Episode 5 | The Everlight Protocol

“It’s not too late to assassinate him.” Visha’s casual voice cut through the bud in Hael’s ear, as though she were discussing the mundane state of the weather instead of imperial regicide. 

“Tempting,” Hael muttered, pressing himself into the gathering shadows of the stairwell. He watched as the corridors of Level C rearranged themselves, the stone beneath his boots subtly vibrating as the centermost atrium of the Imperial Archives rotated clockwise with slow, deliberate rhythm.  

“He is owed death.” 

“We are all owed death.” Hael braced as the outermost section of the atrium shifted counterclockwise, momentarily sealing off entry to Level C. His hand instinctively brushed the hilt of his blade, but he didn’t dare draw it. Not yet. Not unless he had to. “But cutting off the head will not kill this beast.” 

“It would be one less head to worry about in the long run. We should have killed him the moment his guard was down—” 

Hael cut the audio as the door to Level C reopened. An Infernal Knight stood guard at the end of the outer atrium corridor, black and silver light armor gleaming eerily in the blue glow of sigils and nodes that crawled the walls. The tower hummed with arcane magic. It was degraded, but still alive enough that the corridors breathed with its lingering energy.  

The Infernal Knight prowled towards the centermost atrium, his back to Hael and blocking passage to the second stairwell that would lead down to Level D. 

Before the sections of the atrium tower could shift again, Hael crept forward, silent as a predator stalking its prey. His eyes swept over the Infernal Knight, making note of his weaknesses. Back to an entry. Unobservant. A cloud of radiation followed the knight, but it gathered around the blades hidden under his cloak—a sign the foe before him had little of his own Flux Arcana and likely relied on his blades for combat.  

Unfortunate soul.  

In the span of a breath, Hael struck. His arm coiled around the knight’s neck in an unrelenting death grip. The Infernal Knight thrashed against him, gasping desperately for a sip of air and grasping at the arm pressing against his carotid arteries. After ten seconds, the knight abruptly sagged against him, unconscious. 

Hael dragged the body to the nearest archive chamber—one of sixteen that spanned the cross-shaped corridors of the inner and outer sections of the tower atrium. As the sections shifted with mechanic precision on an invisible axis once again, the blackened stones sighed, alight with interconnecting nodes and runes—a living system known as the Resonance Matrix—that protected the tower from magical tampering. Oryn often lamented about the disorienting effect of the tower’s rotations, which was meant to confuse unfamiliar visitors and ensnare trespassers. It was one of the rarest instances of mass Flux Arcana use on the whole planet, but since the magic wasn’t maintained consistently, it was degraded. Corrupted. Broken. 

Easy to manipulate.  

With a soft caress of a rune, Hael absorbed enough of its radiation to disarm it. The archive chamber door hissed open without protest, welcoming Hael into its frigid tomb. He dropped the body in the back of the chamber, careful to remove the Infernal Knight’s blades, a set of curved daggers meant for close contact. He tucked them into his cloak of midnight velvet, then crushed their comms device beneath the heel of his boot. 

The Infernal Knights have their own comms subnetwork? 

We cannot be too careful. 

Hael exited the archive chamber and touched the rune gain, returning the radiation siphoned from it. A series of metallic clicks affirmed that the door had rearmed itself. He touched the bud in his ear, restoring audio to their comms as if they hadn’t been interrupted. 

“One less head but double the problems. We stick to the plan, Visha. Wait for Vulcraith to hang himself.” Hael crossed to the other side of the atrium, pausing at the top of the stairwell to Level D. Tapping his temple, he activated the holographic stored in Erde’s database. It appeared in the upper right of his visual field. “Humiliation is a kind of death, is it not?” 

“Astraeus…” Visha’s voice faded, a mangled mix of apprehension and warning. “Be sure to make it to the rendezvous point. I mean it. Don’t be late, or we’ll be forced to leave you behind.” 

Erde brushed the back of his consciousness, a chirp of incredulous laughter echoing from the inky darkness clotting at the base of the stairs. As if they could. 

They would, Hael reminded her.  

Even if they came to embrace him—to like him, even—the Dread Knights would not risk their mission for the sake of a single life, Ethereal Blessed or otherwise. It was a key reason Hael had sought to forge this alliance with them. Visha was only reminding him of that fact, and he was only indulging her human need to express lingering concern through indifference. 

 “This is for emergencies only. I’m cutting the line now.”  

Before Visha could protest, Hael cut the line again and pocketed the bud. The less chatter in his ears, the better. Emperor Vulcraith’s voice already gave him a migraine. His speech was broadcasted to the entirety of Cystirin, perhaps all the Core Worlds of the system. Hael wouldn’t have been surprised if life in other galaxies picked up on his transmission. It droned overhead, permeating the narrow labyrinth of passages with nauseating clarity. Even in the bowels of the Imperial Archives, Hael couldn’t escape it. 

