Carson clawed his way back to consciousness through layers of haze. His eyelids felt weighted with lead, refusing to obey his commands. The antiseptic smell hit him first—sharp and chemical, burning his nostrils with an intensity he'd never experienced before. Something had changed in his perception; the scent carried undertones of bleach, sterilization compounds, and the metallic tang of medical equipment.

  Where was Link?

  The thought jolted through him with enough force to finally pry his eyes open. Blinding white light stabbed into his retinas. He squeezed them shut again, a groan escaping his parched lips.

  "Subject showing signs of consciousness," a clinical voice announced somewhere to his left.

  Carson tried again, more cautiously this time, opening his eyes to narrow slits. The ceiling above him wasn't the familiar patchwork of his quarters in the Outer Ring. This was smooth, pristine white paneling with recessed lighting that hummed at a frequency that made his teeth ache.

  He tried to sit up. Restraints bit into his wrists and ankles.

  "What the—" His voice emerged as a rasp. His mouth tasted of chemicals and copper—remnants of whatever they'd used to sedate him.

  The Stone. His hand instinctively tried to reach for his chest but couldn't move more than an inch. He focused inward instead, sensing rather than touching. The Stone rested against his skin beneath the thin medical gown they'd put him in. It felt warm but quiet—dormant after the massive energy expenditure of the portal.

  The portal. Link. The jungle. How had he gotten back to the station?

  Memory fragments swirled—falling through dense foliage, Link's hand slipping from his grasp, a flash of golden light, then... nothing.

  "Elevated heart rate detected," the same voice noted. "Administering mild sedative."

  "No," Carson managed, turning his head toward the sound. A woman in a TITAN medical uniform stood behind a translucent containment field that shimmered around his bed. Beyond her, he glimpsed equipment he'd never seen before—certainly nothing available in the Outer Ring medical facilities.

  He was in the Inner Ring. Restricted territory.

  "Where's Link?" Carson demanded, fighting against the fuzzy edges of his consciousness as something cold entered his veins through an IV line.

  The technician didn't answer, instead turning to speak to someone outside Carson's field of vision. "Energy readings still fluctuating. The signature matches the anomaly from the mining sector, but it's diminished significantly."

  "Continued monitoring authorized," came the response. "Executive interrogation scheduled for 0800."

  Carson strained against his restraints, assessing his surroundings with newfound clarity despite the sedative creeping through his system. Two exits—one standard door behind the technician, another marked "Emergency" to his right. Surveillance cameras in each corner of the room, their tiny red lights blinking steadily. Medical equipment that could potentially be weaponized if he could reach it. The containment field generator visible as a small node beneath his bed.

  His enhanced senses picked up the hum of the station's environmental systems, the subtle vibration of distant machinery, even the accelerated heartbeat of the technician as she noticed him watching her.

  "The subject appears resistant to standard sedation protocols," she reported, voice betraying a hint of unease.

  "Increase dosage by fifteen percent," came the instruction. "We can't risk another energy surge before the executive team arrives."

  They were monitoring the Stone somehow, Carson realized. He forced his breathing to slow, trying to project calm while silently reaching out to the Stone with his thoughts.

  Stay quiet. Don't reveal yourself.

  Whether the Stone understood or was simply depleted, Carson couldn't tell, but he felt a faint warmth pulse once against his chest in response.

  "What did you do with my friend?" Carson asked, keeping his voice deliberately weak, playing into their expectation that the sedative was working.

  The technician glanced at him, then away. "Prepare the subject file for Director Novak," she said to her colleague, ignoring Carson's question entirely.

  Director Novak. The name sent a chill through Carson's spine. The Europa facility director, rumored to be TITAN's lead researcher on Architect technology. If Novak was coming, this wasn't standard security protocol—this was something much more targeted.

  They knew about the Stone. Or at least, they suspected.

  "Executive interrogation team en route," announced the station's AI through overhead speakers. "Containment protocols at maximum."

