12 Miles Below

“Open up the chestpiece, let’s see what’s inside.”

Winterscar obeyed, metal parts peeling away. Kidra watched closely, grabbing each plate part as it split off from the main.

We'd finally found a section of time that both my sister and I were free, so we decided to have a nice bonding moment by ripping apart the family armor looking for answers.

The under armour appeared as hundreds of stands, made of some kind of mesh fabric. Occult blue light leaked from under these ligaments, seeping from behind. Kidra pointed with a finger, tracing one of the fiber clumps, “Curious.”

“They look almost like muscles.” I whistled. The entire system looked extremely complex and perfectly tidy, now that it was opened the right way instead of ripped apart in combat.

“That’s because they are.” Kidra said. “I recognize all these. It’s a mirror of human muscles. This, for example, looks exactly like the deltoid muscle, directly where the real version would be, by the shoulder.” She reached out for a plate right under the armpits of the armor. Once more, fibers appeared under the plate. They were neatly organized, in such a way that any computer expert would consider the cable management more like art. She hummed in appreciation. “The respect for detail is quite something. Even the anterior muscles are in the correct location. Whoever forged the armors knew the human body well.”

“Talking about that, how exactly do you know all of these?” I tapped the fibers with my own finger. Despite looking like metal strands, they were oddly squishy. Still firm, but somewhat soft.

Kidra shrugged. “A detailed portion of the training Father favored was to understand how the human body could move. Knowing how to hamstring a target, or where to cut for maximum effect is something I needed to know how to perform. Killing someone isn’t difficult, dear brother.” She said, adding a wide and innocent smile. “Incapacitating, reducing or predicting their range of motion is far more arduous and requires scholarly work. Sometimes it is important to leave the enemy knight alive, if only for ransom reasons.”

“Well, my dear sister, it’s clear that I’ve got a lot to learn about the proper ways to cripple someone for life, now that I’m a knight now too.” Ask me how to trace on a circuit board for a break or find a cold solder joint and I’m your man. Ask me how best to disable someone’s left arm and I’ll probably go with ‘Stab until the target is convinced to stop trying, you know, politely.’

“A skillset everyone should know for a civilized society. I’m surprised we aren’t teaching the children how to maim people. Truly a shame.”

“On the topic of the armor and less morbid things, any way to detach the fibers to see what’s under?” I asked, being a bit more serious now. “I mean, we can always use the knives to cut through. But that seems…” I trailed off, waving my own knife around in a circle. Well, armor can repair itself from practically everything so long as there’s enough of the spirit left.

Winterscar’s speakers crackled to life from the helmet laying by my left. “Negative. Artificial sinews are not designed to detach. Manual deconstruction required for additional maintenance.”

That answered that. Kidra’s own knife lit into action faster than my own thoughts. I could see the leftover halo trail of the blade edge as she’d flourished the weapon on draw, the same movements taught by Father inadvertently over habit.

With expert precision, she cut through the fibers one at a time, until we could peel them off the chestplate and reveal what lay below.

“Eerie.” I said. “I know Winterscar isn’t going to feel pain, still feels odd to be cutting into armor like this.”

Kidra cut another section. “That is personification, do keep it in mind. The fibers match human anatomy so you are placing feelings and empathy where there is no analogue. Winterscar is a machine.”

“The lines between machine and human are pretty blurry these days.” I said under my breath. “What with souls and mysticism turning out to be more and more real than expected.”

The armor in question remained silent as we cut through and a part of me really hoped my sister was right. It was still uncanny, knowing the armor was at least sentient in some manner. I’d seen Journey’s soul fractal. Whatever reality considered to be a soul, these armors had one. It was really screwing with my head.

Under the fibers, we found what we were looking for. More traditional wiring crossed all over, this time far more organized than when I’d seen it before, deep underground. But those times had been after the heat of battle, there were no clean cuts, it was battle damage. Here, we had carefully cut and left everything under the fake muscle fibers undisturbed.

Fractals as I’d expected.

Metal plates with etched patterns of different kinds, all glowing occult blue. Whatever the occult was, it was consistent and didn’t deviate from that theme. The majority were unfamiliar to me, not noted down anywhere in Talen’s book. Talen himself might have known them, but he’d only had so many pages to work with before the tome would become too difficult to produce in the numbers that I suspected he had made them in. It had included what I had come to term ‘the starting kit.’

Everything else, I would have to research and discover on my own, though I had plenty of solid fractals to work with.

The ones inside Winterscar were all wildly different. Some looked like circles repeating across eternity. Others like triangles. And more just looked like crazy shapes that made little sense. I had Journey take pictures for later analysis.

