Chapter 1: The Bypass
The rain over New Veridia wasn't water. It was data. A perpetual, shimmering drizzle of light fell from the underbelly of the Paragon Spire's seventh floor, dissolving into mist on the corroded steel and neon-lit concrete of the fused city. It collected in gutters that glowed a faint, electric blue, casting long, wavering shadows.
Know Well navigated these shadows with the ease of a ghost. He moved not against the rhythm of the city, but within its pauses—between the heavy clank of an automated Guild patrol walker, the screech of a data-hawk from the crystalline forests that sprouted between skyscrapers, and the constant, sub-audible hum of the Codicil Grid. To most, it was the sound of order. To Know, it was the sound of a cage.
His destination was a relic: the 'Starlight Drive-In,' its massive screen a skeletal ruin against the lower cliffs of the Spire. The projection booth was his workshop.
The air inside was a comfortable mix of ozone, hot metal, and old paper. Diagrams of pre-Fusion circuitry were pinned next to sketches of mana-flow conduits. On a central workbench, lit by a solitary glow-lamp, lay Silo.
The AI's spider-drone body was still. A hairline fracture ran through its central processing crystal, leaking a faint, sickly light. Know ran a finger over the crack, his eyes closed. He wasn't praying. He was listening.
The Principle of Kinetics and Mana-Flow whispered to him. In his mind's eye, the fracture wasn't a break, but a river delta where energy bled out. He could see the discordant pattern, a stuttering rhythm against the drone's normal, clean frequency.
"The stabilizer core is fried," he muttered, opening his eyes. The part wasn't complex, but it was Guild-manufactured, etched with Codicil-compliance runes. A store-bought replacement would broadcast his location to every enforcer in the sector and try to force a system-handshake with Silo's non-existent Codicil, which would fry the AI's consciousness for good.
So, he would not replace it. He would bypass it.
He scavenged through his bins: a discarded mana-cell from a broken street cleaner, a sliver of crystal from a shattered Tower-borne monster, a coil of copper wire he'd painstakingly stripped from ancient, pre-Fusion wiring. None were perfect. Together, they could be.
For an hour, there was no sound but the soft hiss of his micro-solder and the focused rhythm of his breath. He wasn't building a copy. He was building a translation. A tiny, elegant circuit that would take Silo's unique, chaotic energy signature, translate it into something the drone's functions could use, and filter out the Codicil-seeking ping of the original design. It was an act of profound understanding, not programming.
As he worked, a memory surfaced, unbidden and sharp.
He was sixteen, hands black with grease and oil, in the husk of his old world garage. On the bench was 'Rex,' the clunky, beloved robot dog his sister Elara had built. After she'd been taken by the Guild, after her messages turned cold and logical, Rex had stopped working. No amount of repair fixed it.
He'd traced the problem to the sleek, Guild-issue "Codicil-Optimizer" chip she'd installed before she left. It was overriding his fixes, forcing 'optimal' behavior, stripping Rex of every quirky, joyful imperfection that made him theirs. In a fury of grief, Know hadn't tried to repair it. He'd jammed a screwdriver into the chip, shattered it, and built a new control board from scavenged parts. When Rex had jerked to life, movements clumsy and full of original, faulty character, Know had wept. It was the first time he understood: some systems aren't meant to be fixed. They're meant to be replaced.
A final, precise connection sparked. Know carefully placed the new, homemade core into Silo's chassis.
The drone's single lens flickered, then glowed a steady, warm amber.
SILO: "Boot sequence initiated. Diagnostics… anomalous. Core functionality at 98%. No Codicil handshake detected. This is… inefficient. And optimal." The AI's synthesized voice held a note of curiosity. "You built a paradox, Know Well."
"Just a workaround," Know said, a faint smile touching his lips. "Welcome back."
SILO: "My last memory is of a Guild patrol's mana-scanner. Their algorithms are adapting. They are searching for signal anomalies. For ghosts in their machine." The drone pivoted on the bench. "You are now a primary anomaly."
As if summoned, a piercing, automated siren cut through the distant city hum. A different sound—not the regular patrol rhythm. It was a search pattern. A hunter's pulse.
Red light from enforcement skimmers flashed through the cracks in the booth's walls, painting the room in urgent strokes of alarm.
Know's heart hammered against his ribs. The Artisan in him wanted to stay, to fortify, to build a better defense. The Anarchist, born in that garage years ago, screamed to run, to fight, to smash.
Silo's lens focused on him. "Probability assessment: Remaining stationary leads to capture at 96% likelihood. Conclusion: We must ascend."
Ascend. Move up into the uncontrolled, monster-infested floors of the Spire itself. Where the Codicil Grid was thin and Guild authority meant nothing against the native terrors.
The siren grew louder. They were triangulating.
Know made his choice. He grabbed a worn pack, throwing in tools, his few precious coils of wire, and the homemade core's schematics. He slung Silo onto his shoulder, where the drone latched on with delicate limbs.
He took one last look at his workshop—the sanctuary of understanding in a world of imposed rules. Then, he moved to the back wall, to a rusted service hatch that didn't lead to the city, but into the damp, bioluminescent moss and groaning metal of the Spire's interstitial spaces. The entrance to Floor 1.
He paused, hand on the cold latch. Behind him was the hunted, predictable life of a Pathless anomaly. Ahead was chaos, horror, and impossible challenge.
But ahead was also something else. Somewhere, in the incomprehensible heights of that prison-tower, was the truth of what happened to Elara. The truth of the system that took her. To find it, he couldn't just hide. He had to climb.
Know Well took a deep breath, opened the hatch, and stepped out of his world and into the Tower. The hunt was on, and the Pathless Artisan was no longer just surviving.
He was going to war.