The Voss family library occupied the entire east wing of their Architect-sector residence, a space rger than most Worker-css family apartments. Three stories of genuine wooden shelving housed thousands of physical books—artifacts from Earth so precious that most Terminus citizens would never touch one in their lifetimes.

  Elijah sat cross-legged on the library's upper balcony, a leather-bound volume open in his p. Unlike the neural interface reading most Privileged-css citizens used, he preferred the tactile experience of paper beneath his fingertips. It helped him think.

  The book was ancient, its pages yellowed with age—a pre-Colpse text on neural integration theory that had belonged to his mother's family for generations. Elijah had read it four times already, but tonight he sought comfort in the familiar. In thirteen hours, he would enter the Game.

  "I thought I'd find you here."

  Helena Voss appeared at the top of the spiral staircase, her elegant frame silhouetted against the soft lighting. Unlike most VitaCore executives who favored severe, imposing attire, Helena dressed in flowing fabrics of deep green—Helix Pharmaceuticals' signature color—with subtle gold embroidery.

  "Just some st-minute research," Elijah said, closing the book carefully.

  Helena smiled, crossing to sit beside him. "That particur text won't help much with what you'll face tomorrow."

  "I know," Elijah admitted. "But it helps me feel connected to something... bigger."

  She studied him for a moment, her blue eyes—so like his own—seeming to look through him rather than at him. "Your sensitivity has always been your strength, even if your father sees it differently."

  "Alexander is the strong one," Elijah said automatically.

  "There are many kinds of strength." Helena reached into a hidden pocket in her dress and withdrew a small metallic disk, no rger than a coin. "This is for you. Keep it hidden."

  Elijah accepted the object, turning it over in his palm. At first gnce, it appeared to be a simple token embzoned with the Helix logo, but as he examined it more closely, he noticed microscopic circuitry patterns etched into its surface.

  "What is it?"

  "An enhancement module for your neural interface," Helena expined. "It allows access to... specialized information within the Game's Personal Library System."

  "Specialized how?" Elijah's eyes widened. "You've modified official Game equipment?"

  Helena's expression remained neutral. "The Game's knowledge repositories are heavily restricted. This will bypass certain limitations."

  "But that's—"

  "Necessary," she interrupted firmly. "The Library System is stratified by css, even more strictly than Terminus society itself. What Architect pyers can access bears little resembnce to what Workers are shown." Her voice softened. "Knowledge is survival, Elijah."

  He studied the disk with new understanding. "Won't they detect it during the neural calibration?"

  "No. The module is designed to activate only after you've passed all preliminary scans." She pced her hand over his. "Once inside, focus on healing texts beyond the standard curricu. Particurly those dealing with consciousness patterns."

  "Consciousness patterns?" Elijah frowned. "That's not standard healer training."

  Helena's eyes darted to the doorway before she leaned closer. "In the Game, you may begin to hear voices others cannot. Don't ignore them. Don't fear them."

  "Mother, you're scaring me," Elijah whispered. "What aren't you telling me?"

  She squeezed his hand. "Only that you have gifts even you don't fully understand yet. Trust them when they manifest." Her voice dropped even lower. "And when you find texts about preservation systems, study them carefully."

  Before Elijah could press further, footsteps sounded on the staircase. Alexander appeared, his tall frame carrying the militant posture their father had instilled through years of training.

  "There you are," he said, then noticed their mother. "Apologies for interrupting."

  "No interruption," Helena said smoothly, standing to embrace her other son. "I was hoping to speak with both of you."

  Elijah quickly pocketed the enhancement module, wondering if his brother would receive one as well.

  "I've been reviewing the Game's hunter-css texts," Alexander said, gesturing to the neural interface band on his wrist. Unlike Elijah, he preferred digital efficiency to physical books. "The strategic advantages of early aggressive advancement are significant."

  Helena's expression tightened almost imperceptibly. "There's more to the Game than combat advantages, Alexander."

  "Father says the first ten floors establish dominance patterns that persist throughout advancement," he countered.

  "Your father says many things," Helena replied, her tone carefully measured. "But tonight, I need you to listen to me." She guided them both to a private reading alcove equipped with a sound dampening field. Once activated, the field would make their conversation inaudible to any surveilnce.

  Alexander raised an eyebrow at this unusual precaution but said nothing.

  "Tomorrow you enter the Game together," Helena began, her voice taking on an intensity Elijah rarely witnessed. "Most of what you've been told about it is... incomplete."

  "What do you mean?" Alexander asked.

  "The Game's official purpose—advancement opportunity for the talented—is only part of the truth." She chose her words carefully. "The system is designed to identify exceptional individuals, yes, but its parameters for 'exceptional' are narrower than advertised, and the consequences for failure more severe."

  Alexander frowned. "The company literature states that—"

  "Forget the company literature," Helena interrupted sharply. "The Game has a weekly elimination metric. A quota."

  "Elimination?" Elijah repeated, his stomach tightening.

