The encounter with Auditor-7 had left a psychic frost in the air of Berth 42, a chill that no adjustment to the environmental controls could dispel. Kaelen felt watched now in a way that was both more terrifying and more liberating. Before, surveillance had been a hidden threat. Now it was an explicit condition of his existence. He was a specimen under a microscope, but the microscope's operator had just handed him a set of tools and said, "Show me what you can break."
He spent the next cycle in a state of focused mania. Zyx, vibrating with equal parts terror and excitement, provided a stream of data through their wall: schematics of low-priority data conduits, patterns of drone patrol blind spots, and the "acoustic shadows" in the Null Quarter's security mesh where small energy signatures could hide.
Kaelen's goal was no longer a single sensor. It was a prototype network node. He cannibalized the fried sensor, salvaging the crystalline lens and the copper filament array. Using the amplification crystal as a template, he shaved off three more small fragments with the laser-scalpel, each no larger than a grain of rice. These would be the cores of his distributed sensors.
The real breakthrough came from the tutorial file on the broken resonator core. The mages' approach was about resonance—attuning one's spirit to the harmonic frequency of a dimension or object. Kaelen's approach was computational. He wrote a program on his tablet that could analyze an energy signature (like the data-packet from Auditor-7 that had fried his first sensor) and derive its fundamental frequency pattern. Then, he could "tune" one of his crystal fragments by bombarding it with that pattern until it vibrated in sympathy, essentially turning it into a living tuning fork for that specific signature.
He tuned the first fragment to the residual energy trace Auditor-7 had left behind—a complex, chilly frequency his tablet labeled [SIG: SYNTH-ORG-HYBRID - AUDITOR CLASS]. The second fragment he tuned to the distinct "ping" of the Versity's standard administrative surveillance. The third he left open, a blank slate.
The housings were the challenge. They needed to be small, self-contained, passive (no power source that could be traced), and able to transmit data back to a central receiver. His solution was elegantly crude. He used hollow, inert psychic-residue crystals from his sorting duty as casings. Their property of "echoing" faint energy made them perfect for receiving the subtle vibrations of his tuned fragments. He attached a hair-thin filament of superconductive wire to each, which would act as both antenna and data line. These filaments would be patched into the existing, forgotten data conduits Zyx had mapped, using them as a wired network to send their whispers back to a central collection point: the hidden node.
He was building a nervous system for the Null Quarter's corpse.
His duty assignment the next cycle was a blessing: inventorying "Stable Inert Materials" in a storage annex adjacent to Sub-Basement 9. It was dull, solitary work, and it gave him access to the deeper infrastructure.
As he logged boxes of mineral composites, he also planted his first sensor. In a gap between a coolant pipe and a structural beam, he placed the psychic-residue crystal housing the fragment tuned to administrative surveillance. He carefully spliced its hair-thin filament into a dusty, inactive data-line that, according to Zyx's map, eventually looped back toward the area of his hidden node. He camouflaged it with a smear of compliant dust-gel from his maintenance kit.
A test. If it worked, it would be a proof of concept.
That evening, back in the hidden node, he connected his tablet to the old console. He initiated a scan of the dormant data-line he'd tapped into. For a long moment, nothing. Then, a faint, rhythmic pulse appeared on the spectral analyzer. Ping… ping… ping… It matched exactly the frequency of the standard surveillance sweeps. His sensor was detecting them and echoing the detection back through the wire.
It worked. He had an ear to the wall.
Emboldened, he planted the second sensor—the one tuned to Auditor-7's signature—near the access shaft to the waste processing hub, the auditor's last confirmed location. He didn't expect it to trigger often, but if the silent being returned, he would know.
The third, blank sensor he kept. He had an idea for it, but it required a sample. A sample he could only get by being more daring.
It was time to use the permission Auditor-7 had tacitly given. It was time to explore beyond the Null Quarter.
The connection to Node Omicron in the Foundation Vaults was his gateway. The node itself only offered logs and inventories. But Zyx, cross-referencing the Vaults' old architectural plans with current energy flow maps, had identified something promising.
"The Vaults are layered," Zyx explained during a weak-point conference. "High-security containment on the upper levels, raw material storage below, and at the very bottom, the Foundry Forge—where they break down irreparable magical items into base essence for reuse. The Forge is hot, noisy, and full of chaotic energy signatures. It's also the least-monitored area in the Spire's underbelly. A perfect place to… listen for interesting frequencies."