Near the heart - or on the location the human heart would have existed, we found Winterscar’s soul fractal. And it was an utter mess. Only the center part of the metal plaque fit the description of a soul fractal, the rest seemed like additional fractals that had been stitched or grafted to the sides of it. One of which I could recognize as the fractal of heat, only greatly warped.

I didn’t quite understand why the soul fractal had been connected in this way to the other fractals. I’d need to study more of the Occult for an answer to that.

“Here.” Kidra said, tapping that pattern with the turned off knife tip. “This is the same one that was etched in the video. At least the center part of it, the rest of the lines spreading out from it seem to be additions.”

“I know it. I know what it does.”

Kidra looked up, “Is he inside?”

“I don’t know yet. But I intend to find out.”

We’d poured over the events in the bunker together, multiple times now, debating what every action meant or had been, before I had found time to begin my study of the Occult.

During the time I was away, Kidra’s video feed showed how she was trying to command the terminal, only for Winterscar to start acting up. The HUD had started to flicker, warning signs appeared all over, pointing out an intrusion. A virus of some kind taking command of systems in a manner that the suit was wholly unprepared to combat. Following through, a tendril of Winterscar’s spirit had lifted off, and dove into the side of the terminal, spread across the metal, licking the edges.

The warning signs had disappeared, and the tentacle of spirit had instantly retreated back into the suit. Kidra had paused her actions, asking the armor what the hells had gone wrong. The armor simply answered ‘Unknown’

The side of the console began to glow occult blue, and the terminal screen began to flicker on its own, moving through menu and systems as if haunted. On that console side, was this very fractal.

I knew Journey had a soul fractal, but other than the knowledge I hadn’t done anything more, having my hands full. This time, the heart of a relic armor lay before me, and I reached down to touch it.

The soul sense within me instantly flared to life again and I felt something beyond the moment my finger touched the metal. As if I had connected with a friend.

A dozen ideas and meanings coalesced inside. The first, a realization I was touching and connected not to a power of some kind - but to a living soul. It felt both familiar and yet alien. Something not quite human, but with clear intentions.

The second concept I understood was that this soul was not Father. Instead, the soul felt utterly ancient. As if it had lived centuries, one day at a time.

I felt feelings next, a simple desire to protect and care for. That single thought was far more clear and precise than any feeling I had ever felt in my life. My own mind was filled with hundreds of thoughts each day, with a massive range of ideas and purpose, and all of them felt colorless now in comparison. This soul was specialized, it only thought very few things but what it did feel it felt with such vivid color the world lit with light.

It wanted to protect, it was made to protect. This was the prime purpose. It was jarringly alien, as if the soul here had a more complete understanding of purpose itself, compared to my fumbling attempts to find such a thing.

To say it was utterly humbling would be an understatement.

The only thing anywhere near as closely ingrained in my own soul was a generic need to survive. And that was something so passive and hidden under layer on layer of thoughts as to be barely noticeable until such a time my life was threatened.

This armor went far beyond such a basic desire.

Beyond the central purpose, there were other feelings I could understand, floating on the edges of the soul.

Feelings of contentment, a soft, lazy happiness at being able to perform the current work correctly and a steady enjoyment of the present peace. There was no danger right here, and the soul behind my fingertips was happy about it. It meant its user was safe.

Winterscar was pleased at being examined. Not for the actual action, but rather because it knew this was the user’s intention and by doing so, it was assisting its owner. It hadn’t felt pain at being cut open, although it had certainly noticed the damage and kept the information in mind.

It also saw me just as I saw it. Small tendrils touching my own soul, slight curiosity to the fumbling contact. It certainly didn’t dive down deep to peer at who or what I was, rather it didn’t care quite as much. It had felt something similar to my soul before, and that hadn’t been a good memory for it.

Deeper down were feelings of relief.

Relief that I wasn’t going to be charging into its home. Relief that it was no longer compromised.

I pushed into the fractal, exploring around, and felt Winterscar allow me access. The armor could see my intentions were not to linger within. Such thoughts put it at ease.

And I found out why.

There was a void that was slowly being re-filled by the armor. Traces of emotion there, a completely different color compared to the armor - anger, defiance, resistance, an unshakeable mission to remain.

Father.

And he was gone. Gone, gone gone. Only an echo of history remained behind. Which meant only one result possible. “He’s in the bunker.” I breathed out, realizing what had actually happened. "We left him in the bunker."

