The fires above the Iron Heart raged on, smoke curling through the ancient gears like black serpents, coiling around forgotten prayers carved into the walls.
Ren Ashveil stood at the edge of the platform, staring down at the shredded remains of the Enforcers below. The air smelled like burnt oil, molten metal—and something older. Something dead.
Mira was silent behind him.
For once, Ashir's voice wasn't whispering in Ren's ear. Even the ancient Seraph was silent, as if...watching.
Ren closed his hand slowly, flexing the faintly glowing crimson veins that spidered across his skin. What am I turning into?
But there was no time for questions. Not now. Not with the Architect staring at him with that single, mechanical eye.
"You brought the Core here…" the ancient figure rasped. Tubes hissed steam with every syllable. "Why?"
Ren looked up at the suspended machine-man. "You know why. This thing—Ashir—it's changing me. I need to know what it is. Why it chose me."
The Architect's breath was a long, metallic rasp. "You think… you are the first to bear it?"
Ren's heart skipped.
"You are…not special… child. Others came before you… and failed. Their bodies could not contain the weight of what slumbers in the Core. Their flesh broke. Their minds shattered."
Ren's hands curled into fists. "Then why am I still standing?"
For the first time, the Architect laughed. It was a horrible, grating sound like rusted chains grinding against broken stone.
"Because it chooses differently this time…"
It? Not just Ashir?
Ren took a step forward. "What is it, really?"
The Architect leaned forward, as much as his web of wires allowed.
"Not a machine. Not a god. Something between. Something older. We… we built these Gardens on the backs of forgotten engines. We didn't ask what powered them. We thought they were gifts. Salvation."
The ancient figure's eye burned brighter. "We were wrong."
Suddenly, Ashir's voice returned.
Soft. Icy.
"You want the truth? Then break the chains."
Ren flinched. "What?"
"Break the chains holding this rotting thing together. And I will show you the truth behind Caelum… and behind ME."
Ren's heart raced.
Destroy the Architect?
Mira stepped forward. "Don't even think about it. He's insane, yeah, but he's all that's left of the old engineers. If you kill him—"
Before she could finish, another voice echoed across the chamber.
"You'll do nothing."
Footsteps. Polished. Calm. Controlled.
Out of the swirling steam came a new figure—tall, armored head to toe in matte black plates, a crimson cloak flowing behind him. His helmet was shaped like an eagle, with slits for eyes burning like embers.
Ren's blood froze.
A Warden.
Not an Enforcer. Not a soldier.
A personal executioner of the Garden Lords themselves.
And behind him, more soldiers. Better armed. Better trained.
"We've been watching you," the Warden said, voice modulated by his mask. "Ashveil, son of the scrap pits. Murderer of Enforcers. Thief of forbidden relics."
His hand rested casually on the hilt of a sheathed blade.
"Come peacefully. Or burn."
Ren's vision blurred red.
Ashir chuckled. "Choose, little bloom. Obedience… or war."
---
For a breath, Ren almost… gave in. Almost knelt.
But then he saw it—Mira's eyes. The way she looked at him. Not with fear now—but with hope.
Hope was a dangerous thing.
And Ren had nothing left to lose.
He let go of the hesitation. Of the fear. Of the lie that he could go back to being just another nameless orphan beneath the Gardens.
He was something else now.
"I'm not coming peacefully."
The Warden tilted his head slightly, almost curious. "So be it."
The sword cleared its sheath in a flash of blue light.
---
And the world caught fire.
Ren moved—not like a man, but like a breaking wave. The crimson veins running up his arms flared like molten wire, the ancient machinery of the Garden itself responding to his rage.
Gears screamed. Chains snapped.
From somewhere deep below, something immense stirred.
Ashir's voice wasn't a whisper anymore.
"YES…YES…BLOOM, LITTLE FLOWER. BLOOM IN BLOOD."
The Warden struck. His blade sang with electric energy, carving arcs of light as he moved, precise and deadly.
But Ren didn't dodge.
He caught the blade.
Metal screamed against metal. The energy discharge rippled through Ren's bones, but instead of burning him—it was consumed by the Seraph Core's crimson light.
The Warden's composure faltered for the first time.
"You—"
Ren punched him.
One strike.
One.
The entire platform beneath them buckled, metal tearing away like ripped skin.
The Warden flew backward, smashing into a support pillar with enough force to send spiderweb cracks through solid steel.
And that was when Ren felt it fully.
Not rage. Not madness.
Power.
Raw. Ancient. Alive.
Mira grabbed his arm, pulling him back. "Ren! More are coming! We can't win here!"
He looked at her, eyes glowing faint red, skin cracked with crimson fractures.
Not yet a monster.
Not yet a hero.
Just something in between.
"I'm not running anymore."
Above them, through the swirling smoke and fractured walkways, came the first faint, echoing bells of alarm from the upper city.
The Lords of Caelum were waking up to war.
Ren Ashveil smiled for the first time in years.
And far below, beneath the Garden's endless layers, something else smiled with him.
---
[To be continued…]