The contents of the Discipline of Sorrow were... profound.

As someone who had experienced his own share of grief, Soren found it easy to slip into the first pilot's shoes. There was something strangely intimate about it—finding a voice from the past that understood pain the way he did. It was a rare, almost comforting feeling to discover someone he could truly relate to.

However, no matter how deep and moving the journal was, exhaustion crept in. His eyes grew heavy, weighed down by the slow seduction of sleep.

Soon, he could not hold back anymore; his head fell back.

However, unknown to Soren and Cynthia, a guest had made its way into their room.

There was no metallic clicking of the locks or forced entry.

In fact, this uninvited guest had come through that vertical slit on the door.

Slow.

Silent.

Slippery.

Finding Soren's bed in the middle of the night like they already knew.

They mounted his bed.

Soren felt the weight, subtle at first.

Heavier.

The metal bed groaned, curving. under the pressure.

He groaned as the weight increased, his breath growing labored.

His eyelids shook.

All that weight on a body that was still healing was a lot.

Soren's eyes snapped open.

There it was.

A gigantic gray serpent, its body as thick as a man's torso, coiled above him. Three pairs of eyes shimmered along its head.

Each set glowed with iridescent, rainbow-like hues that did not belong to this world.

~Hiss~

Chronovore.

He wanted to scream, but its weight occupied him.

It dove for Soren. Fast.

.....

~Buzz

"Wake up, you lowlifes." A guard barked from outside. "There is no break today. You maggots have work to do in the glass."

–Metallic clicking.

All doors opened up.

Cynthia rolled from her bed, stretching; every movement she made shook the floor.

However, when she got to the door, she paused, turning to Soren's bed.

"Soooreeennn!" She called.

He groaned, opening his eyes. The night had not been hot, but he was drenched in sweat.

Last night felt like a dream, but Soren knew it wasn't.

The insatiable hunger he felt was evident that it wasn't.

Chronovore had come for him. This should not be possible. At least to the best of his knowledge, it was not.

Shades should not be capable of such independence.

But Chronovore—it was special. Soren remembered the description the first pilot had of it.

It was insatiable.

While it was easy to think that the word simply explained its appetite, Soren knew it was more than that.

His hand moved to the pendant around his neck. He squeezed tight—knowingly.

For some weird reason, tears fell down his eyes.

He had grown accustomed to the loops, to the suffering. And yet… some part of him had enjoyed the freedom. Even if it had lasted only a single day.

Cynthia walked over, steps heavy.

"Soooreeennn!" She called again.

He looked her way. "Hey, good morning to you too." He wiped his tears away. "Hold on, I'm just getting used to—"

She leaned in.

"Wait. What are you...? wooow—"

She picked him up and slung him over her shoulder like a wet rag.

"Wait, Cynthia, I can walk by myself... don't."

It was too late; she was already out the door.

As she passed the other cells, those that were already outside rushed back in, and those that were not yet out thanked their stars, or the god of the neural link.

"Oi, the whitey shares the same room with Dragon?" One man shook his head in pity.

"That's dinner waiting to happen." Another snorted.

"You dead whitey... dead meat." That same man with the yellowed teeth from yesterday.

Soren paid him no mind.

Meanwhile, the prisoners, following instructions from the comms, all made their way to the specified elevator.

All the while, Soren was on Cynthia's shoulders.

The elevator waiting for them looked like something ripped straight out of a mining operation: thick steel walls scarred by decades of use, exposed cables snaking along the sides, and massive bolts locking the frame together. The platform trembled as prisoners crowded in; each kept a good distance from Cynthia.

With a violent lurch and a deep mechanical buzz, the elevator descended.

Down.

And down.

Soren counted silently.

At least a hundred floors.

Wherever it was they were going was a place Blackspire Bastion Prison would rather have hidden.

The elevator doors buzzed open.

She put him down. "Beeeetteeeer?" She did the tapping thing with her fingers.

Soren smiled at her, nodding.

What a view it had been from on top her shoulders. He could tell she was just trying to make him feel better.

She nodded as she turned, walking away.

However, the moment he stepped out, the first thing that he noticed was that the air here was musky and metallic but still clear.

The ceiling soared so high it disappeared into darkness; the bright overhead lights looked like distant stars.

Thick cables stretched across the vast chamber like webs, humming with power.

To his right, crews swarmed over massive structures. Sparks flew. Hydraulic arms hissed. Technicians shouted commands as they worked across towering frames of metal and soulsteel.

And in front were a few prisoners praying on their knees.

Soren could hear their prayers. It was to the god of the neural link.

He looked up in that direction.

Soul mechas.

Beautiful and shiny.

Soren had seen them out in the open above the prison, but to think they had been moved here.

Then again, he did remember reading in a magazine that Soul Mechas were left to bathe in the sun so that they could get rid of any eldritch residue after every mission into the Glass.

People operated on the Soul Mechas, shouting orders and things like that as the sound of gears and motors filled the place.

And then in the distance, he saw them. Red tunics, swords at one side, Glasshearts at the other, dressed immaculately clean and sharp.

Soul Mecha pilots.

Seeing the Soul Mechas had told him who their pilots were. Seeing the pilots themselves drove it home.

Two siblings.

A tall young man in his twenties, with black hair and a look women could die for. And his younger sister.

She was not as tall, but she had her own unique charm and was beautiful, especially because of her constant cold expression and eyes that seemed to pry into one's soul with one look.

Too bad that they were not functional. Yes, she was blind—the curse of her Shade.

And yet, she was a pilot. Even now, she moved around with a cane in hand.

Unlike Commander Jared and Boyed, these two showed up in magazines a lot. They were very famous.

The Red Silence.

Soren couldn't help himself.

He bounced on his heels like an excited fangirl meeting a celebrity. If he could get just one autograph, prison might actually be worth it.

He could already imagine Tommy and Pencil's faces as he boasted with a smug look.

However, Billy's words pulled him out of his fantasy.

"Hey! What the hell do you think you're doing?" He snapped. "You aren't a cadet anymore. No pilot dreams for you. Now move."

Soren frowned. But he saw where the other prisoners were going, and he followed.

As he did, the blind girl turned in his direction, head following his retreating figure.

Soren did not know it yet, but this day was going to be the toughest day of his life yet.

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