A fine mist veiled the sea like a lover's breath against glass. Atop a jagged cliffside overlooking the restless tides stood a secluded estate, ancient stone kissed by brine and shadow. The wind curled around ivy-wrapped walls, carrying with it the distant sound of waves crashing far below.
Inside, everything was quiet. Too quiet.
Elara stepped through the arched doorway of the drawing room, her boots echoing softly against the marble floors. The estate rumored to have once belonged to a royal assassin was now under the protection of an old ally who owed her mother a life-debt. It was a place not even the Republic knew existed. And for now, it was the only safe harbor they had.
She paused by the tall window, gazing at the sea that stretched endlessly into mist and memory. "It's beautiful," she whispered.
Behind her, Aeron stepped into the light. "So are you."
She turned, startled—more by the softness in his voice than his sudden appearance. He looked tired. Haunted. But there was something in his eyes that hadn't been there before.
Trust.
"Couldn't sleep?" she asked.
He shook his head, stepping closer. "I don't sleep much these days. Every time I close my eyes, I see that Architect voice. I hear the phrase—'You were never meant to choose.'"
Elara crossed her arms. "But you did."
"And now they're coming."
A pause. The wind howled.
"They'll never stop, will they?" Aeron murmured.
"No," she said, stepping toward him, her gaze steady. "But neither will we."
Their eyes locked—no longer soldier and spy, not even Prototype and anomaly—but simply two people who had lost too much to walk away now.
He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "When this is over…"
"You don't have to say it," Elara interrupted gently. "But I want you to."
He took her hand. "Then let me stay. Not just for the fight, not just for vengeance. For you."
Her breath caught, but she didn't pull away. Not this time.
From the hallway beyond, a sudden noise—stone grinding on stone.
They both stiffened. Elara grabbed the blade from the shelf above the fireplace; Aeron reached for the pulse pistol beneath his coat.
"Stay behind me," she murmured.
But Aeron shook his head. "We move together."
They crept toward the sound, every step calculated, tense. In the corridor, a portrait had shifted ajar, revealing a narrow passage behind it.
"Elara…" Aeron whispered.
She nodded. "A secret wing."
They stepped inside.
Beneath the estate, the air turned cold—metallic, old. It smelled like rust and old memories.
And there, beneath layers of dust, lay an ancient interface, still flickering with faint energy.
A hologram flickered to life.
A woman appeared—her face eerily familiar.
"Mother," Elara whispered.
The message began to play.
"To my daughter… if you've found this, it means they've discovered the truth. The family you think you know is only the beginning. The bloodline doesn't end with you—it begins again. And you must choose whether to break it or repeat it."
Aeron's fingers tightened around hers.
"Elara," he said softly, "what is this?"
She took a trembling breath. "It's what they've been hiding from me. From all of us."
The message continued, and Elara's face went pale.
Because the next name mentioned wasn't hers.
It was Aeron's.
And the legacy neither of them expected was only just beginning.