The soul fractals were houses. Winterscar had shared it’s own home with Father’s soul. There had been some kind of synchronicity when Winterscar forged the engram of combat, a similarity that allowed Father’s lingering soul a foothold into Winterscar’s soul fractal.

And then, he had moved onto a new home.

Kidra stared back at me as my hand zipped off Winterscar’s soul, the connection severed. “Father was left behind in the bunker.” I said again, turning to her, almost frantic. “We have to get him back!”

My sister remained impassive at my growing panic, reaching a hand out to steady me. “Breath. Whatever we can do, you need to understand that it can not be done right this moment. We can schedule an expedition back, however even at the earliest, it will not be for half a year or more.”

I knew why. We needed resources and capital. Airspeeders were expensive to rent out, and that included the cost of pilot and crew. Supplies needed to be assembled and prepared, and orders given so that all remained on track while we were gone. Not even considering the whole mess of the raiders approaching. The clan couldn't afford to be down a relic knight, let alone a small expedition.

“There is nothing we can do for him as of this moment.” Kidra said. “We will, soon. You need to breath, steady yourself. Right now, focus on the present.”

It all made sense, the logical part of me understood instantly.

The emotional part of me didn’t.

The cold heater remained unpowered within the old estate room. I had left it there, now only bringing power cells with me. Once more it hummed to life, becoming the only other source of light in this room besides Journey’s headlights - and my own burning hand, the occult sign for heat brightly lit up on the palm of my hand.

I stared at that flame, losing myself in it. The realization that we had left Father behind was taking a toll on me and I wasn’t processing through this the right way. Was he still there, sitting in the darkness down deep in that half ruined bunker? Had the machines destroyed everything, or had they simply left it alone once the turrets had been ripped apart? Did he sleep when the power was off? Or is he gone? If I came back half a year later, would I find a fading soul, filled with insanity from the isolation?

I’d mumbled out an excuse to Kidra and practically ran straight out of that room. Then I searched for the first thing that could distract me.

The hangar rooms were the only place in the clan compound with any measure of space, normally the empty ones were used for sports. Wallball being the single most common and popular of the set. I went into those courts with a vengeance and spent my energy slapping a ball and trying to outplay the scavengers lined up there.

It had helped a bit, but it hadn’t been enough.

I slunk into the kitchen next, staring at our reserve of drinks and wondering if I was so far gone as to follow his footsteps. The bottles winked at me. I stumbled backwards, and raced away.

This time, I made straight for the Occult. Requipping Journey, and ran my way into the quiet bowels of the mothballed sections. Thinking it could do the trick and completely forgetting that I’d have to spend a half hour waiting for the sub-zero room to heat back up to a respectable level. Half an hour with only the silence of the room and wailing thoughts in my head.

In hindsight, maybe not my best idea to date.

Father was alive. I had experienced before what it was like to be a disembodied soul. He was still alive, assuming if a soul fractal was left unpowered the soul inside would remain dormant. Otherwise…. No, I had to believe that.

I had to keep hope. And I needed something to study, to look into, to keep my head from spinning.

In a flash of brilliance, I remembered a detail I hadn’t yet checked into: Tsuya had unlocked all parts of Journey when our group had left the bunker.

I brought out the history.

Video logs. Hundreds of them, all neatly sorted by date. It was perfect. I could lose myself here, in someone else's life. Recording the past expeditions. An entire library cataloging a life spent in this armor. There were so many, I wasn’t even sure where to start.

“Journey, could you… could you show me a video of…” Of what? I scrolled through the archive and found hundreds of files. Thousands even. “Show me a video of the most important moment in her life.” I said.

The armor complied, the scroll bar flickered and files zoomed past my view. I was scrolling back through the ages, until one video was selected and began playing.

I saw the surface.

The view wobbled in the way of a person walking. The dark sky showed a deep black. The steady crunching of boots on the ice above, many of them. Only the white lights of the armors kept anything illuminated. Ahead was a scavenger, bundled up in an environmental suit, and only a few hundred feet beyond was a mountain.

He turned, glancing at the camera and then panning around to the unseen behind my view. “The shrine is just this way, my lords crusaders.” The guide said, pointing at what looked to be a staircase chiseled into the sides. “I'm afraid I cannot guide you past the stairwell. It is a cursed ground that only those who serve the imperium can cross into. I am sorry, this is where I must bow out.”

Another armored crusader passed by, tapping the guide’s shoulders. “We thank you for guiding us here, Azekul. You’ve done your part. Rest easy. What’s left is something we know how to do, for our own pilgrimage. Wait in the airspeeder, we will be back shortly after daybreak.”

