Chapter 250: Foreign Energy
Later that night, the apartment was quiet again.
Victoria had gone to bed, the dishes washed, the music gone.
Merlin sat alone in his room, the faint hum of the system lingering at the edge of hearing.
He opened his hand and watched a flicker of mana dance between his fingers, thin and pale, laced with something... foreign.
It shimmered not like his usual affinities, but like liquid light.
Unfamiliar. Unstable.
[Unregistered energy detected.]
[Containment level: Stable — for now.]
Merlin frowned. "You were silent for hours. Why speak now?"
No response. Just that faint, rhythmic pulse again, deeper this time, resonating with his heartbeat.
He stood and crossed to the window, pushing it open. The night air rolled in cool and damp, brushing against his face.
Below, the city was alive. But from here, it felt far away, small. Fragile.
He closed his eyes.
’...I’m really here, aren’t I?’
The question was quiet, but it lingered.
For all the boardrooms, for all the control he’d clawed back, he was still an outsider in someone else’s story. A reader pretending to belong.
And somewhere, deep beneath the layers of code and steel, something was watching him back.
He exhaled, slow and deliberate, the breath fogging against the glass.
"...Whatever’s coming," he said softly, "I’ll face it."
The pulse under his skin steadied, once, twice, then faded.
Merlin shut the window, turned off the lights, and lay back on his bed.
The ceiling above him blurred, his thoughts softening.
For the first time in days, sleep came easily.
And just before it took him —
a faint voice whispered from nowhere and everywhere at once.
[We are not done, yet.]
His fingers twitched. His breath caught.
But the darkness claimed him before he could answer.
Merlin stood on Invoke Tower’s balcony, a line of glass and wind cutting the night open beneath him. Neon bled off the streets, pooling between skyscrapers like molten color.
He could almost taste iron in the air, the metallic scent of the forges that never stopped, of the weapons Invoke built for a world always preparing for war.
Behind him, footsteps broke the quiet. Polished, deliberate.
"Mr. Everhart," came Kael’s voice, smooth, measured, the sound of a man who never asked for attention but always received it. "You should rest. The day’s work isn’t done tomorrow."
Merlin turned slightly, hands resting on the railing. "I’ll rest when my head stops spinning from the numbers you threw at me."
A faint chuckle. "Good. Confusion means you’re paying attention."
Kael stepped beside him. The chairman’s expression looked carved rather than worn, creases formed by will, not time. He held two crystal glasses, poured amber liquid into both, and offered one to Merlin.
Merlin accepted out of politeness, letting the scent of whiskey rise between them.
"You wanted to see me privately," Kael said. "It’s tradition, after all. Every new board member gets to learn how the tower really breathes."
Merlin met his gaze. "You make it sound alive."
Kael’s eyes drifted toward the skyline. "In a way, it is. Companies like this outgrow the people who build them. They start thinking, deciding, devouring on their own. Most men spend their lives trying to control that hunger."
Merlin took a slow sip. "And you?"
"I feed it when it’s useful," Kael said simply.
They stood in silence for a few beats, the wind tugging at their sleeves. Then Kael turned slightly, studying him. "You’re wondering why we indulged you so easily. Eight percent ownership should not buy such trust. You’re right to be suspicious."
Merlin didn’t deny it.
"The truth," Kael continued, "is that Invoke has been preparing something beyond our usual line. It requires... new perspectives. We’ve been at it for years, but the board remains divided."
"The Lazarus Directive," Merlin said quietly.
Kael’s brow lifted. "So you’ve heard."
"It was mentioned at the table. Only by name."
"Names are never accidents here." The older man set his glass down on the railing. "You’re a smart young man, Everhart. You learn quickly, listen even when you pretend not to. That’s why I’m going to show you something the rest of the board hasn’t yet seen in full."
Merlin’s heartbeat shifted, slow but deliberate. "A demonstration?"
Kael shook his head. "A revelation."
He motioned for Merlin to follow and led him back through the glass doors, down the quiet executive corridor lined with security glyphs and mana sensors.
Their footsteps echoed off marble until they reached a restricted elevator. Kael pressed his palm to the console. The door sighed open, sealing them into darkness as they descended.
The hum deepened; air pressure thickened.
After a long moment, Kael spoke again. "Lazarus Directive began as a military project, yes, but it’s more than weaponry. It’s an attempt to rewrite dependency itself. Energy cores that self-replicate. Systems that repair themselves after total destruction. A machine that, in theory, never dies."
Merlin frowned. "Hence Lazarus."
Kael nodded, eyes glinting in the dim light. "Resurrection through mechanism. Our engineers reached limits years ago, limits of mana density, of containment. Then one day a prototype woke itself."
The elevator chimed open into a vast chamber lit by cool blue light. Rows of containment tanks glimmered ahead, glass veined with sigils. Inside one of them floated a sphere of pale luminescence, pulsing like a slow heartbeat.
Merlin felt it the instant he stepped in: pressure, not physical, but something deeper. The same quiet hum he sensed in high-tier affinities, except condensed, restrained.
"What you see," Kael said, voice carrying across the echoing hall, "is an artificial core. Not forged, not grown. Born from feedback between mana and computation. It thinks in patterns, adapts to environments. We call it Unit Seven."
Merlin’s eyes narrowed. "And it works?"
"For the moment." Kael walked closer, hands clasped behind his back. "It devoured three previous containers before stabilizing. Each iteration stronger, smarter. The others on the board want to scrap it, too unpredictable. But I see potential. A chance to transcend every limitation mortals and gods placed on us."
Merlin studied the glow. The pulse inside quickened slightly, as if aware of his attention. A low vibration moved through the floor and up his bones.
"Does it react to emotion?" he asked.
Kael’s lips curved faintly. "We don’t know. It reacts to intent."
Merlin almost smiled. "Intent, huh."