  Carson closed his eyes, feigning submission to the sedative while his mind raced. Whatever was coming, he needed to be ready. And somehow, he needed to find Link.

  * * *

  Carson watched the door slide open with a barely audible hiss. The sedative had worn off faster than they'd anticipated, though he maintained the fa?ade of grogginess. They'd moved him from the medical containment to this room—designed to look like a standard debriefing space with its neutral walls and comfortable furnishings. Too comfortable. The chair beneath him had subtle indentations where restraints could emerge if needed.

  Three TITAN executives entered. Two men, one woman, all wearing the distinctive silver-trimmed uniforms of Inner Ring authority. The woman led, her posture military-precise, dark hair pulled into a severe knot. The insignia on her collar marked her as Security Division.

  "Mr. Craft," she said, voice modulated to project calm reassurance. "I'm Commander Voss. How are you feeling?"

  Carson detected the faint scent of adrenaline suppressants in her perspiration. She was nervous beneath that composure.

  "Confused," he answered, letting his voice waver slightly. "What happened? Where's Link?"

  The older of the two men consulted a tablet. "You were involved in a mining incident. An unexpected structural collapse in Sector 7."

  Lie. Carson's enhanced senses picked up the man's elevated pulse, a microscopic dilation of his pupils. The Stone warmed against his chest, responding to the deception. Carson fought to keep his own vitals steady, knowing the room was monitoring him.

  "I don't remember that," Carson said, rubbing his temple in feigned confusion. "We were on standard extraction duty, then..."

  He trailed off deliberately, watching their reactions. The woman's eyes flickered briefly to his chest—where the Stone lay hidden—before returning to his face.

  "Memory disruption is common with traumatic events," the younger executive said smoothly. "I'm Dr. Reese, TITAN Medical Division. We've been monitoring your recovery."

  Carson noticed tiny nodes embedded in the man's temple—neural enhancers, restricted technology even in the Inner Ring. Whatever department he actually represented, it wasn't standard medical.

  "What about Link?" Carson pressed.

  Commander Voss's expression softened with practiced precision. "We're conducting an extensive search operation. Your colleague's beacon went offline during the incident."

  Another lie. Her left eye twitched almost imperceptibly. They knew exactly what had happened to Link—or at least, they knew he hadn't been lost in any mining accident.

  "I want to help search," Carson said, injecting desperation into his voice while cataloging details of the room. A false window displayed a peaceful Earth landscape—mountains he recognized from Bowie's historical archives. The air carried particles of a mild sedative, different from what they'd used earlier. Beneath the standard furnishings, scanning equipment tracked his every physiological response.

  "That won't be possible just yet," Dr. Reese said. "You experienced unusual neural activity during the incident. We need to ensure there's no lasting damage."

  The Stone pulsed warmly once, as if recognizing the reference to its energy signature.

  "Neural activity?" Carson echoed, feigning confusion while mentally telling the Stone to remain dormant.

  The older executive finally spoke. "You were found unconscious in a secured section of the mining quadrant. The structural integrity fields had failed catastrophically—something we've never seen before."

  This part contained truth, Carson realized. They were describing the aftermath of the portal's appearance, but carefully avoiding any direct mention of what they'd actually detected.

  "Mr. Craft," Commander Voss leaned forward slightly, "did you notice anything unusual before the incident? Any equipment malfunctions, strange readings, perhaps objects that shouldn't have been there?"

  They were fishing for information about the Stone without revealing they knew of its existence. Carson touched his forehead, wincing as if in pain.

  "Everything's blurry," he said. "Just routine work, then... nothing."

  Dr. Reese made a note on his tablet. "Your personal effects were recovered and are being held for you. Standard procedure after an incident of this nature."

  Meaning they'd examined the Stone but couldn't remove it from him. Interesting.

  "When can I get back to work?" Carson asked, watching their reactions carefully.

  The three executives exchanged glances—a microconversation of raised eyebrows and subtle head movements.

  "For now, you're temporarily restricted to medical observation," Commander Voss stated. "Director Novak has taken a personal interest in your case and will be arriving from Europa within the week. Until then, we'll continue our efforts to locate your missing colleague."

