—Whispers from the Buried
Reality snapped back into focus—the familiar walls of his room, the hum of Earth's gravity.
But then, the faint hum of the Thunder Core flared into a sudden pulse, searing hot against his chest.
An image followed—not seen but etched into his mind—Quinn stood atop the skeletal ruins of a skyscraper, framed against a sky slashed open by violet lightning, raw and ragged like a wound in the heavens.
His voice cut through the neural channel, cold and precise—
"Shawn Mercer! Your Core remembers what they did! While your Society elects another puppet Hierophant to grovel before Chairman Da, I'll show you the truth. Five graves. Five Cores. The old temple—now."
Was it an illusion?
Shawn clenched his sweat-drenched sheets.
The Thunder Core pulsed again—a dull, accusing throb in his chest.
Then—
A flash of memory: the coin.
One side bore the familiar V.
The other—a single Chinese character: 五 (Five). And beneath it: BURY.
It burned in his palm now, its edges digging into his skin like teeth.
五. Bury.
Could this be what Quinn meant?
Shawn closed his eyes.
Memories surged into his mind.Not his.
A golden door shattered. Soldiers in old Revolutionary Guard gear chanting as they dragged something screaming from a circle of light.
A whisper:
"They called it sealing. It was slaughter."
Shawn staggered, chest burning. Gasped for air.
Logic screamed at him to report this—
To flag the transmission to Elder Lee.
And let the Society deal with it.
Early morning.
A knock at the door.
Shawn's fingers twitched as he reached for the dagger resting on the bedside table—standard issue for the Revolutionary Guard, given to him by Lindsay.
"Shawn? You in there?"
A familiar voice.
His classmate Ethan Cole had come to say goodbye, as he was planning to leave for summer vacation.
Shawn exhaled, forcing his shoulders to relax.
He pocketed the coin and opened the door.
Ethan blinked at him, his glasses fogging from the heat. "Man, you look awful. Did the college entrance exam take such a toll on you?"
Shawn almost laughed. "Pretty much."
Then he noticed it—the faint shimmer around Ethan's wrist. A bracelet, woven with threads of silver and jade.
The same pattern as the Lake Core's quicksilver.
At his touch, the lines rearranged themselves to form the same V emblem as on the coin—and this was no coincidence.
"Which temple?" His voice came out sharper than intended.
Ethan adjusted his fogged glasses. "West district, near the abandoned subway. But it's—"
The jacket was already on. Shawn's Core pulsed like a compass needle, ai if locking onto a distant resonance.
"No reason."
Ethan blinked. "Wait—what do you mean, no reason? You're not seriously going there alone?"
Shawn didn't answer. He was already halfway to the door, the pendant under his shirt glowing faintly in sync with the bracelet's shimmer.
Ethan called after him, voice rising. "Shawn, that place was sealed off for a reason! People say the old rites—"
But the door slammed shut behind him.
Outside, the wind had picked up. The city lights flickered strangely as if something old and buried was beginning to stir again. And deep beneath the concrete and steel, a pulse answered Shawn's call—slow, ancient, and waiting.
The temple wasn't a temple.
It was a facade, its crumbling arches hiding a staircase that plunged into the earth. The air grew colder with each step, the walls slick with moisture that glowed faintly blue—veins of energized quartz.
At the bottom, a chamber stretched into darkness.
And at its center—a pedestal.
Empty.
But Shawn's Core screamed in recognition.
This was where the Lake Core had been.
Before someone took it.
A whisper echoed through the chamber:
"You're late."
Shawn spun.
Quinn leaned against the far wall, his coat blending with the shadows.
"I expected you," he said, pushing off the wall. "CP-Hub slowing you down?"
Shawn's dagger was in his hand before he could think. "Where's the Lake Core?"
Quinn smiled. "Gone. Just like the others." He tilted his head. "But you already knew that, didn't you? You can feel them. The missing pieces."
Shawn's grip tightened. "What do you want?"
"To show you the truth."
Quinn raised a hand—and the chamber's walls lit up.
Symbols flared to life, forming a map.
Five locations.
Five graves.
"The first one's waiting," Quinn said. "But you'll need to move fast." His grin turned sharp. CP-Hub's National Guards are already on their way."
Shawn didn't have time to react.
The ground shuddered. Dust rained from the ceiling as boots pounded above them— National Guards, breaching the temple.
Quinn vanished into the shadows, his voice lingering: "Find the others before they do."
Then the wall exploded.
Shawn barely rolled clear as gunfire shredded the space where he'd stood.
Lindsay stepped through the smoke, her visor scanning the chamber.
"Target acquired," she said into her comm. "Moving to extract."
The Core surged in his chest, resonating with urgency.
He ran.
The tunnels twisted like a labyrinth, but Shawn didn't stop. His Core guided him, pulling him deeper.
Then—a door.
Ancient iron, etched with the same symbol— a V in a circle.
Shawn pushed it open.
The First Grave wasn't a tomb.
It was an abandoned prison.
A massive skeleton lay chained to the far wall—a dragon's remains, its ribs pierced by spears of blackened steel. At its center, where its heart should have been, a hollow space pulsed with residual energy.
The Lake Core's resting place.
But the Core was gone.
Only a message remained, scrawled in fresh paint:
"THEY LIED ABOUT THE SEALING."
Shawn's breath fogged in the sudden cold.
Behind him, the door creaked shut.
Lindsay stood in the doorway, her gun raised.
"You shouldn't have come here," she said.
Then the walls breathed—a wave of energy distorted the stone.
Stone rippled like living flesh, skeletal fingers erupting from the rock—clutching, grasping.
The dragon's bones behind Shawn rattled, reassembling themselves with a sound like stone grating against stone.
Lindsay's gun wavered. "This wasn't in the mission brief..."