When I reawakened, I immediately clutched my stomach, nearly collapsing to my knees.
The phantom pain was overwhelming – sharp and vivid, like the blade was still there.
Images of my death flashed before my eyes to the point my mind imagined I was bleeding again.
But it wasn’t the pain that shook me the most…
It was his words. He knew about the loop. Was he Dolos’ Champion? He had to be. He arrived right after me, as if he knew I’d be here. But at the same time, his reaction to Stanford’s body was…odd, like he wasn’t the one who killed him.
Thinking back about the darkness-marked people in the Divine, the possibility clicked that the Crow could’ve been sent here by the actual Champion – someone who received information about the loop as well.
“Mr. Stanford?” Enforcer Brown called out from downstairs.
Right on cue.
Then Enforcer Gibbs followed up. “This is Enforcer Gibbs, accompanied by Enforcer Brown. We’re with Halden Heights’ local patrol. We received a report from a neighbor about a possible break-in. Your front door wasn’t locked. Is everything alright?”
Okay, no time to waste. No time for pain or doubts. He’s coming. And I still hadn’t checked the third floor.
I glanced at my COG. The ‘Outlast’ quest was still active.
For fuck’s sake…
I exited the room as quietly as I could, walking on the tips of my toes.
I left the small brass key inside the lock on purpose. When the Enforcers reach the second floor, the key would catch their attention. Then Stanford’s corpse will do the rest. The distraction will give me an extra few minutes before they search the third floor as well.
I climbed the stairs to the third floor.
Unlike the second floor, this one didn’t have doors or separate rooms. It was one long, open space.
A workshop. Stanford’s workshop.
The smell of oil and smoke hung in the air.
Rows of worn wooden tables stretched along the walls, each one covered with different custom-forged tools. One corner held a blackboard, formulas scrawled across it in white chalk. Just beneath rested a pile of automaton parts – gears, plates, skeletal limbs, and others.
Was Stanford building an automaton? How did he even have the time for this?
Building automatons wasn’t some side project. It was serious work – especially the part where you had to connect the Aetheris crystal to the machine’s core and actually bring it to life. That step alone separated automatons from the usual magitek-powered constructs – like my Chrono Quill, for example. Powering a non-sentient device with an Aetheris was simple compared to powering something that needs to move, think – even if just simple thoughts, and obey.
There were two techniques used by inventors to “breathe life” into their creations. And to be honest, both of them eluded me.
I’d never managed to build an automaton of my own.
But back to Stanford – I thought that someone like him, a hotshot in the CMA, wouldn’t have time for projects like this. Not with everything else on his plate. Especially not now, knowing what I did about his daughter.
Or maybe…maybe that’s exactly why he was working on it.
I stepped closer to the pile of pieces, keeping my footsteps light, and began rummaging through the components.
Copper. Iron. Basic stuff. Wait – is that titanium?!
Titanium was so rare it was only ever used for high-performance combat models, reinforcing their internal exoskeletons before being layered with iron. My eyes flicked across the pile and caught something else – a beryllium heat dispersion core, the kind built for high-mobility units that were always on the move like the Ironwatch’s Hounds.
What were you building here, Stanford?!
Out of everything, one thing stood out by its absence – no tantalum core.
Either he never reached the stage where he gave this thing life, or…he did – and what I was looking at now were just spare parts. Leftovers.
Meaning the real automaton might already be out there. Already active. Somewhere in Solvane.
I swallowed hard.
The components definitely didn’t suggest anything pacifistic.
Knowing how rare metals like these were – especially considering the COG would require them for future level upgrades – I quickly funneled them into the Inventory and checked its contents.
[Inventory]
- Tantalum – 146g
- Iron – 19.12kg
- Copper – 6.456g
- Titanium – 2.04kg
- Beryllium – 3.67kg
- Time Plane Memory #4
- Time Plane Memory #6
- Dematerializer
- Cryora x1
- 4 Steamcrown
- 3 Key-Coins
3 Key-Coins? What? When did I –
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It suddenly clicked.
Stanford’s seven “Steamcrowns” weren’t all Steamcrowns. Three of them weren’t.
I summoned the Key-Coins and they materialized in my hand.
They looked identical to regular Steamcrowns. Same markings. Same polished finish. But something was off.
I summoned a real one for comparison and confirmed my suspicions.
The Key-Coins were lighter. Much lighter.
And if the Inventory labeled them as Key-Coins, then that meant they were meant to open something.
And I was willing to bet that something was here. In this very workshop.
I scanned the tables quickly. Most were cluttered with tools, schematics, half-finished calculations – notes Stanford been running, likely tied to the automaton he was building.
Then I spotted a note. One that intentionally stood out.
It was placed in a very deliberate spot on one of the tables – like how people framed photographs of their loved ones on their desks. It stood out not because of its content - which I was yet to read - but because of how much space it occupied. There wasn’t a single object around it. It’s like it wanted to be seen.
The paper shimmered with a metallic gold sheen – glossy, fancy. On its outside it was signed in elegant cursive: Primarch Dalton Rose.
I turned the note to read its contents. On the inside, in sharp white letters, the message read:
It is done. She is gone.
You won’t see your daughter until I reach final agreements with him.
Can’t have you helping him plot a revenge.
Stay patient.
A shiver ran down my spine.
Dalton Rose had Stanford under his boot even after he carried out his plan.
Then the chill faded, replaced by anger.
