Pepe zipped back up the tunnel with a faint hiss of servos, lights flickering in annoyed pulses.

  “Mission complete,” he declared, spinning midair like a tired drone at a talent show. “I have returned from the land of planetary death engines. You’re welcome.”

  Jarek looked up. “Anything move while you were down there?”

  Pepe spun again. “Only my trust in subterranean architecture. And possibly my internal wiring.”

  Sai stepped forward. “Report.”

  Pepe dimmed his lights, voice dropping. “An underground hangar. Giant. Lined with bombers, warships—planet-killers. No crew. No heat signatures. Not even dust.”

  Brinn’s brow furrowed. “And no signs of activation?”

  “Not yet,” Pepe said. “But everything’s fueled. Docking clamps are still pressurized. One button—and they rise.”

  Ramm let out a low whistle. “So… we’re standing on a bomb with twenty thousand engines.”

  “Twenty-six thousand,” Pepe corrected. “But who’s counting?”

  Jarek crossed his arms. “We check the other corridor. Thoroughly.”

  Pepe jerked midair. “Excuse me? That was not part of the bargain. I scouted one hallway. That’s a full scouting quota.”

  Sai gave him a calm look. “You’re a survey bot.”

  “That’s offensive,” Pepe said flatly. “I’m a sarcastic reconnaissance specialist.”

  “You’re going,” Jarek said.

  Pepe grumbled all the way down the right tunnel, muttering about labor violations and hostile work environments.

  A few minutes passed.

  Then his voice came over the comms, quieter now. “You’re gonna want to see this.”

  They moved fast.

  The right corridor was wider than the left, and colder. The walls gleamed with dark steel, reinforced with thick vertical braces like ribs. Glowing conduits pulsed faintly beneath their feet, creating the illusion that they were walking on the veins of some slumbering titan.

  Eventually, the corridor opened.

  Into something vast.

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  The chamber was cathedral-like, a massive dome of metal and stone that swallowed sound and light. Above, the ceiling vanished into darkness. Below, the floor stretched like a plaza—circular, ringed by carved pillars and cracked floor panels layered with dust and age.

  And at the far end: seven arched tunnels.

  Each arch was ten meters tall, adorned with intricate carvings—geometric, alien, beautiful and unsettling.

  Six of the arches were guarded.

  Towering sentinels stood before them—armored humanoids, perhaps ten feet tall, clad in ancient alloy. They were motionless, but not lifeless. Their helms gleamed faintly, each bearing a different glyph carved into the forehead. Their weapons—long polearms topped with blades—rested like spears, tips embedded in the ground before them.

  The seventh tunnel—the center—was unguarded.

  “Well, this isn’t creepy at all,” Ramm muttered, already wandering toward the nearest sentinel. “This is like... endgame stuff. Right before a boss fight.”

  “Ramm,” Jarek growled.

  But Ramm kept walking, eyes wide.

  “Ramm—” Brinn warned.

  Ramm reached out.

  Brinn tackled him sideways with a grunt.

  They hit the ground hard.

  “I didn’t touch it!” Ramm protested.

  “You almost did,” Brinn snapped, rolling off him and standing again.

  Pepe hovered low. “Let’s be clear: Ramm is now banned from air molecules.”

  “Seriously?” Ramm said. “I’m just trying to help!”

  “You’re trying to awaken a demi-god,” Jarek muttered. “Again.”

  Brinn eyed the sentinels warily. “I’ve seen something like them in records. Supposedly, the Weavers unearthed ancient guards on dead worlds. Not theirs. Pre-Weaver. They never found out who built them.”

  “They called them Watchers,” Sai said quietly. “Defensive constructs. But not for cities. For vaults. For secrets.”

  “And what do six Watchers guard?” Jarek asked.

  Sai pointed down the center corridor. “The one they’re not guarding.”

  They all looked.

  The seventh tunnel yawned ahead—empty, silent. Its arch glowed faintly. No guards. No barriers.

  “Classic trap setup,” Ramm muttered. “Empty door in a hall of death. What could go wrong?”

  “Or it’s the only path not protected because it doesn’t need to be,” Brinn said. “The others might lead to things the Watchers must contain.”

  Ramm crossed his arms. “So we go through the one with the mystery instead of the murder?”

  “Exactly,” Sai said.

  They stood there in silence for a moment, six armored titans unmoving before them.

  Pepe finally spoke. “If anyone sneezes on one of these things, I’m self-destructing.”

  “I’d pay to see that,” Jarek said, already moving toward the unguarded arch.

  They stood in the threshold of the middle tunnel, the six Watchers still looming behind them like judgment carved in metal.

  Pepe hovered a little closer to Jarek, his voice a nervous whisper. “Just for the record—if those things start moving, I’m flying directly into the nearest vent.”

  Ramm adjusted his coat, muttering, “I feel like this is the part where the background music gets ominous.”

  Brinn didn’t respond. He stared back once more at the guardians. “They haven’t moved. But something about them… feels like they’re waiting for permission.”

  “For what?” Ramm asked.

  Brinn shook his head. “That’s what worries me.”

  Sai moved first, slipping through the archway into the unguarded passage beyond. “Let’s find out what they weren’t guarding.”

  Jarek followed, weapon low but ready.

  Pepe floated nervously behind, muttering diagnostic checks to himself.

  Brinn came next, still casting glances over his shoulder.

  And Ramm, bringing up the rear, paused one last time before stepping through. He looked at the Watchers—tall, silent, eternal.

  “I’ll name you all if you follow me,” he muttered. “I swear.”

  They descended into the tunnel.

  No screams. No alarms. No thunder.

  Just the sound of quiet footsteps, and the weight of being watched.

  Kevin.