The path ahead was uncertain, but Eli had made his choice.

  He adjusted the knife at his belt, still processing Marco's revelation. A descendant of the Founding Families? It didn't feel real. His parents had told him stories—legends about cities that stretched into the sky, about the old ways, before the Krev ruled. But he had never imagined those stories could be about him.

  "Your lineage is more significant than you realize," Marco had said. "The Founding Families possessed naturally superior meridian structures—wider channels, stronger energy nexus points. This genetic advantage allowed them to progress through cultivation stages at unprecedented rates."

  Eli exhaled sharply through his nose. Great. Because I needed one more thing making me a target.

  He felt the binding spell pulse against his neck, a constant reminder of his limitations. According to Marco, even with the spell restricting his energy flow, Eli's meridians showed signs of natural expansion—a characteristic unique to those with the Hero's Lineage. At his current suppressed state, he barely registered at the peak of the Mortal Realm, but Marco's analysis suggested potential far beyond that.

  He shook the thought away and focused on their next move.

  "You said there are still working power nodes," Eli said, stepping closer to the flickering holographic map Marco had projected. "Show me."

  The map adjusted instantly, zooming in on the nearest power grid sector. Blue lines crisscrossed through the subterranean ruins, marking old distribution networks. But many flickered—damaged or unstable. Only a handful still pulsed with a steady glow, indicating potential functionality.

  One stood out.

  "This node," Eli pointed. It was relatively close, buried within a maintenance sector. "You think it still works?"

  "Unknown," Marco admitted. His holographic form shimmered as it recalibrated. "Last recorded status: Semi-functional. Structural integrity: 64%. Energy readings: Inconsistent. Anomalous fluctuations detected in proximity."

  "Meaning?"

  "Meaning it may have retained power, but interference—either environmental or external—has made its output unpredictable. The energy signature bears similarities to the Heart Vein formations described in cultivation texts—chaotic but potent."

  Eli rubbed the back of his neck. Great. So we go in blind.

  "I am currently running a probability analysis," Marco continued. His voice carried the precise cadence of ancient technology—familiar yet alien. "However, my records on current dungeon influence remain incomplete. External factors may alter outcomes significantly."

  Eli scoffed. "That's a fancy way of saying 'we won't know until we get there.'"

  "Correct."

  Eli sighed, checking his meager supplies—the knife, a small canteen, a handful of nutrient bars. Not exactly the arsenal he'd want for venturing into the unknown. He closed his eyes briefly, recalling Marco's instructions on breath cultivation. Inward breath, gather energy at the dantian center. Outward breath, disperse it through the meridians. He felt the familiar warmth spread through his core, temporarily dulling the binding spell's ache.

  "Well, no point standing around. Let's go."

  Marco's hologram flickered, pixels reassembling as he processed Eli's decision. "Your inclination toward immediate action is noted."

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  "You sound surprised."

  "Not surprised. Merely... reassessing parameters. Historical records indicate that most cultivators with your particular meridian structure favored deliberation over action. The Eight-Fold Reflection technique was developed specifically to balance this tendency."

  Eli glanced at him. Marco had been studying him from the moment they met. Evaluating. Calculating. Each interaction cataloged and analyzed against some invisible metric.

  "And?" Eli asked. "What's the assessment?"

  A brief pause. Then: "Adaptability. You prioritize action over deliberation. This differs from my creators' approach, but aligns with cultivation patterns observed during the Chaos Era. Perhaps an evolutionary response to environmental pressures."

  Eli rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, your creators aren't here, are they?Marco didn't respond. He didn't have to. The silence was enough.

  I dimmed my holographic interface to conserve power, maintaining only a small guidance light that cast Eli’s determined face in soft blue hues. We had much to do. Training. Exploration. Survival. And, eventually, a reckoning with the forces that had brought the city to ruin.

  As we approached the sealed doorway that would lead us deeper into the forgotten metropolis, my probability calculations warned that success remained a mere 12.7%—statistically dismal.

  But then there was Eli, his jaw set, his stance unyielding. The boy who had survived against all odds. Who had been bound, yet remained unbroken.

  Perhaps… some variables could not be quantified.

  And perhaps that was what my creators had meant when they spoke of the human spirit.

  The crystalline interface flared wildly as Eli jimmied open the ancient storage unit. He dropped to a crouch, hand snapping to his side—Iron Hold had drilled that reflex into him. Sudden shifts meant trouble.

  "Marco?" His eyes flicked to the chamber exits.

  Three heartbeats of silence. Then Marco's voice sputtered through, jagged with static. "Systems… recalibrating." The wall displays dimmed, glyphs fading to a weak glow.

  Eli rose, still wary. "Your lights are failing. What's wrong?"

  "Power reserves are limited." Marco's tone steadied, but the map projection flickered. "I've stayed dormant to save energy. You've pushed me past sustainable levels."

  Eli snorted, rummaging through the unit. "Nice timing."

  "It wasn't relevant until now."

  "And if you shut down completely?" Eli pulled a compact medical kit from the compartment, checking its nanite indicators. "What happens to our deal then?"

  The display pulsed before Marco answered. "Defense protocols would fail first. Navigation second. We'd be blind with whatever lurks in these corridors hunting us freely."

  Eli stiffened. He'd just escaped one prison; he wasn't about to die in another.

  "Then we find you more power," he said, clipping the kit to his belt.

  The main display surged to life—a web of tunnels spread across it. Red zones pulsed with warnings while faint blue nodes glimmered at the map's edges.

  "Power distribution centers exist in these quadrants," Marco said. "Many are sealed due to structural damage or security breaches."

  Eli traced the nearest path. "This one. How far?"

  "Two kilometers through maintenance sector seven."

  "Defenses?"

  "Unknown. Last scan: 47 years ago."

  Eli raised an eyebrow. "Comforting."

  "The alternative is system failure," Marco said.

  "Wasn't planning on staying." Eli grabbed the weathered canteen and slung it over his shoulder. "We move. Find power. Stay alive."

  As he stepped toward the exit, Marco stopped him.

  "Eli."

  He turned, caught by the shift in the AI's voice—less mechanical, almost concerned.

  "Accessing these nodes will trigger automated defenses or awaken dormant constructs. Hostile encounter probability: 87 percent."

  "More mechanical spiders?" Eli's smile was sharp.

  "Among other things. There may be threats I wasn't programmed to combat. If these systems still work after all this time, we may not be the first to attempt reactivation."

  Eli's fingers touched the corrupted Binding Spell at his neck. "Krev?"

  "Possible."

  The name chilled him. Malek's twisted smile flashed in his mind—the Binding ceremony, the pain, years of servitude before escape.

  "We stay alert," he said.

  Marco's interface pulsed. "Your genetic markers indicate you're more significant to this facility than you realize. Access protocols recognize your biological signature."

  Eli narrowed his eyes. "What does that mean?"

  Before Marco could answer, a deep groan rumbled through the stone, followed by a sharp click-click-click—closer now. The floor trembled faintly under Eli's boots as a whiff of metallic ozone filled the air.

  "Marco," he whispered, "what's in maintenance sector seven?"

  The AI's lights dimmed, voice flat. "Unknown. But it appears we're about to find out."

  The clicking swelled, relentless, clawing from the walls. Something ancient had woken—and it knew they were here.