The heavy oak door closed behind him with a finality that echoed through his chest. Outside, the courtyard was empty. Night had fallen unnoticed, and the old stones of Oxford glistened with the moisture of a recent drizzle. Ren descended the steps without thinking, his body on autopilot. The cold air bit at his face, but it didn’t bring crity—only the numb realization that he had just watched his life's work unravel in front of hundreds.

  His mother’s voice echoed in his memory—soft, reassuring, reading him tales of ancient cities and lost knowledge.??“Be careful what you dig up,” she used to say.??“Some truths stay buried for a reason.”

  He reached a bench by the edge of the wn and sat heavily. For a long moment, he simply stared at the damp grass, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white. The cube—his artifact—was still on that stage, probably passed from hand to hand, mocked, dismissed. It had felt different when they found it. Sacred. Dangerous. And now? Now it was a joke with hashtags. He closed his eyes.

  Then—footsteps. He didn’t look up.

  “Compass Waynd?”

  A calm, female voice. He turned slowly.

  The woman stood a few paces away, partly illuminated by the golden light from an upper window. She was tall, mid-thirties, dressed in a sleek gray suit that blended perfectly into the Oxford shadows. Her eyes—dark, sharp, intelligent—locked onto his with no hesitation.

  “I’m not here for an interview,” she added.??“Or to ugh.”

  Ren didn’t respond.

  “I believe you,” she said.

  His brow furrowed.

  “Why?”

  Instead of answering, she stepped closer and pulled out a phone. She tapped the screen and handed it to him. Ren took it without thinking. An image filled the dispy. A sphere—slightly rger than the cube—y on a velvet cloth. It shared the same impossible metal, the same etched lines. And in the center, unmistakable: the symbol of the brain wrapped in fungal fiments. His breath caught.

  “It’s real,” he whispered.

  “We found it years ago,” she said.??“In a chamber beneath a mountain range in South America. Different nguage pairing. But the same architecture. Same alloy. Same—message.”

  Ren looked up.

  “And who’s ‘we’?”

  The woman smiled faintly.

  “Skyr Montgomery. You can call me Sky. I run a private research initiative.”

  He blinked.

  “Initiative?”

  “Let’s just say we collect truths that governments don’t want and academia can’t handle.”

  She paused, then added:

  “And we believe there are more pieces out there. You just brought us one step closer to understanding it.”

  Ren stood slowly, heart pounding.

  “Why come to me?”

  “Because you didn’t back down on that stage.” She nodded toward the hall.??“You told the truth—even when they ughed.”

  He looked away.

  “I didn’t feel brave.”

  “But you were,” she said simply.

  Silence stretched between them, broken only by the soft rattle of wind through the courtyard. Then Ren spoke.

  “If you’ve had this for years, why not show it to the world?”

  Sky’s gaze hardened slightly.

  “Because the world isn’t ready. Not yet. And not like this.” She motioned toward the building.??“You saw what happened when you showed just one piece. Imagine what they’d do with two.”

  She stepped closer.

  “We don’t need to fight to prove we’re right. We need to understand what this is first.”

  Ren studied her face. There was no arrogance in her tone. No condescension. Only quiet confidence. And something else—urgency.

  “You think there’s more out there,” he said.

  “I know there is,” she replied.??“We’ve tracked three others to various parts of the world. Each time, we’re too te—or they’re too well hidden. But now, with yours... we might have a pattern.”

  She hesitated.

  “But I can’t do it alone.”

  Ren stared down at the photo still glowing on the screen. The sphere seemed to pulse with a presence of its own. It wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

  “You want to work together,” he said slowly.

  “I want to finish what we both started,” Sky corrected.

  He chuckled bitterly.

  “You realize the academic world just buried me.”

  She nodded.

  “Then it’s time to stop digging for their approval.”

  For the first time since leaving the stage, he smiled. Just slightly. A spark.

  “Alright,” he said.??“I’m listening.”

  Sky turned.

  “Follow me.”

  They walked side by side through the darkened grounds, past archways and cloisters that had stood since before America was even an idea. Her pace was unhurried, her direction certain. They reached a sleek bck car parked just beyond the gates. Sky opened the door and motioned him in.

  Inside, soft lights lit a minimal, high-tech interior. The hum of the engine was nearly silent. On a central screen, glowing in blue, was a map. At the center: a point in the middle of the Atntic Ocean.

  “Coordinates from the artifact,” Sky said.??“Your cube’s inscriptions match those on the sphere. Together, they form a directional system. A kind of... ancient compass.”

  Ren leaned forward.

  “No way.”

  “Yes way,” she said.??“And it’s pointing somewhere that’s never been mapped, because it’s not on the surface. It’s under.”

  “Under what?”

  She looked at him.

  “Everything.”

  He ughed once—a breath of disbelief and exhiration tangled together.

  “You’re not joking?”

  “As a heart attack.”

  Ren sat back, eyes on the map, thoughts racing. His mind felt like it had been cracked open. The shame, the humiliation of the evening—it was still there. But now it had company. Something far more powerful. Purpose.

  “I need my team,” he said.

  “You’ll have them,” she replied.

  He turned to her.

  “And you’re not just some rich collector with a toy submarine?”

  Sky’s expression twitched—just enough to reveal the trace of a smirk.

  “I’m not interested in collecting. I’m interested in changing the world.”

  Ren let the words hang. Because deep down, he knew: the world was already changing. They were just the first to see it.