“We are the proud people of Arboros. The shining legacy of R-39. It is our righteous duty to lead the Core Worlds of this galaxy by the purest example. Through our honor, our unity of spirit, our sacrifices for the common good, our innovative endeavors….Our strength remains unmatched, our resolve unshaken. Each of us is a beacon of steady light that others look to in these times of uncertainty. Each of us a hope for a better, brighter future not limited to the stars heired to us by our ancestors. And though we have undoubtedly weathered greater storms than those we now face, we have always emerged far wiser and far more capable of survival than before. We have always protected ourselves, our families, our human traditions, without fail. As have all the great nations of the Core Worlds of R-39. With this in mind, it gives me great pleasure to publicly announce that we have reached an accord with the Sun Wraith Tribe of Duskra. This alliance is the foundation for a shared destiny of cooperation. My son’s marriage to Ahsen Makani will ensure the delivery of precious resources to our efforts to restore Array P20. Within three months, it will be fully operational once more.  The Starward Legion has been dispatched to quell the Duskran uprisings that led to the delays in the array’s maintenance…” 

Divines, the man loves to hear himself talk, Erde complained, a shiver of discontent rippled in the back of his mind. Are you sure we can’t squeeze in an assassination? 

Not my mission…today. 

Despite Hael’s reluctance to veer off course to murder the man, Emperor Vulcraith’s speech was a loaded gun. He brayed needlessly about a series of misfortune that had befallen Arboros as of late. The planet’s offline network (chalked up to a collision with space debris), the issue of Outpost S-36 (swept under the rug as a scheduled outage to conserve energy during the void storms that ravage the moon it sits on), and a handful of distasteful jokes about the bot protests sweeping the Core Worlds. The damned speech loomed over Hael, crawled under his skin like the march of a thousand ants that made him cringe. The man truly had no shame to lie through his teeth with such ease to the very citizens who trusted him. Ignorance was not bliss—a hard lesson even the emperor was about to learn. 

Hael ventured down the stairs, the faint glow of the nodes on the slick walls providing just enough lighting to guide him. When he came upon the sealed door of Level D, he stopped in his tracks. His heart skipped a beat, reacting to the churn of energy beneath his feet. The walls around him sighed, a flutter of light that followed the ebb and flow of Flux Arcana. And where there was an inflow of flux, there was radiation. Too much radiation. 

Erde, where are you? 

On the other side of the door. Hurry up, will you? It’s creepy in here. The lights… 

The power is rerouted to refrigeration. No need for lights when no one comes down here anymore. Hael hesitated, keeping his eye on the fluctuations of radiation below. We need to make a change to our plans. 

Change of plans? We never change our plans! 

A small change, nothing more. 

Small? Any change at this point is HUGE. I’m supposed to identify the Historia Nexus. 

We can open a visual channel if need be. But you cannot go down there. The radiation is enough to melt you. 

What’s life without a little thrill? 

Erde… 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Hael sighed loudly. Divines, why couldn’t she take any of this seriously? We need to remain focused; he reminded her. I need you to listen to me without question. Can you manage that?  

Yes, Hael. I suppose I can. 

Closer to the base of the tower, the grinding of the atrium sections as they rotated was more forceful than on the levels above. The ground trembled beneath him, the groan of hidden mechanisms rumbled behind the slick, blackened walls. When the door slowly opened, it revealed a displeased falcon. Her metallic plumage of green and silver glinted grumpily in the low lighting of Level D. She peered up at him with large, luminous emerald eyes, gaze piercing him as if she could see every thought that now traversed the expanse of his mind.  

I know exactly what you’re thinking and feeling in this moment, Erde chirped. We are linked, after all. It’s not as though we have anything to hide from each other. 

Hael reached down and tapped the top of her head affectionately. Yes, you understand me completely. That is why I cannot take you down below. Can you afford me this favor? Tonight, be the guardian of this tower. Watch my back from the sky? Lend me your senses.  

Erde nipped at his hand and launched up the stairs. Minutes passed without a word from her, but as Hael reached the stairwell to Level E and disappeared into the darkened passage, she chirped mischievously in the back of his mind.  

Just wait until I tell Visha how well you ‘stuck to the plan.’ 

A breathy laugh was his only reply. It fogged in the chilled air as he descended deeper, every nerve in his body keenly aware of the slick ice covering the stairs and the weak glow of the nodes that barely lit the path. It cast the narrow passageway in near complete darkness.  

Hael blinked, summoning a small amount of starlight into his eyes until the normally invisible wisps of radiation flickered into existence. It shimmered in the air as spectral light leaks, liquid auroras that flowed like a river downwards, and it produced an uncannily comforting sound, like the soft, rhythmic flutters of a heartbeat.  

But as Hael reached the landing of Level E, a bitterness coated the roof of his mouth and burned his nostrils. It tasted of rusted metal that had been melted down and entombed in the decay of earth and ice. His exposed skin tingled, numbed by the cold air, but still reacting to the thick currents of radiation flowing around him, through him.  

