The Nexus was quieter here. Not calm—nothing about this place ever truly was—but quieter. The hum that suffused the air, ever-present and droning, had dulled to something more subdued, less like a scream and more like a whisper. Servius moved cautiously, his steps deliberate, his sharp eyes scanning the streets that twisted and folded ahead of him.

  This section of the Nexus felt different. The streets weren’t as chaotic, their usual undulating madness smoothed into a kind of uneasy rhythm. The buildings leaned over him like ancient sentinels, their shifting surfaces flickering between textures of stone, glass, and something disturbingly organic. It felt as if the Nexus itself had paused to take a breath. Or perhaps, it was simply holding it.

  A Watcher stood ahead, tall and imposing, its elongated body cloaked in the same impenetrable blackness as its void-like face. It was positioned at the edge of an arching bridge that spanned across what seemed to be an abyss—a chasm that hummed faintly with golden light, though no cracks marred the streets here. The Watcher’s blank, featureless void-face was tilted downward, its attention fixed on the abyss below.

  Servius slowed, his ears twitching as he watched the Watcher from a distance. It didn’t move. Not its elongated arms, which hung motionless at its sides, nor the subtle rippling edges of its otherwise still frame. For all intents and purposes, it looked like a statue—silent, unmoving, and yet brimming with a sense of intent.

  His tail flicked sharply behind him as he approached. His first instinct was to avoid the thing entirely, to keep moving and stay out of its sight. But something about the Watcher’s stillness made him pause. He had seen them countless times now, standing at the edges of streets, lingering in the shadows, always observing but never interfering. And yet, he hadn’t stopped to think about why.

  Why did they watch? What were they guarding? What did they see?

  Servius adjusted the strap of his rifle as he stepped closer, his keen eyes narrowing as he studied the towering figure. The air around it felt heavier, colder, but not in a hostile way. It wasn’t a warning—it was more like the air around a monument, something ancient and immovable, meant to be revered or feared. But what did this thing revere? What did it fear?

  He stopped a few paces away, his claws flexing absently at his sides as he tilted his head to follow the Watcher’s gaze. It was staring into the abyss below, its void-face angled downward in perfect stillness. Servius’s sharp eyes narrowed as he peered over the edge of the bridge, his tail flicking once behind him.

  The chasm wasn’t like the cracks he had seen before. It wasn’t jagged or angry, and it didn’t pulse with that sickly golden light. It was smooth, its edges rounded, as though it had always been there. The faint hum that emanated from its depths was softer than the ever-present hum of the Nexus, but it carried a weight that made his chest tighten. It wasn’t hostile or oppressive—just... heavy. Like standing in the eye of a storm, knowing it was only a matter of time before the winds would return.

  “What are you looking at?” Servius murmured, his voice low. It wasn’t a question he expected an answer to, but the silence was unbearable. His voice echoed faintly in the still air, dissipating into the void.

  The Watcher didn’t respond. It didn’t even acknowledge him. Its void-face remained fixed on the chasm, the faintest flicker of movement shifting across its surface—patterns of shadow and light, abstract and incomprehensible.

  Servius frowned, his fingers tapping against the edge of his augmetic forearm. The Watcher wasn’t ignoring him, not exactly. It was more like it didn’t care. Like whatever it was focused on was so far beyond him that he didn’t even register. The thought grated on him more than he cared to admit.

  He leaned forward, resting his hands on the low railing of the bridge as he stared into the chasm. There was nothing there—just endless depth, lit faintly by the glow emanating from somewhere far below. But the longer he stared, the more he felt it. Not fear, not even unease, but a deep, bone-deep awareness that he was looking at something he wasn’t supposed to understand. Something that didn’t want to be understood.

  His claws flexed against the railing, the ache in his fingertips flaring briefly. “So, this is what you do?” he said aloud, his tone dry but edged with curiosity. “Stand around and stare into pits?”

  The Watcher tilted its head ever so slightly, the motion slow and deliberate, like a puppet being moved on invisible strings. It wasn’t looking at him—not yet—but its void-face shifted just enough to suggest that it had registered his words. The flickering patterns across its surface grew more pronounced, like ripples spreading across a still pond.