  The Stone heated against Carson's skin, responding to the mention of Novak. Carson forced his breathing to remain steady despite the surge of energy he felt. They weren't detaining him as a prisoner—at least not officially—but they certainly weren't letting him go either.

  "I understand," Carson said, allowing his shoulders to slump in apparent resignation. "I just want to find Link."

  Commander Voss nodded sympathetically, but Carson caught the subtle satisfaction in her expression. They believed he was compliant, unaware, exactly as he needed them to think.

  "Rest assured, Mr. Craft," she said, "TITAN takes care of its own."

  * * *

  Carson looked up at the soft hiss of the medical door sliding open. His heart jumped—not the scheduled medical check, too early by seventeen minutes according to the wall chronometer. He tensed, preparing for more TITAN interrogation disguised as medical concern.

  Instead, Wind slipped through the narrowing gap, her movements fluid and precise. The door sealed behind her with barely a sound.

  "You look terrible," she whispered, a half-smile softening the assessment.

  Carson stared, momentarily speechless. Wind wore standard maintenance coveralls, hair tucked beneath a regulation cap, but nothing disguised the distinctive grace of her movements or the alert intelligence in her eyes.

  "How did you—" he began.

  Wind raised a finger to her lips, then pulled a small device from her pocket. She placed it on the monitoring console beside his bed. The screens flickered, then resumed their steady display of his vitals—now showing a peaceful sleep pattern despite his very conscious state.

  "Loop feed," she explained quietly. "We have eight minutes before the system requires authentication renewal."

  The Stone warmed against Carson's chest, a gentle pulse that made no logical sense. It responded to her presence, though he couldn't understand why. The sensation wasn't threatening—more like recognition.

  "Where's Link?" Carson demanded, keeping his voice low. His eyes tracked her movements as she checked the corridor through a narrow gap in the blinds—the economical precision of her gestures confirming his suspicions about her training. No ordinary station resident moved like that.

  "Alive," Wind said, turning back to him. "They're holding him in a secure facility three levels down. Isolation protocols."

  Relief flooded through Carson, followed immediately by renewed tension. "Is he hurt?"

  "No visible injuries, but he's under heavier sedation than you were." Wind moved closer, her familiar scent—something like cinnamon and ozone—cutting through the antiseptic sterility of the room. "They're running tests. Different division, higher security clearance."

  Carson's mind raced. "How do you know this? How did you even get in here?"

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Wind's eyes flicked to his chest where the Stone lay hidden beneath the medical gown. "Let's just say I have experience circumventing security systems. And I know what they're looking for."

  The Stone pulsed again, warmer this time. Carson instinctively placed his hand over it, feeling its energy respond to his touch.

  "They know about it," he said, watching her reaction carefully. "But they couldn't take it from me."

  Wind nodded. "It's bonded to you. They can study it, but they can't separate you without consequences they're not prepared to risk." She glanced at the door as footsteps passed in the corridor. Both held perfectly still until the sound faded.

  "TITAN's implementing station-wide searches for what they're calling 'artifacts of significance,'" Wind continued. "They're using the mining accident as cover for increased security protocols. Prince Roman's people are conducting parallel investigations. The station's turning into a pressure cooker."

  Carson processed this, studying her face for deception but finding only urgency and what appeared to be genuine concern.

  "Why are you helping me?" he asked bluntly.

  Wind's expression softened momentarily. "Because you need it. And because that Stone around your neck is more important than you realize." She hesitated. "It's part of something bigger. Something that matters to all of us."

  The Stone warmed again, as if confirming her words.

  "You know what it is," Carson said. Not a question.

  "Not everything. But enough to know you need to get out of here before Director Novak arrives." Wind checked the small device on the console. "Three minutes left."

  Carson leaned forward. "I'm not leaving without Link."