Hael… Erde whispered. How high were the radiation levels that day? Would they have diminished by now? Will you be okay? 

Hael spied the warning sign to the right of the door, where a rune flickered weakly. WARNING: EXTREME RADIATION LEVELS. AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. 

Too high. Nothing could have survived it. But this situation is far from similar. I should be able to absorb what I need to.  

He raised a hand to his neck, tracing the tight fabric hugging against his throat. An underarmor shell known as a Starflare Sleeve. It spanned his body, stopping shy of his wrists, ankles, and middle of his throat, functioning as an assist to containing the starlight flux weaving through his body. But it served a secondary purpose: to hide the scars of that day, when the very light that destroyed his homeworld burned his body to oblivion, until there had been no mortal cage to contain his spirit, and he had been detached. Alive, but something…other.  

The memory was sharp and fleeting. More of a feeling than a visual recall of the events. But nothing in all his 800 years had ever compared to the horrors of that day. Only those who had evacuated to a safe distance would have survived, but nothing—no one in Aurora Noctis—had made it out alive. Not even Hael, who had clearly died at the age of 9, and yet, he had awoken with a damaged body among the ruins of his home. The key around his neck had been the only item to survive with him.  

Stepping over the threshold, the corridor was pitch black. It was akin to plunging into the coldest, darkest ocean on Icariel. Strangely devoid of life, and yet, filled with it, if one had the ability to perceive it. Hael’s senses expanded beyond human. The weight of the radiation around him pressed against his skin, it stole the breath from his lungs, chilled the blood in his veins. His starlight flux thrummed in tandem with the quickened pace of his heart as radiation floated around him in thick, icy currents of green and blue auroras. They were blinding, beautiful, deadly. But not to Hael. Few things could kill him these days. 

The floor jolted, stone grinding violently as the sections of the atrium shifte.  Hael pressed himself against one of the radvault doors, the noise of it making his ears ache. Then everything crashed to a standstill, but the radiation swirled erratically, stoked by the mechanical rotation. It spun around him in dizzying whirls of light, particles flickering like bursts of stars. A shiver jolted through him, and he hugged his clock tighter to his body. He ignored the way his starlight flux hummed inside him, drawn to the surface of his skin and craving to follow the flow of the radiation around him. His skin took on a soft, pearly glow. Enough light to see the cracked stones beneath his feet. He closed his eyes, drawing the flux back to his center. Soon, he would have to offer his flux a release, but not down here. Not before the mirrors shattered.  

Which radvault is it? 

Containment E-048. Centermost atrium. Turn right. Second door on the left. 

Moving carefully and quickly down the corridor, Hael reached the center atrium and turned right just before the floors lurched again. This close to the mechanical axis that spun the sections, he could hear the screech of metal and the grating whine of stone against stone. He felt along the wall, hand numb from the cold, thick ice that coated it. The windows of the radvault chambers were frosted over but provided the faintest ember of light that haunted the corridor.  

It’s here. 

Hael paused in front of the second door labeled CONTAINTMENT E-048. A thick haze of radiation distorted the air around it, imbued in the black ice along its edges. It was a testament to the centuries that had passed since anyone dared to enter it. A darkened sigil was etched into the metal door above its handle, starved of flux to the point where the seal on the door was purely mechanical. But that didn’t mean the radvault hadn’t been rigged with a flux alarm on the inside. No one in their right mind would leave these artifacts so easily accessible. Then again, the radiation alone would ensure no one unprepared could journey this far down into the tower. 

With a deep breath, Hael placed his hand over the sigil, willing a small amount of his starlight flux to the surface and channeling it into the cold metal. He could feel the sigil pulsing as his power flowed through it, saturating it until it blazed to life. The door groaned as the ice melted and the delicate inner locks unlatched with a hiss, the sound echoing in the frozen corridor. 

Sliding through the narrow gap of the door, Hael paused and listened intently. Vulcraith’s speech continued in the distance, now little more than a harsh whisper in the soft silence that blanketed the lowest levels of the Imperial Archives.  

“The Science Division of the Starward Legion is investigating its origins as we speak, but they have assured me that this contagion has not spread beyond the Selene Cradle Colonies of Pemdra 19.” 

Despite the serious nature of the mysterious pandemic gripping the small moon on the edge of the Core Worlds, Vulcraith didn’t sound sorry in the least that over a thousand citizens had already been declared dead. No, his voice carried notes of pride and excitement as he skimmed over the footnotes of history, highlighting the good deeds of his fair, honorable Starward Legion knights.

It made Hael sick to his stomach. 

With a grimace, he yanked the vault door shut behind him, embracing the jagged rush of bone-chilling radiation and the near untamable fire it set beneath his skin. A cold, foreboding fire that tasted of blood and longing and all the promises of tomorrow.  

And like a star adrift in the endless black of space, in this tomb of destruction that had given birth to vengeful dreams, Hael would gladly burn and burn and burn and burn.