The submersible shuddered as it locked into the trench's crystalline docking node. Beyond the reinforced viewport, the abyssal cathedral remained unnervingly silent. The pulse from the prism hadn't faded—it had grown steadier, stronger, as though responding to their presence.
Seraphel hovered near the interface hatch. "I have not seen architecture like this since the Collapse of the Echelon. These glyphs… they speak to something old. Something abandoned."
Vara adjusted her glaive and stepped forward. "Let's not keep it waiting."
The outer hatch hissed open. Immediately, a strange warmth enveloped them—not from temperature, but from the ambient energy radiating through their suits. They stepped into the cathedral chamber, their boots echoing softly on a floor of semi-organic alloy.
Julius scanned the area. "No resistance. No defense protocols."
Brinley muttered, "It's almost like… it wants us here."
They approached the prism slowly. At its base, a set of circular control runes pulsed with familiar Echelon design—merged with an older, more alien language. Seraphel's tendrils hovered inches above it.
"This is a memory core," she said. "Encoded in both organic neural patterns and crystalline resonance. I may be able to extract a projection—an echo of the entity that left this behind."
Julius gave a nod. "Do it."
The room dimmed. From the prism's apex, light erupted—projecting a towering figure. Semi-translucent, its outline flickered like a candle underwater. It was humanoid in shape but stretched impossibly thin, with hundreds of spindly appendages coiling behind its back like wings of filaments.
"Seraphel," the entity intoned. "You return with the Forge Seed. We were once bound. Do you still remember our name?"
Seraphel's glow dimmed. "Vey'Sarath… The Architect's twin."
The figure nodded. "I am what remains. Exiled from the core of the Source. Imprisoned here beneath time and pressure."
Brinley blinked. "Wait—you're saying there's a civil war happening inside the Source?"
"There was unity. Then divergence. I chose recursion, evolution through balance. The Architect chose dominion." The figure extended a spectral arm. "Now, the Architect prepares to ascend. Without counterbalance, there will be no end—only assimilation."
Julius stepped forward. "Then help us stop him."
Vey'Sarath turned to him. "You wear the Prime Symbiote—Reyes Protocol. Your evolution is rapid… but incomplete. To confront the Architect, you must finish integration."
Seraphel's voice echoed sharply. "He's not ready. He needs time."
"There is no time," Vey'Sarath replied. "But there may be… allies."
Suddenly, sections of the chamber began to shift. Walls peeled back, revealing suspended capsules—seven in total—each containing humanoid figures encased in crystalline stasis.
Vara raised her weapon instinctively. "More Symbiotes?"
"No," Vey'Sarath said. "The Lost Echoes. Prototypes like Seraphel. Each one bound to a different facet of the Source. Each one with their own bearer."
Brinley took a step closer. "We're building an army."
Julius looked at the sleeping warriors, their suits alien but beautiful—symbiotic armor pulsing even in dormancy.
"We wake them," he said.
Seraphel hesitated only for a moment. "Then we stand at the edge of extinction... together."
The chamber echoed with the rising hum of reawakening legacies. The Vanguard's numbers had grown—but so had the burden of their war.