or better yet… out-mass them.

  “Physics,” I choked out, my vision swimming.

  I reached for the dagger. My hand shook, fighting the sonic pressure. I grabbed the hilt.

  [ Skill: Flux Manipulation ]

  I didn’t stabilize the stone. I destabilized it. I poured my own chaotic energy into the fracture.

  The Heart-Stone screamed. The amber light turned blinding white.

  The Vector didn’t just accelerate. It launched.

  The sudden increase in velocity was brutal. It crushed me into the rock. The slab became a missile, tearing up the Ley-Stream, shredding the magical current. We shot upward, closing the gap on the gargoyles in a heartbeat.

  The lead Cantor tried to bank, its leather wings snapping in the turbulence. It was too slow.

  The Vector slammed into it.

  The impact sounded like a car crash. There was no contest between five tons of basalt and a marble statue. The Cantor shattered instantly, exploding into a cloud of red dust and gravel.

  The impact sent the Vector spinning. We were careening out of control, spiraling toward the upper platforms. The remaining two Cantors peeled off, unable to match the suicidal speed of the rock.

  “Brace,” I gasped.

  I curled into a ball, pulling the [ Mantle of Gullinbursti ] tight around me. The stiff bristles hardened, interlocking to form a crude shell.

  The Vector cleared the lip of the final shaft. The Admin Dome was right in front of us.

  We were coming in too hot.

  The Vector clipped the edge of the landing platform.

  The collision shook the tower. The stone slab disintegrated with a deafening roar. The kinetic force threw me clear.

  I hit the pristine white tiles of the upper platform. I rolled, skidding for thirty feet. My armor shrieked against the ceramic floor. The bristles of the Mantle snapped and tore, taking the brunt of the friction.

  I came to a stop.

  I lay there for a moment, listening to the silence. The screaming of the Cantors was gone. The roar of the wind was gone. There was only the low, rhythmic throb of the Dome.

  I pushed myself up. Every muscle in my body ached from the sonic assault, but nothing was broken.

  I checked my belt. The [ Silas Family Grimoire ] was still there, battered but intact.

  I looked up.

  The Admin Dome loomed over me. Up close, the metaphor was undeniable. It was a skull. A massive, translucent cranium of glass and obsidian, housing the pulsating light of the central processor. Thick cables ran into the base of it like a spinal column.

  [ Location: The Cranial Plate ] [ Status: Restricted ]

  “The Brain,” I whispered, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the white tiles.

  I stood up, unsteady but driven. The entrance was a dark archway at the base of the skull, breathing cold air.

  I checked the Shadow-Fang. The blade was chipped from the impact with the Heart-Stone, but it was still sharp.

  “Knock knock,” I said.