  "Pyers who fail to meet the quota are... removed from the Game," she said. "And the quota increases each year you remain inside."

  Alexander's posture stiffened. "Removed how, exactly?"

  Helena didn't answer directly. Instead, she reached into another hidden pocket and withdrew a second device—this one a small bck rectangle that she handed to Alexander.

  "This contains combat protocols not included in standard training," she expined. "Techniques developed specifically for Guardian encounters on floors twenty through forty."

  Alexander accepted it with military precision. "Thank you, Mother, but Father has already—"

  "Your father's training emphasizes individual advancement," Helena cut in. "This prioritizes team survival. There's a difference."

  She looked between them, her composure momentarily slipping to reveal something that shocked Elijah—fear.

  "Listen carefully," she continued. "Once inside, you must stay together. The Game separates pyers deliberately, but you must resist this at all costs." She turned to Alexander, pcing both hands on his shoulders. "Your most important task isn't advancing quickly or achieving the highest score. It's protecting your brother."

  Alexander blinked in surprise. "But I'm already pnning to—"

  "No," Helena's voice sharpened. "Not as a secondary objective. As your primary mission. Above all else."

  Something in her intensity made Alexander straighten. "I understand."

  She turned to Elijah. "And you must help Alexander see what he cannot. Your perception will become essential as you progress."

  "My perception of what?" Elijah asked.

  Helena's gaze seemed to focus on something far beyond the library walls. "Patterns beneath the surface. Voices within the system." She refocused on her sons. "Trust each other above all else. Share what you learn, especially from the Library System. Knowledge kept separate is knowledge wasted."

  "Mother," Alexander said carefully, "you're speaking as if... as if the Game is something other than a company advancement program."

  Helena's smile didn't reach her eyes. "It was designed to be much more." She gnced at an elegant timepiece on her wrist. "Your father will be home soon. I should go."

  She embraced each of them tightly—another uncharacteristic dispy that heightened Elijah's concern.

  "There's a girl," she whispered as she hugged Elijah st. "From the Unaligned sectors. If you encounter her... trust her instincts, especially about technology."

  Before either could question this cryptic statement, Helena withdrew, composure perfectly restored. "Now, I suggest you both get adequate rest. Tomorrow will be demanding."

  She glided toward the staircase, then paused to look back at them. For a moment, her expression contained such raw emotion that Elijah nearly gasped.

  "Remember," she said softly, "what seems like the only path is rarely the only option."

  Then she was gone, leaving the twins in confused silence.

  "What was that about?" Alexander finally asked.

  Elijah shook his head. "I'm not sure, but..." He patted his pocket where the enhancement module rested. "Did she give you something for the Library System too?"

  Alexander nodded. "Yes, though she called it a 'strategic database supplement.' Said it would give access to restricted tactical information."

  "Mine's for healing texts," Elijah said. "And something about consciousness patterns."

  Alexander frowned thoughtfully. "Do you think she's worried about us? That doesn't match all the data about success rates."

  "Maybe she knows something we don't," Elijah suggested. "She was one of the original Game designers, after all."

  "True." Alexander activated his neural interface, scrolling through combat references with practiced efficiency. "We should compile what we know, compare official documentation with Mother's warnings."

  Elijah reached for his own interface, establishing a private connection with his brother's system. "I'll create a shared knowledge index. We can update it as we learn more inside the Game."

  Alexander nodded approvingly. "Good. Knowledge is—"

  "—tactical advantage," Elijah finished with him, smiling slightly. It was one of their father's favorite phrases, though Marcus Voss applied it very differently than his sons intended to.

  They worked te into the night, cross-referencing official Game literature with their mother's warnings, building a framework for the information they would gather once inside. When Alexander finally insisted they rest, Elijah returned to his room but found sleep impossible.

  He sat at his window instead, gazing across the pristine ndscape of the Architect sector toward the distant, dimly lit Worker zones on the horizon. Beyond them, barely visible in the darkness, y the ragged outline of the Unaligned territories.

  "A girl from the Unaligned sectors," he murmured, wondering who she might be and why his mother thought her important enough to mention in their final conversation.

  He turned the enhancement module over in his fingers, studying its intricate circuitry. Whatever his mother feared about the Game, she had given them tools to navigate it—not just physical devices, but warnings, insights, and a clear directive to protect each other.

  As the first light of dawn touched the horizon, Elijah finally understood what his mother had been trying to tell them without saying it directly: The Game was not what it appeared to be, and their lives might depend on remembering that fact.

  He slipped the module into a hidden pocket in his Game entry uniform and went to wake his brother. In a few hours, they would discover for themselves what awaited them in the Tower of Ascension.

  And somewhere in the Unaligned sectors, a girl was preparing for the same journey—someone his mother believed important enough to send them looking for her.

  Elijah had always trusted his mother's judgment. He wouldn't stop now, even if he didn't understand her reasons.

  Whatever the Game truly was, they would face it together