If my suspicions about Stanford’s wife were correct, then Dalton Rose was the one who ordered my mother’s death.
I took a deep breath, forcing the rage down.
Not now.
The time for revenge would come. Right now, I had to focus on what’s in front of me.
As I stepped toward the next table, I accidently bumped into a nearly empty trash bin. A crumpled piece of paper rolled out.
I picked it up and opened it quickly.
The handwriting was different. Rougher. Faster. And the contents? They suggested Dalton Rose might have been right to distrust Stanford.
It read: Keep working. Valdemar won’t accept anything but perfection from you. Remember what’s at stake.
Written by Valdemar’s people, I suppose?
For crying out loud, they were squeezing Stanford from both sides at the same time. The Primarch from above. Valdemar from below.
I would’ve felt bad for Stanford if he hadn’t held his daughter – a literal child – like a prisoner here.
Valdemar’s note looked recent. It wouldn’t have been in the trash otherwise. Dalton Rose’s message, by contrast, was definitely older and likely something Stanford kept on the table deliberately. A twisted kind of motivation, maybe. A reminder.
But whose side was he really on? The Primarch’s or the Crazy Revolutionist’s?
No matter.
As I ducked to straighten the fallen trash bin, something caught my eye. Tucked behind a set of drawers beneath the far table was a safe.
I moved toward it quickly.
It was small and unassuming. Matte black, well-kept. There was no rotating dial – instead, it had a coin slot built into the front panel. Just beside it were three small glass lamps, evenly spaced and currently unlit.
Already making the connection, I slid one of the Key-Coins into the slot.
Click.
The leftmost lamp flickered to life with a blue glow.
Before I could insert another one, I froze.
Footsteps were coming upstairs.
I held my breath and listened.
Just as expected, the Enforcers stopped on the second floor.
“Look, the key’s inside.” I heard Brown say, muffled.
Perfect. They took the bait. But it also meant I was practically out of time.
I capitalized on the diversion and quickly slid the second and third Key-Coins.
Click. Click.
The other two lamps lit up blue as well, followed by another click. The safe was open – I just needed to press the handle.
That was when I realized he was here.
“Who’s there?” I heard Gibbs call out. Then, quitter but still audible. “Go check it out.”
No time to waste. I grabbed the safe’s handle and pressed it in.
The door clicked open.
Inside, there were three items.
The first was a small fabric bag, tied closed with a simple rope. I grabbed it – the weight and clink from within suggested it held mana crystals. No time to check which ones.
I shoved it into the Inventory.
The second item was a gun – but not the standard Ironwatch model. This one was smaller, sleeker. A custom piece. The magazine was already slotted in, and an extra one rested beneath it. Based on this one I could tell each magazine had two shots. Four in total, then.
BANG.
A gunshot thundered from downstairs.
It startled me and I almost dropped the gun, but I clenched my jaw and forced my nerves to steady.
Brown was likely down.
Store.
The third item was a hardback notebook. Labeled right on the front cover was: Graham Stanford’s Journal.
I flipped it open, skimming quickly. The first few pages were filled with notes and ideas – nothing out of the ordinary for any inventor in Solvane. Then I hit a section of blank pages. A long gap. But after that…the writing resumed.
The new section was titled: Valdemar’s Request.
Then my eye caught a name.
Cecilia.
My mother. Stanford mentioned her.
I froze, heart pounding.
BANG.
Another gunshot below.
Fuck. No time. I’ll take it. Store.
[Error: Storing this item violates Déjà vu System Protocol #3401. Item is restricted and classified]
[Warning: Written items are prohibited from storage. Continued attempts to store this item will trigger a System Lockdown]
FUCK!
That’s right. I’d forgotten. I can’t store written materials.
Which meant…I can’t carry this journal into the next loop.
Which meant…I’d have to read it during this one. All of it.
The System would wipe out my memories clean when I died, but something might stick through the skills.
But to do that – to read this thing – I’d need time.
I’d have to drop this bastard coming for me.
BANG.
Another shot. Closer now. On the second floor – no doubt about that.
Gibbs was probably down.
Then came his voice, distorted and low. “Come on out. Let's end this quickly.”
A shiver ran down my spine. This guy already killed me once. At least once.
Fuck you, dude.
I turned to the workshop’s window.
Too high to jump. Unless…
I summoned the Cryora from the Inventory and slammed it into the COG’s Channel Core.
The needles drove into my arm, infusing my body with mana.
Ice magic in hand, I sprinted to the window, COG first, and leapt through, breaking the glass.
Mid-air, I threw my hand downward, utilizing my creativity.
A structure of ice formed instantly – crude, jagged, but functional. It curved into a makeshift slide, forming beneath me as I fell.
I hit it hard and slid down fast – barely in control – until I reached the ground and stumbled into a rough landing.
My knees buckled. My breath caught.
As expected, my COG was angry at me for overexerting it.
[OVERHEATED]
[COG Channel Core overheated – Cooling Cycle initiated]
[Estimated Downtime: 00:29:59]
Shit.
Well, not time to linger either way.
I pushed myself up and ran – not looking back.
Behind me, another gunshot rang out, echoing around the neighborhood.
I turned my head for just a second.
The Obsidian Crow stepped out of Stanford’s house, armgun raised toward the sky as he fired the warning shot.
He was going to give chase - that much was obvious.
And still, I turned away and kept running.