  "I know." Wind reached into her pocket and withdrew a small metallic disc no larger than a fingernail. "Take this. It's a secure comm unit. Place it behind your ear when you're alone. I'll contact you tonight with an extraction plan."

  Carson accepted the tiny device, concealing it in his palm. "You still haven't told me who you really are."

  Wind's eyes met his, unwavering. "Someone who recognized what you're carrying before you did." She glanced at the monitor. "Time's almost up. I need to go."

  She moved toward the door, then paused. "Trust the Stone, Carson. It chose you for a reason."

  Before he could respond, she slipped through the door and was gone, leaving only the lingering scent of cinnamon in the sterile air. Carson quickly hid the communication device beneath his pillow as the monitors reset to their normal function.

  The Stone settled against his skin, its warmth fading to a gentle presence. For the first time since waking in this room, Carson felt something beyond suspicion and fear.

  Hope.

  * * *

  Carson jerked awake, heart suddenly pounding in his chest. The Stone flared against his skin—not with its usual gentle warmth but with a sharp, urgent heat that jolted him upright in the medical bed. His hand flew to his chest, fingers closing around the crystal through the thin fabric of his gown.

  The Stone pulsed again, more insistent. Warning.

  Carson swung his legs over the bed, suddenly certain of imminent danger. He'd barely touched his feet to the cold floor when he felt it—a deep, subsonic vibration running through the station's superstructure. The Stone grew hotter, almost painful against his skin.

  Three seconds later, the world exploded.

  The impact hit with a sound Carson felt more than heard—a massive, shuddering concussion that seemed to compress his very organs. The medical bay lights flickered once, twice, then died completely. In the sudden darkness, Carson was thrown sideways as the station lurched violently beneath him.

  Emergency lighting snapped on, bathing everything in bloody crimson. The station's alarms activated in cascading waves—first the proximity warnings, then structural integrity alerts, finally the piercing wail of atmosphere breach sirens.

  "Attention. Hull breach detected in sectors seven through twelve. Emergency bulkheads activating. All personnel evacuate affected areas immediately."

  The calm synthetic voice contrasted obscenely with the chaos unfolding around him. Carson grabbed for the small comm device Wind had given him, shoving it behind his ear as he stumbled toward the storage locker where they'd placed his belongings.

  The station shuddered again. Above him, a support beam groaned, metal shrieking against metal. Carson dove forward as it gave way, crashing down onto the medical bed he'd occupied seconds before. The Stone flared brightly, and Carson felt something impossible—energy flowing outward from his chest, deflecting smaller debris that rained down around him.

  He tore open the locker, grabbing his mining uniform and boots. No time for modesty. He stripped off the medical gown and dressed with frantic efficiency, muscle memory from countless emergency drills taking over. The Stone remained visible against his chest, pulsing with golden light that seemed to intensify with each station-wide tremor.

  The medical bay door had sealed automatically during the impact. Carson pressed his palm against the emergency override, but nothing happened. Power to the non-critical systems was already failing. Through the small observation window, he saw the corridor outside filling with smoke.

  The air pressure was dropping. Carson could feel it in his sinuses, the subtle pop as the station's atmosphere containment systems struggled to compensate for whatever breach had occurred. He had minutes, maybe less.

  His eyes scanned the room, landing on the ventilation shaft above the ruined medical bed. Standard TITAN design—maintenance access large enough for repair drones. Large enough for him.

  Carson dragged the room's single chair beneath the vent, climbed up, and slammed his elbow against the grate. It gave way on the second hit. He pulled himself up, the Stone's light illuminating the narrow shaft as he began crawling forward.

  The shaft vibrated continuously now. Through the metal, Carson heard the unmistakable sound of emergency bulkheads slamming shut in sequence, sealing off sections of the station. If he didn't move quickly, he'd be trapped.

  He navigated by instinct and memory, recalling the maintenance schematics he'd studied years ago—another bit of knowledge he'd absorbed and then pretended not to have. The shaft narrowed, then widened as it joined a primary circulation channel. Carson pushed forward, the Stone's light brightening as if encouraging his progress.