  Servius straightened, his sharp eyes narrowing. He wasn’t sure if it was reacting to him or if it was reacting to something else, but the shift in its body language was enough to set him on edge. “Alright,” he said, his voice softer now. “You’ve got my attention. What’s so interesting down there?”

  The Watcher raised one elongated arm, its skeletal fingers pointing toward the chasm. The movement was impossibly smooth, its limb extending like liquid metal. Servius followed the gesture, his eyes narrowing as he stared into the depths below.

  At first, there was nothing. Just the glow, faint and steady, emanating from somewhere far beyond his sight. But then, faintly, he saw it—movement. Something shifted in the depths, too far away to make out clearly but large enough to disturb the glow. It wasn’t violent or abrupt. The motion was slow, deliberate, like a great beast stirring in its sleep.

  His claws dug into the railing as he leaned closer, his sharp eyes straining to make sense of what he was seeing. “What the hell is that?” he muttered under his breath.

  The Watcher didn’t answer. It simply stood there, its elongated frame motionless once more, its arm still outstretched toward the chasm. But the patterns on its void-face grew more erratic, the flickering light and shadow forming shapes that Servius couldn’t quite decipher. It wasn’t speaking—not with words—but it was saying something. Showing something.

  Servius let out a sharp breath, his claws still gripping the edge of the railing. Whatever stirred down in the depths of the chasm was far too distant for even his eyes to make out. The glowing void seemed infinite, its shifting light obscuring more than it revealed.

  “Well, if you’re not going to explain yourself...” he muttered, slinging his rifle off his shoulder. He crouched slightly, the weight of the weapon a familiar comfort as he rested it against the railing. His claws adjusted the rifle’s position with a precision born of long years of practice.

  The rifle’s polished matte surface caught the faint, ambient glow of the chasm as he adjusted its scope. His augmetic hand whirred faintly as his claws turned the adjustment knobs, narrowing the view. He kept his breath steady as he brought the scope to his eye, focusing its magnification on the shifting depths below.

  At first, all he could see was the glow—golden, faintly pulsing, swirling like ink suspended in water. But as he shifted the scope’s view, following the faint motion he had seen earlier, a shape began to form.

  It wasn’t clear—not at first. The golden light distorted everything, warping the edges of what lay below. But there was movement, slow and deliberate, like the unfurling of something ancient. A limb, perhaps, though it was impossible to tell what kind. It was smooth and reflective, its surface rippling like molten glass. Servius frowned, adjusting the magnification further.

  The limb—or whatever it was—disappeared, melting back into the glow, only to reappear seconds later, joined by another. The two appendages stretched outward in opposite directions, their movements methodical, as though they were testing the boundaries of the chasm.

  “What in the Emperor’s name is that?” Servius muttered under his breath. His tail flicked sharply, an instinctive response to the unease crawling up his spine.

  The Watcher, still motionless beside him, tilted its head once more. This time, the movement was more pronounced, the void-face angling itself in a way that felt deliberate. Servius caught the shift in his peripheral vision, but he didn’t take his eye off the scope. Whatever was moving down there was far more important than the Watcher’s cryptic gestures—at least for now.

  He adjusted the scope again, focusing on where the appendages met. The golden light pulsed brighter for a moment, and Servius could swear he saw the faint outline of a central mass. It wasn’t solid—more like a suggestion of form, as though the creature’s body wasn’t entirely anchored in this reality.

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  The limb-like structures moved again, this time curling inward. The glow intensified briefly, and Servius instinctively pulled back from the scope, his sharp eyes narrowing as he glanced at the Watcher.

  “Are you guarding this thing?” he asked aloud, his tone sharp and biting. “Or are you keeping it down there?”

  The Watcher remained silent, its skeletal arm still outstretched toward the chasm. But the patterns on its void-face shifted once more, faster now, the flickering light and shadow coalescing into shapes that felt maddeningly familiar. Servius couldn’t look directly at them for more than a second without his stomach turning, as though the patterns weren’t meant to be understood by mortal eyes.

