The lift doors groaned open, and the air changed.

  Gone was the sterile chill of the Black Ring above. Here, everything felt older. Heavier. A mineral-rich dampness drifted up from the floor, thick with dust and something else—metal, perhaps. Or memory.

  The chamber beyond was vast. Natural stone carved open like a scar, reinforced with thick struts of blackened alloy and massive bone-white cables that hung like the tendons of a dead god. The crew stepped out in silence, their footsteps echoing faintly.

  “This… is not a sublevel,” Jarek muttered, eyes scanning the massive space. His blaster was already drawn, low and steady.

  Sai ghosted past him, merging with the shadows along the nearest wall. He didn’t speak—he rarely did when something felt off. And right now, everything felt off.

  Pepe hovered above the group, casting a bobbing light from his chassis. “Welcome to Discount Dwarven Mines. No treasure. No mead. All trauma.”

  Brinn sniffed the air and grimaced. “Too cold for geothermal. This wasn’t carved for energy or storage.”

  “It was carved to hide something,” Sai replied from somewhere near the wall.

  The cavern was large enough to fit a ship. Easily. The lift shaft they’d descended should’ve ended in another hallway or loading dock. Instead, it opened into a yawning stone cathedral—ancient but reinforced with a mesh of tech that looked half Weavernet, half forgotten age.

  Dominating the space were three enormous doors, each set into its own alcove like sleeping titans. They stood at least four stories high, sealed and unmoving.

  The leftmost door bore an etched sigil like a circular eye, lined with organic tendrils that curled inward like a vortex. The middle was etched with tight, geometric lines resembling circuit paths fractured in a spiral. The rightmost door was rougher, carved with sharp slashes—angled like fangs or claws pressed into metal.

  “Three doors,” Ramm said, stepping forward and pointing dramatically. “Each probably holding a different flavor of regret.”

  “Or they’re all bad,” Jarek replied flatly. “Don’t pick one like it’s a vending machine.”

  Brinn moved closer to the doors, his hand raised but not touching. “No mechanisms. No consoles. Just dead weight.”

  “Not dead,” Sai corrected quietly. “Dormant.”

  He crouched slightly, hand resting near his belt—not drawing a blade, but close.

  “They’re not sensing us. They’re... responding. Like they were told to wake up if we came.”

  The stone and metal around them hummed faintly now. Barely audible. Like something holding its breath.

  They fanned out to inspect the chamber. Along the walls were alcoves housing what first looked like statues. Dozens. Maybe more. Featureless humanoid figures, each about seven feet tall, metallic bodies wrapped in sleek plating with no visible joints or facial features. They stood in perfect formation—hands at their sides, heads bowed.

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  Pepe floated past one and blinked. “Okay. Official vote: super cursed.”

  “They’re not decorative,” Brinn said, frowning. “Look at the design. Plated joints. Reinforced chests. These were made for combat.”

  “Maybe they’re broken?” Ramm offered, eyes dancing with curiosity. “Like... ‘Oh no, ancient tech, how mysterious, guess we’ll never know’ broken.”

  He leaned in with a squint.

  “Actually, wait—I read about stuff like this once. Old post about a sleeper army buried under Arcadia. Everyone called it fringe fiction... but this? This is way too polished for scrap.”

  “Don’t—” Brinn started.

  Ramm had already reached out. He poked one gently in the chest.

  “Ramm!” Jarek snapped.

  “I barely touched it! Like, spiritually!”

  The figure’s head twitched.

  A low vibration spread through the floor. Dust trembled loose from the ceiling. Along the walls, the glass tubes began to glow faintly—blue pulses running through them like arteries remembering how to beat.

  Sai was already moving.

  “Brinn—?”

  “Yeah,” Brinn growled. “They're waking up.”

  Pepe let out a long, slow beep. “This is why we can’t have ancient nice things.”

  One of the constructs lifted its head. The movement was smooth. Too smooth. Its body unfolded, joints separating as internal mechanisms hummed to life. The others followed, heads rising in unison, arms twitching.

  And then the light behind their chestplates pulsed—a unified glow across the entire row.

  “Defensive systems engaged,” Sai said. “Standard automated response.”

  “To what?” Jarek asked.

  “To us,” Sai replied.

  The robots began to move.

  The first stepped down from its alcove with a heavy clunk. Then another. Then five more. The noise escalated—metal on stone, servos engaging, power cores spinning up. One reached behind its back and produced a long, crackling staff. Another extended a blade from its forearm.

  “Oh good,” Ramm muttered, powering up his cyber glove. “Now we’re making friends.”

  “Spread out!” Jarek barked. “Do not let them surround us!”

  Brinn slammed his fists together, igniting his flame runes in a pulse of molten orange. The air shimmered around him. “Finally.”

  Pepe shot upward. “Initiating sarcastic combat mode. Sassy quotes armed and ready!”

  The constructs broke formation and surged.

  Sai didn’t run. He flowed—veiled in flickering shadow like smoke caught in motion, blade cutting silence through the chaos.

  Jarek rolled behind a broken crate and popped two shots into the lead unit’s shoulder—it staggered, but didn’t fall. No blood. No scream. Just the hiss of recalibration.

  “Brinn, right!” he shouted.

  “Already on it!”

  Brinn intercepted the machine barreling toward Ramm with a shoulder check that sounded like thunder. Metal crumpled. Sparks flew. He followed with a downward hammer strike, smashing its chestplate and driving it to the ground.

  Ramm, emboldened, yelled, “Let’s goooo! I knew poking ancient deathbots was the right call!”

  Pepe buzzed in over comms. “Statistical analysis says you’re a moron.”

  Sai reappeared in the shadow behind one of the mid-tier constructs and jammed his dagger into a seam under the neckplate. It hissed once, convulsed, and fell backward with a crash.

  The others didn’t even pause. They had no fear. No warning system. Just programming.

  One leapt from a ledge above, crashing down in front of Jarek. He ducked beneath the strike and fired up into its core. Another construct swiped at Brinn, who caught the arm mid-swing and twisted, turning its own momentum against it.

  “I could use some backup!” Ramm shouted, dancing backward as one of the robots tried to impale him with a glowing spike.

  “Then stop dancing!” Jarek snapped.

  “I’m improvising!”

  Sai vaulted across a fallen girder and tackled a unit mid-stride, slamming it into the wall. Sparks scattered as his blade carved through exposed circuits.

  Pepe buzzed by again. “Status update: we’re all still alive. Marginally. Let’s ruin that average!”

  The chamber echoed with the sound of battle—gunfire, metal, fire, shouting.

  And through it all, the three sealed doors remained untouched. Unmoved.

  Watching.

  Waiting.

  (Thanks, Ramm.)

  “inspired” moments in the Starforged campaign this story is based on—where curiosity, terrible impulse control, and a failed roll triggered an entire chamber full of dormant constructs.