  The shaft suddenly pitched downward as another impact rocked the station. Carson slid forward uncontrollably, managing to brace himself just before shooting out through an access panel that had been jarred loose by the structural stress.

  He found himself in the station's middle ring, near the commerce district. Emergency evacuation was in full chaos—people streaming toward the designated shelter areas, security personnel trying to maintain order. Through gaps in the crowd, Carson glimpsed the massive viewports that lined the main promenade.

  Outside, destruction was evident. A debris field surrounded the station—fragments of what must have been a substantial asteroid. The station's outer ring had taken a direct hit, and secondary impacts were still occurring as smaller pieces continued to strike.

  The mining sector. Link.

  Carson pushed against the flow of evacuees, earning curses and shoves as he fought his way toward the security checkpoint that separated the middle and outer rings. The Stone pulsed steadily now, its rhythm somehow steadying his racing thoughts.

  Ahead, he saw the familiar storefront of Bowie's shop. Unlike the other merchants who had sealed their businesses and fled, Bowie stood in his doorway, calmly watching the chaos. Their eyes met across the surging crowd, and Carson saw recognition flash across the older man's face.

  As Carson approached, another violent shudder ran through the station. The overhead lights failed completely, plunging the evacuation into darkness broken only by emergency beacons and—Carson realized with shock—the steady glow of the Stone against his chest.

  * * *

  Carson spotted Wind first, her slight frame struggling to support Bowie's weight as they staggered through the smoke-filled corridor. The old shopkeeper's face was streaked with blood from a gash above his eye, his normally immaculate clothing torn and soot-stained.

  "Wind!" Carson called, pushing against the tide of panicked evacuees.

  She turned, relief washing over her face. "Carson! Thank the stars—" Her words cut short as another tremor shook the station. Carson lunged forward, catching Bowie as he slipped from Wind's grasp.

  "I'm fine," Bowie muttered, though his pallor suggested otherwise. "Just caught the wrong end of a display case when everything went sideways."

  The Stone pulsed against Carson's chest, its golden light visible even through his mining uniform. Wind's eyes fixed on the glow, a question forming on her lips that emergency didn't allow time to ask.

  "We need to move," Carson said, scanning the corridor. The emergency lighting bathed everything in blood-red, transforming familiar surroundings into something alien and threatening. Through gaps in the smoke, he could see evacuation pods launching from the far docking bay, each departure diminishing their chances of escape.

  That's when he saw her.

  Standing apart from a cluster of survivors was the woman who'd attacked him in Bowie's shop. She'd changed her appearance—hair pulled back, different clothes—but Carson recognized the predatory alertness in her stance. Their eyes met across the corridor, and neither looked away.

  "That's her," Carson hissed to Wind. "The one who tried to take the Stone."

  Wind tensed beside him. "Are you certain?"

  Before Carson could answer, a section of ceiling collapsed thirty meters down the corridor, severing their most direct evacuation route. The remaining survivors scattered, some fleeing back toward the inner rings, others pressing forward toward the increasingly distant evacuation pods.

  The woman started moving toward them with purposeful strides.

  "We need options," Carson said, supporting Bowie while keeping the approaching woman in his sight. The Stone flared brighter, responding to his heightened emotions, sending pulses of warmth through his body that seemed to sharpen his senses. He could feel the subtle vibrations in the floor plating, hear the structural supports groaning under stress patterns that spelled imminent failure.

  "My shop," Bowie wheezed. "Back entrance. Not on station schematics."

  Wind gave Carson a questioning look. He nodded—Bowie's secretive nature suddenly seemed less eccentric and more strategic.

  They retreated toward the shop, Carson positioning himself between Wind, who supported Bowie, and the woman who followed at a careful distance. The acrid taste of burning synthetics coated Carson's tongue as the smoke thickened.

  Inside Bowie's shop, chaos reigned. Priceless artifacts lay shattered across the floor, display cases overturned. Carson navigated them toward the back, where Bowie directed them to what appeared to be an ordinary storage cabinet.

