Sector Thal-9 was a graveyard of blue, a sprawling ocean world dotted with the ruins of forgotten wars. Storms rolled across its horizon in perpetual fury, and the water churned with unnatural currents—echoes of technologies long buried. No one visited willingly.
But now, Julius and his team hovered in orbit aboard the Tempest Pike, a stealth reconnaissance vessel provided by the Vesper Pact's deep archive wing. The mission was clear: locate and breach the Obsidian Vault.
"The coordinates lead directly beneath the Pelagos Trench," Selene said, flicking through translucent readouts. "Depth is… 40,000 meters. Environmental pressure will crush most hulls. It's not just hidden—it was meant to stay buried."
"Why would anyone bury a vault like that so deep?" Brinley muttered, checking his rebreather seals. "That's not security. That's exile."
"Exactly," Vara replied, her expression unreadable. "The Vesper Pact didn't just lose a fragment here. They sealed something inside. Something that fought back."
Seraphel stood at the viewport, her body flickering with ghost-signals from her last encounter. "The Hive isn't the only intelligence down there."
"Something else?" Julius asked.
"I… sense a remnant," she replied. "Older than me. Techno-organic like myself, but dormant. Broken."
"Or waiting," Selene added.
The team descended in a hardened pod—tight, reinforced, and humming with layered shielding. As the dark waters swallowed them, lights dimmed, and pressure moaned against the outer shell.
"Descending past 20,000 meters," Selene reported. "Interference growing. EM scatter off the charts."
Suddenly, the lights flickered. The pod groaned. Julius grabbed a side handle as the interior shook.
"Something's pulling us," Brinley shouted.
Then everything went still.
Outside, bioluminescent patterns danced along a titanic structure—metal fused with coral, bone, and what looked like circuitry. Tendrils swam lazily across its surface, responding to the pod's presence.
"The Vault," Seraphel whispered. "It recognizes me."
Their pod clanked against a docking ring—rusted but active. Seals hissed. A hatch slid open.
The vault welcomed them with silence.
Inside, the air was stale but breathable. The walls pulsed gently, like veins pumping slow ichor. Faded murals told stories in glyphs none of them recognized—except Seraphel.
She reached out and touched one.
"A cradle," she murmured. "Not just for knowledge—for warforms."
"What kind of warforms?" Julius asked.
Before she could answer, the floor trembled.
A massive figure emerged from the dark, its body slouched, covered in old Hive scars and broken Vesper emblems. A single blue eye flared open in its chest.
"Designation… Seraphel," it rasped. "You… returned."
Seraphel stepped forward. "Who are you?"
The being straightened, towering above them. "I am Veyrion. Last of the First Symbiotes. I held the gate when the others fell. And now, I ask: have you come to end what we began—or awaken it anew?"
Julius stepped beside her. "That depends on whether you're friend or foe."
The Vault hummed, sensing the convergence. Secrets stirred in the dark. And somewhere beneath it all, the Hive listened.