  “Great,” he muttered, adjusting the rifle’s scope again. “More questions. Exactly what I needed.”

  He peered through the scope once more, scanning the chasm for any sign of the creature. This time, the glow was different. It pulsed in rapid, uneven intervals, and the shapes within it moved faster, more erratic. Whatever it was, it had noticed him. Or perhaps it had noticed the Watcher.

  Servius’s tail lashed behind him as a low, resonant hum emanated from the chasm. It wasn’t loud, but it reverberated through the air, vibrating in his chest like the tolling of a distant bell. The Watcher’s outstretched arm twitched faintly, its skeletal fingers curling inward ever so slightly.

  “Okay, that’s new,” Servius muttered, pulling back from the scope again. His sharp eyes darted between the Watcher and the chasm. The hum grew louder, its resonance deepening, and the golden glow began to rise, crawling up the walls of the chasm like liquid fire.

  The Watcher tilted its void-face toward Servius for the first time, the flickering patterns across its surface now moving in chaotic bursts. It didn’t speak—not with words—but the shift in its posture was unmistakable. It wasn’t just pointing at the chasm anymore. It was directing him.

  “What do you want me to do?” Servius growled, his claws flexing around the grip of his rifle. “I’m not exactly in the habit of poking sleeping gods, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

  The Watcher’s void-face flickered faster, the abstract patterns flashing with an urgency that sent a spike of adrenaline through him. It took a single step closer to the edge of the chasm, its elongated limbs moving with a fluid grace that seemed almost... reverent.

  Servius hesitated, his instincts screaming at him to back away, to leave this thing and its cryptic warnings behind. But something about the Watcher’s movements held him in place. It wasn’t fear—not exactly. It was the same sensation he’d felt when he touched the spire: a pull, a compulsion that he couldn’t explain.

  He glanced back through the scope one last time, his sharp eyes narrowing as he focused on the chasm’s glowing depths. The creature—if it was a creature—was still there, its appendages moving with deliberate, almost ritualistic precision. But now, there was something else.

  The golden light had shifted, revealing faint, circular patterns etched into the walls of the chasm. They pulsed in time with the creature’s movements, their glow growing brighter with each pass of its limbs. It wasn’t random. It was a sequence. A pattern.

  Servius pulled back from the scope, his tail lashing sharply behind him. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered. “It’s not just a watcher. It’s a warden.”

  The Watcher stepped back from the edge, its void-face turning toward him fully now. The chaotic patterns across its surface slowed, coalescing into a single, sharp shape: an eye.

  The Watcher didn’t move. Its skeletal frame remained unnervingly still, but the void-face now locked on Servius, the singular eye etched into the flickering patterns commanding his full attention. The chaotic glow from the chasm below pulsed steadily now, in perfect rhythm with the eye. It was as though the Watcher and the thing in the depths were connected, their shared resonance filling the air with an unbearable tension.

  Servius didn’t speak. He wasn’t sure what to say. The words felt stuck in his throat, the weight of the moment pressing down on him like the gravity of some massive, unseen force. His claws flexed at his sides as he forced himself to stay still, to hold his ground even as every instinct screamed at him to retreat.

  The Watcher raised its arm—smooth, fluid, like the movement of water—and gestured toward the chasm again. Its void-face tilted ever so slightly, as though it expected him to understand. As though it were waiting.

  Servius adjusted his stance, his sharp ears twitching as he tried to make sense of the gesture. “You want me to look again?” he muttered, his voice low, more for himself than the Watcher. “Fine. Let’s see if staring into the abyss gets me anywhere.”

  He raised the rifle again, resting it against his shoulder as he peered through the scope. The creature in the depths hadn’t moved much, its reflective appendages still sweeping in wide, deliberate arcs. But the golden patterns on the walls of the chasm were brighter now, their intricate loops and spirals almost painfully vivid. Servius traced the patterns with his scope, following their curves, their intersecting lines.

  They were more than decorative. They were precise. Mathematical, even.

  He frowned, muttering under his breath as he adjusted the scope’s focus. “That’s... not random.”