  "Panel... underneath," Bowie instructed between labored breaths.

  Carson found it—a hidden biometric scanner. Bowie pressed his palm against it, and the cabinet slid aside, revealing a narrow passage illuminated by soft blue lighting entirely independent of the station's power grid.

  "What the hell, Bowie?" Carson muttered.

  "Insurance policy," the old man replied with a pained smile. "Been on stations long enough to know they all fail eventually."

  The woman appeared in the doorway, silhouetted against the red emergency lighting of the corridor.

  "Stop right there," Wind snapped, shifting into a defensive stance despite Bowie's weight against her shoulder.

  The woman raised her hands slowly. "I'm not here to fight. Not anymore."

  "Forgive me if I find that hard to believe," Carson replied, the Stone pulsing in rhythm with his accelerating heartbeat. Its light cast strange shadows across the ruined shop, highlighting the woman's features—younger than he'd initially thought, with an intensity in her eyes that spoke of desperation rather than malice.

  "The evacuation pods in this sector are gone," she said. "The ones in the adjacent quadrant are being overridden by TITAN executives. But I know where there's a private vessel still docked."

  "And why would you share that information?" Wind demanded.

  Another violent tremor rocked the station. A support beam crashed down mere meters from where they stood. Carson felt the Stone's energy flow through him, enhancing his reflexes as he pulled Wind and Bowie clear of the impact.

  The woman's eyes widened at the display, fixed on the Stone's glow. "Because that," she said, pointing to Carson's chest, "is more important than old orders. And because none of us survives if we don't work together."

  "She's right about the pods," Bowie confirmed, his voice weaker. "And this passage only leads to maintenance areas. No way off-station."

  Carson measured their options against the station's deteriorating condition. The Stone seemed to respond to his calculations, its warmth shifting, almost guiding his thoughts toward the woman.

  "Who are you?" he demanded.

  She hesitated, glancing at the collapsing corridor behind her. "Someone who recognized what you carry before you did. Someone who was sent to retrieve it." Her gaze met Carson's directly. "Now I'm offering to help you escape with it, which is treason against my people. We can discuss loyalties after we're not about to die."

  The station groaned around them, a deep structural sound that Carson recognized from mining emergencies—the precursor to catastrophic failure.

  "We're out of time," the woman urged. "The private vessel is three sections over, accessible through maintenance tunnels. I can lead you there, but we need to move now."

  Carson looked at Wind, who gave a slight nod despite her obvious distrust. Bowie's condition was worsening—his skin had taken on a grayish tinge, his breathing shallow.

  "If you're lying..." Carson left the threat unfinished.

  "I'm not," she replied. "The Stone is too important to be lost with this station."

  The Stone pulsed once, brightly, as if in agreement.

  "Lead the way," Carson decided, positioning himself where he could watch her every move. "But understand this—I don't trust you, and this thing," he gestured to the glowing Stone beneath his uniform, "seems to have opinions of its own."

  * * *

  Carson staggered after the woman through Bowie's secret passage, the Stone pulsing against his chest like a second heartbeat. The narrow corridor twisted deeper behind the shop's public fa?ade, revealing a space that shouldn't exist on any official station schematic. The air grew thick with ozone and something else—an electric scent that reminded Carson of mining laser discharge but somehow more... alive.

  "What the hell is this place, Bowie?" Carson whispered as they emerged into a hidden chamber.

  The old collector coughed weakly against Wind's shoulder. "Insurance," he mumbled. "Not just... artifacts. Knowledge."

  The chamber walls gleamed with embedded tech unlike anything in TITAN's standard arsenal. Crystalline formations jutted from connection points, and strange geometric patterns etched into metallic surfaces caught the Stone's light, reflecting it in ways that defied normal physics. Carson recognized components from the Stone's earlier visions—Dr. Craft's memories of Architect technology.

  "TITAN's been collecting this," Carson realized aloud. "They know about the Architects."