The guide nodded, bowing deep and then turning to walk away, shuffling past the viewpoint.

“This is it then?” A woman’s voice sounded. I realized it had come from me - or rather the viewpoint I was seeing through. It sounded young, brash, confident.

This must be Cathida. “Looks pretty fuckin' plain.” She said, annoyed.

The woman who wore Journey turned her head, and the view shifted in accordance, showing five other crusaders standing in the snow. One of them turned to glance back. “Aye.” That one said. “It don’t look like much from here. And for reasons. You’ll soon see, Langg.”

“All this dagger and cloak shit,” Cathida said. “Better be worth my time. I could be underground right now being useful, or racking a bigger number.”

There was a chuckle, and Cathida turned to the leader of the pack.

“This is the single most useful thing you will do in your life. You will swear an oath. The final one.” He said.

“I’ve sworn all the oaths already, every last one of them.” She said hotly, folding her hands on her chest. “Lived by them day in and day out. You saying there’s a fifth? Thought that was just bunk rumor and squire shit.”

“Yes.” The leader turned and walked to the stairwell, beginning his accent. “There is a fith one. One only our order swears and will only do so upon the surface, under the goddess’s eyes. The Imperator and I brought the three of you here because all of you showed true potential. Your actions, deeds and skills have spoken for you. For some,” He turned to glance at a crusader by Cathida’s side. “Your loyalty and devotion brought you here. For others,” He turned to glance at Cathida, “Only your undeniable skills did. Each has a use that will be forged into a weapon the goddess will wield against her foes. And so we will offer each of you a choice very few crusaders get.”

The group followed behind, there were no further objections.

The climb lasted hours, only a small part had been up the stairs. The rest was an actual climb. Journey simply fast forwarded through the whole. In seconds, we were now at the summit, the world considerably brighter, the light blue of daybreak. Here, I saw a small temple, pillars extended out, surrounding the statue of a woman holding in her hands a massive gold orb, lifted high. The surrounding mountain had obscured the temple, leaving only one direction where it could have been seen from. The same direction the sun had started to rise from.

All the crusaders knelt down at the sight, including Cathida.

The leader approached the shrine, turning around and speaking to the assembled group. The fifth crusader took a spot at the leader’s side while Cathida and two others remained kneeling.

“I have brought you here to induct you into the Indagator Mortis. Imperator O’rasis has come with me to bare witness.”

The three crusaders remained kneeling. I saw Cathida’s hands clench slightly around the hilt of her sword, vital signs showing her heartbeat had increased.

“We are the elites of the Imperium. Our order once served the emperor himself, before he was lost to time. Now, we served a new master, one beyond even the emperor. The goddess herself.”

The sun rose further, light now touching the orb of gold above the statue. It began to glow, writing appearing to stand out against the gold.

“These orbs were left behind by her divinity, hidden on the surface where the enemy has been banished forevermore. It is here we will swear the final oath only those of our order do so. Before we begin, know that your life will forevermore be changed after this moment. Should any of you three choose not to take upon this mantel, to not join our order, you are free to stand and leave.”

None of the crusaders kneeling did so.

The leader nodded. “So be it. Raise your swords, and read of the inscriptions layed by our founders. This shall be the oath you swear to. I shall call you one at a time to do so.”

The view tilted up, as Cathida zoomed in her vision on the golden orb. She soaked in the words as written.

I shall seek the lost emperor and return them to their rightful throne. The world must be united.

“When the end times arrive, our enemies shall find only our mercy lacking.” The leader spoke. “In her wisdom, the goddess has given us the chance to find and restore the lost emperor along with the tools to do so. We shall reforge the empire into the spear that will be driven into the heart of the machines and shatter them forevermore.”

A more somber voice took on the leader’s speech. “Know that we are not the first, nor the last. The goddess speaks to us once a century, and her words are cryptic, made to sneak past the violet goddess. Only the greatest of our numbers are sent out to truly search for the heir. The rest of you will be tasked in other ways to further the cause.”

He turned to glance at the imperator, who stepped forward and took the podium. The imperator’s voice was a deeper pitch, and older man. “Countless crusaders before you have searched for the inheritor of the throne. Doubtless, countless more shall come after us. Remain ever vigilant, for the end times may come at any day. When the balance between man and machine ends, only a war of extinction remains. This is the true calling of our Order. When that war comes, it is our task to have the world prepared to win it.

And for that to happen, the empire must rise from its ashes. All of it, from body to head.

Solaris Imperium.”

Next chapter - In which an old lady yells at Keith

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