  The more he looked, the clearer it became. The patterns weren’t just glowing—they were moving. Shifting. Changing. Each sweep of the creature’s limbs altered the arrangement, adding new loops, new intersections, as though it were carving something into the chasm itself. It was slow, methodical, like the ticking of some alien clock.

  “What the hell are you doing down there?” Servius murmured, his sharp eyes narrowing as he tried to piece it together. It wasn’t a trap—not in the conventional sense. The creature’s movements weren’t hostile. They were... deliberate. Intentional. It was creating something. Or maybe finishing something that had already been started.

  The hum in the air deepened, vibrating through his chest like the strike of a great bell. He winced, his tail flicking sharply behind him, and pulled back from the scope to look at the Watcher.

  Its void-face had changed again. The eye was gone, replaced by a series of concentric circles, their edges glowing faintly as they rotated in opposing directions. The patterns were hypnotic, almost drawing his gaze despite the discomfort they caused. The Watcher didn’t move, but its posture seemed to shift subtly, its skeletal arm pointing more insistently toward the chasm.

  “Alright,” Servius muttered, lowering the rifle. “I see your little light show. But what am I supposed to do about it? You want me to jump down there? Because that’s not happening.”

  The Watcher didn’t respond—of course it didn’t—but the patterns on its face shifted again, flickering faster, more erratically. It wasn’t frustration. It wasn’t impatience. It was something else entirely, something Servius couldn’t quite name. It was almost... anticipatory.

  The hum in the air grew louder, resonating through the space around him, through him. It wasn’t just sound—it was pressure, a vibration that clawed at his thoughts, his senses. The ground beneath him trembled faintly, and the edges of the chasm began to ripple, the golden light spilling upward like liquid fire. The creature below was reacting now, its movements quicker, its limbs carving faster through the air.

  Servius clenched his jaw, his claws flexing at his sides as he forced himself to stay still. He hated this—hated not understanding, hated being out of control. But this was the test, wasn’t it? To see if he could stand here, on the edge of something incomprehensible, and not flinch. To see if he could observe without reacting.

  The Watcher took a single step closer to him, its long limbs moving with a grace that felt almost human. Its void-face leaned down toward him, the concentric circles slowing as they shifted into a new pattern—an arrow.

  It was pointing at the rifle.

  Servius’s ears twitched. “You want me to... what? Use it? On what?” He gestured vaguely toward the chasm. “You think a bullet’s going to do something to that thing?”

  The Watcher didn’t respond—didn’t move—but the pressure in the air grew heavier, more insistent. The arrow on its face pulsed faintly, a rhythmic glow that matched the hum of the Nexus itself.

  He hesitated, his claws brushing against the rifle’s trigger as he considered his options. Firing blindly wasn’t his style. He didn’t waste ammunition unless he had a clear target, a clear purpose. But this wasn’t a battlefield. This wasn’t war. This was... something else.

  “Fine,” he muttered, raising the rifle. “But if this goes sideways, don’t blame me.”

  He aimed through the scope again, his sharp eyes narrowing as he focused on the creature. Its limbs moved faster now, its reflective surface distorting the golden glow around it. Servius adjusted his aim, tracking the movement, and then—

  The Watcher’s void-face flared suddenly, its glowing patterns exploding into a blinding, chaotic burst of light. Servius winced, his grip tightening on the rifle as the light seared across his vision, and for a moment, he thought he’d been blinded.

  But then the light faded, and the chasm was empty.

  The creature was gone. The patterns on the walls were gone. Even the golden glow had vanished, leaving behind only darkness.

  Servius lowered the rifle slowly, his claws still tight around the grip. He turned to the Watcher, his sharp eyes narrowing. “What the hell did you just do?”

  The Watcher didn’t answer. Its void-face flickered one last time, its patterns dissolving into a smooth, featureless void. It raised its arm once more, gesturing toward the now-empty chasm, and then stepped back into the shadows, disappearing into the shifting streets without a sound.

  Servius stood there for a long moment, staring at the empty space where the Watcher had been. The hum in the air had faded, replaced by a silence that felt heavier than sound. Whatever had just happened, it wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

  https://youtu.be/bgfBumbdRuc?si=x6rIv-PE-WaEIIAD