"Like what?" Kaelen asked.
"Like the resonance of broken teleportation anchors. Or misfired scrying spells. Or the death-cries of minor dimensional pockets. The raw static of magical failure. If you want to tune a sensor to detect exotic anomalies, you need a sample of exotic anomaly noise."
Kaelen saw the logic. His blank sensor needed a library of signatures to search for. The Forge was that library.
But getting there physically was impossible. The Foundation Vaults were in the Spire of Thaum's territory. A Null-Type would be detained on sight.
However, Node Omicron was a physical terminal in the Vaults. And it had diagnostic functions. Including, he discovered after deep digging, a remote diagnostic protocol for the Forge's filtration systems. It was a read-only function, meant to monitor stress on the filters that cleaned the magical residue from the air.
A read-only sensor feed. A window.
That night, during the sleep cycle, Kaelen sat in the hidden node. He routed his connection through the amplification crystal, boosting the signal until the link to Omicron was crystal clear. He navigated to the Forge Filtration Diagnostic suite.
A live data-feed opened. It wasn't visual. It was a torrent of raw telemetric data: temperature, particulate density, phasic energy levels, thaumic pressure. It was a waterfall of numbers and waveforms.
But his tablet, with its growing library of analytical algorithms, could parse it. It could identify patterns. He set it to record, to build a baseline of the Forge's "normal" chaotic state.
For an hour, nothing unusual appeared. Just the constant churn of magical dissolution.
Then, an alert flashed on the Forge's own system. [INTAKE: BATCH A-44. ITEM: FRACTURED SCYING MIRROR (SENTIENT-ATTUNED).]
The data-stream erupted. The phasic energy spiked into a bizarre, recursive pattern. The particulate density showed microscopic glass fragments laced with trapped psychic impressions. And the thaumic pressure waveform… it was screaming. A high-frequency, twisting shriek of data that represented the mirror's final, dying act of perception.
Kaelen's tablet captured it all. It isolated the unique frequency of the "scrying mirror death-cry." It was a signature of failed far-sight, of burst eyeballs and twisted visions.
He had his first exotic sample.
Over the next few hours, the Forge processed more items. A "Chronotic Loop" that had trapped a minor spirit in a two-second eternity—its signature was a perfectly repeating, despairing pulse. A "Weather-Control Scepter" that had caused a permanent lightning storm in a pocket realm—its dissolution gave off a jagged, crackling energy pattern.
Kaelen collected them all. He built a library of failure. Each signature was a key that could now be used to detect similar phenomena elsewhere.
He was so engrossed in the data harvest that he almost missed the subtle change in the feed from his own planted sensors. The administrative surveillance pings continued their regular rhythm. But the Auditor-7 sensor… it had just emitted a single, soft pulse. Not the full signature, but a faint echo, a ghost of a presence. As if something with a similar resonance had passed near the sensor, not directly by it.
Auditor-7 wasn't in the Quarter. But something related was. Another auditor? Or something else that shared its synthetic-organic nature?
He had no time to ponder. A new alert flashed from the Node Omicron feed, this one urgent and local to the Vaults.
[SECURITY INCIDENT: FOUNDRY FORGE - INTRUSION DETECTED.]
[LOCATION: FILTRATION DUCT GAMMA-7.]
[NATURE: UNAUTHORIZED BIO-SIGNATURE. CLASS: VERMIN-CLASS SCAVENGER.]
On the feed, a new, chaotic bio-signature appeared—a small, skittering energy pattern moving rapidly through the ductwork inside the Forge. A creature. Something living had gotten into the most toxic environment in the Spire.
The Forge's automated defenses activated. Toxin mist sprays. Incineration beams. The creature—the "vermin-class scavenger"—dodged with preternatural agility. It wasn't there for the magic. It was heading for the physical waste outflow—the pipe that expelled the rendered, inert materials.
As Kaelen watched the telemetry, a plan clicked into place. A reckless, stupid, brilliant plan.
The creature was about to escape the Forge via the waste outflow. That outflow, according to Zyx's cross-referenced maps, eventually connected to the Null Quarter's own reclamation systems. To Sub-Basement 9's dissolution vats.