  The woman moved with practiced efficiency toward a circular arrangement of devices at the chamber's center. "Yes. The Federation has studied fragments for decades. Your friend has been... resourceful in his acquisitions."

  A violent shudder rocked the station. Overhead, support struts groaned with a sound Carson knew too well from mining accidents—metal stressed beyond tolerance. The station's death throes had begun.

  "We have minutes," Wind said, her voice steady despite the fear Carson saw in her eyes. "Maybe less."

  The woman placed her hands on what appeared to be a control interface. "This is an incomplete portal array. Bowie acquired components, but it lacks sufficient power."

  "The Stone," Bowie wheezed. "It's why I kept it... hidden here. Waiting for... the right connection."

  Carson felt the Stone respond to the words, its warmth intensifying against his skin. Ghostly tendrils of golden light began to extend from it, reaching toward the chamber's technology like curious fingers.

  "Who are you?" Carson demanded again, even as another explosion rocked the station, closer this time. The emergency lighting flickered, casting the woman's face in alternating shadow and harsh red glow.

  She hesitated, then reached up to remove what Carson now realized was a sophisticated facial prosthetic. The features beneath were younger, regal—unmistakably Theist.

  "Mira," she said simply. "Princess of the Sanctum Lineage. And right now, your only chance of survival."

  Carson's instinct screamed danger, but the Stone pulsed differently—almost in recognition. A distant memory not his own flickered through his consciousness: a formal chamber, this same woman, different clothing, speaking of alliances and prophecies.

  Another explosion, much closer. The station's integrity alarms shifted pitch to a continuous wail that Carson recognized as the final warning before section isolation. They were out of time.

  "The portal needs energy I can't provide alone," Mira said, working quickly at the controls. "Your Stone can bridge the gap, but you need to consciously direct it."

  "How the hell am I supposed to—"

  "Stop thinking like a TITAN drone," she snapped. "Feel it. The Stone chose you. It responds to intention."

  The chamber's temperature spiked as fire breached an adjacent section. Through the passage they'd entered, Carson glimpsed orange flames consuming Bowie's precious collection. Smoke billowed toward them, acrid and thick.

  Carson locked eyes with Wind, who nodded slightly. "No choice," she said.

  He stepped forward, placing his hand on the central array beside Mira's. The Stone's light erupted, connecting to the crystalline components with visible streams of energy. The air crackled with potential.

  "Focus on escape," Mira instructed. "Visualize safety."

  Carson closed his eyes, feeling the Stone's energy flow through him into the array. The technology hummed in response, ancient systems awakening. In his mind, he pictured somewhere safe, somewhere away from the dying station—and felt the Stone respond with images of lush greenery, flowing water, open sky.

  The portal formed with a sound like reality tearing—a spiraling vortex of golden-white energy that illuminated the chamber with impossible brightness. Through it, Carson glimpsed verdant jungle and a clear sky beyond.

  "Go!" Mira shouted as the station gave a final, catastrophic shudder. The passage behind them collapsed in a shower of debris and sparks.

  Wind moved first, supporting Bowie toward the portal. The old man's eyes widened at the sight, a lifetime of collecting Architect artifacts culminating in this moment.

  "My legacy..." he whispered as Wind guided him through. They vanished in a flash of light.

  Carson hesitated, turning to Mira. "What about you?"

  A deafening crack announced the outer hull's failure. The chamber's far wall buckled inward as vacuum sought to claim them. Emergency force fields flickered to life, but they wouldn't hold long.

  "This was my mission," Mira said, her eyes reflecting the portal's light. "Get the Stone to safety."

  "That's not an answer," Carson insisted, even as the Stone's energy began to falter, the portal fluctuating.

  Mira's expression hardened. With surprising strength, she shoved Carson backward toward the collapsing vortex. "The Keys need their Keeper!"

  Carson felt himself falling, the Stone's light enveloping him as the station dissolved into chaos behind him. The last thing he saw was Mira's face, determined and resigned, as the force field failed and the vacuum rushed in.

  Then reality twisted, and Celestia Station vanished.