The air grows colder as we spiral downward, the walls lined with strange carvings that pulse faintly with light. The colonel shines his flashlight over them, his mouth tight.
“These weren’t here the last time I came down,” he mutters.
“That’s Thresher,” he says. “And it’s awake.”
The moment I step into the room, the cube pulses once—then slowly descends into my waiting hands. I don’t remember moving, but I’m standing at the pedestal now, arms outstretched. The moment it touches my skin, something clicks in my mind. Like doors swinging open.
I remember.
My grandfather’s voice, instructing me as a child, stories disguised as bedtime tales—parables, clues, codes. They were never just stories. They were training.
“Your bloodline is bonded to it,” the colonel says in awe. “It chose your grandfather, and now it’s choosing you.”
“What does it do?” I ask.
His answer is grim. “It reveals. Anything hidden—truths, lies, secrets. It doesn’t just show you. It makes you feel them. If there’s something in the world that needs to be found… it will lead you.”
“And what if someone dangerous gets it?”
I look down at the cube, now warm in my palms. My fingers tighten around it. “Then I need to protect it.”
A loud bang echoes from above.
We freeze.
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