If he could intercept it…
He didn't think. He acted. He slammed the manual override on the Forge's waste outflow routing—a function that was absolutely not for remote use from a legacy node. A function that required Level-3 Thaumic Technician clearance, which he most certainly did not have.
His tablet flashed a warning. [UNAUTHORIZED COMMAND. SECURITY PROTOCOLS ENGAGED.]
But he wasn't trying to command the Spire's systems. He was sending the command through Node Omicron, using its outdated, low-priority protocols. The security response was slow, confused. For three precious seconds, the system debated whether this was a legitimate, if bizarre, diagnostic command.
Three seconds was enough.
He rerouted the waste outflow from its standard path to a secondary, emergency purge line—a line that dumped directly into a holding tank in Sub-Basement 9 that was currently empty, slated for cleaning.
On the feed, he saw the vermin-signature shoot into the outflow pipe just as the route changed. The security protocols finally caught up, locking Node Omicron out of control functions. But the damage—or the opportunity—was done.
Kaelen was already moving. He burst from the hidden node, through the crawl space, and into the roaring waste hub. He sprinted past the now-repaired primary grinder to a secluded section marked "Emergency Purge Holding - Hazard."
A large, sealed tank, twice his height, sat against the wall. A pipe above it was vibrating. Something was inside.
He found the manual release wheel—a safety feature for maintenance. He strained against it. With a groan of disused mechanisms, the hatch at the base of the tank swung open.
Out spilled a torrent of warm, grey, inert slurry—the dissolved remains of magical items. And amidst the slurry, coughing and spluttering, was the "vermin."
It was not a rat or an insect. It was a small, furry, bipedal creature about the size of a cat, with large, luminous black eyes and six delicate, fin-like ears that twitched independently. Its fur was a mottled grey-brown, perfect camouflage against stone and conduit. It had long, clever-fingered hands. It looked up at Kaelen, blinked its huge eyes, and sneezed, expelling a small cloud of grey dust.
It didn't look dangerous. It looked terrified and curious.
His tablet scanned it. [BIOSIGNATURE: UNKNOWN. CLASSIFICATION APPROXIMATION: PANGALOSOME (MATTER-FORAGER SUB-TYPE). PSIONIC RESONANCE: NEGLIGIBLE. OBSERVED BEHAVIOR: SCAVENGING, BURROWING, ESCAPE ARTISTRY.]
A matter-forager. A creature that lived in the walls of cosmic institutions, surviving on discarded energy and physical scraps. It had been living in the Spire's Foundation Vaults.
The creature shook itself off, peered at Kaelen, then let out a series of soft, chirping clicks. It didn't seem hostile. It seemed… assessing.
Kaelen reached slowly into his pocket and pulled out a half-eaten nutrient bar from the Celestial Peak. He broke off a small piece and held it out.
The pangalosome sniffed the air, then skittered forward with startling speed. It snatched the morsel from his fingers, devoured it in two bites, and looked up expectantly.
"You're not supposed to be here," Kaelen said softly. "And neither am I, really."
The creature chirped again, then did something astonishing. It patted the pocket of Kaelen's jumpsuit—the pocket where he kept his blank, third sensor crystal.
As if it knew.
Kaelen took out the crystal. The pangalosome leaned close, its six ears fanning out. It let out a low hum. A vibration passed from the creature into the air, and the blank crystal fragment shivered in Kaelen's palm, its internal structure momentarily aligning to a new frequency—a quiet, skittering, hidden-thing frequency. The signature of a creature that lived unseen.
The pangalosome had just given him a sample of its own essence. A signature of stealth, of existing in the gaps.
Then, with a final chirp, it turned and shot up the wall, finding invisible grips in the smooth composite, and vanished into a ventilation shaft no larger than his fist.
Kaelen stood alone in the slurry, holding the now-tuned sensor. He had his third sample. Not of failure, but of successful, secret survival.
He had a network of ears in the Quarter. A backdoor into the Spire's basement. A library of magical failure. And now, the passive signature of a creature that could move unseen through it all.
Auditor-7 was watching an experiment. Kaelen would make sure the experiment yielded data they never expected. He wasn't just debugging the system anymore.
He was learning to speak its hidden languages. And the first word he'd learned was the quiet, skittering hum of things that live in the walls.