Ward’s hand tensed on the heavy iron door handle.
“You’re here to talk, Riven. That’s it. No games,” he said.
“Games?” The Peddler chuckled, the sound curling like smoke. “No, Ward. We had a deal, I believe. Or did you forget? Your lovely Ryn got the castle supplies, and a deal, as they say, is a deal.”
After a tense moment, Ward jerked his head toward the room. “Make it quick. And that cart,” Ward said, motioning toward the rickety thing overloaded with wares, “stays outside.”
As Riven moved the cart to the side, its wheels squealing on the stone, he noticed a blue ember glowing on a forgotten quantum core buried in the mountain of junk, a steady thrum pulsing from it. He adjusted his cloak, watching, before sliding it into his cloak pocket.
Ward pushed the door open, and Riven slipped through, his boots a gentle rhythm against the polished stone floor.
The room beyond was a strange mix of grandeur and confinement. Tapestries lined the walls, silver etching gleaming off candlelight. A writing desk, its surface scattered with unused paper and ink, sat in a corner. But the bed dominated the room, its silken coverlets pooling around its base. Clothes were being laid out, as well as a suitcase.
Mari stood beside Sarah, visibly better, helping her pack. Suddenly, she straightened, startled. “Riven?” Then she glanced at Sarah, protective. “Don’t trust him.”
“And why would she trust a castle rat?” Riven dismissed Mari as she moved toward him, clearly trying to push him out.
“It’s alright, Mari,” Sarah said. “You can leave us. We have some business.”
“You have business with him?” Mari asked, eyeing him coldly as she passed him.
“Be gone, rat,” Riven muttered. “Filthy servants. Not like us merchants—a superior class. A business class.”
As Mari slipped out, shutting the door behind her, Riven pivoted to the packed bags. “And what have we here, my lady?” he said smoothly. “Are you planning a trip?”
Riven moved to the center of the room, slipping through firelit shadows. His boots tapped softly, the sound swallowed by the thick rug beneath him.
Then, his coat twitched. Light filtered through the fabric, thin and cool. The processor, still pulsing.
Riven frowned slightly while withdrawing it from his pocket, placing it on the desk between them. The wires, like veins, vibrated with a low hum that seemed to match the frequency in the castle itself.
Sarah saw it; she didn’t stop it. Instead, she let the pulse rise and fall, her breath syncing with its rhythm, matching the vibration in the stone.
“What do you want, Riven?”
Riven’s smirk thinned. His gaze moved from the module to her. “You are—she… I mean, you are the one, the chosen one. The final Oona—Oona 13.”
Saying that made him stumble back, surprised by his own words.
Sarah eyed him suspiciously. “And what do you know about me?”
Riven exhaled, fingers tightening on the edge of the desk. “I didn’t expect this.”
The blue light surged brighter, licking at the walls, painting strange shifting shadows and rivers of light. Riven’s eyes turned to saucers.
“You are the key,” he whispered. “You are Nexus’s child… fully human, yet fully machine. You are the only one who can unlock the Covenant, a fractured code spread across a million universes. You were made for this. It’s… the Candlemakers’ prophecy.”
Sarah staggered back, something sharp splintering through her mind. A thousand moments vibrated at once, memories and voices cascading like a waterfall. The walls stretched and distorted—
Then she turned it off—the light vanished, and the neural lattice shut down.
Riven picked it up, examining its cold circuits. His expression darkened.
“No,” Sarah whispered. “It can’t be me. I’m just Sarah. Just a person… I can’t even do anything right. I did it… I betrayed Martha, the Candlemakers.”
“You did,” Riven cut in, his voice suddenly cold, putting the electronika back down. “You betrayed her. You betrayed everyone. And now, you are betraying yourself… But you’ll finish what you were made for. It’s in your design. Just as I was designed, for this.”
He recoiled, assessing her, then swiveled toward the door. “I’ll be taking you now.”
Sarah looked at him, and something in her understanding shifted. “You are,” she murmured. “You are one of us…”
Riven stopped as the truth took shape between them.
“Well, what of it?” he said lightly. “Candlemakers, all. We live to serve. Come on, we have work to do. I’ll take you home.”
Sarah hesitated, looking at her packed bags. The thought of not hiding—of having a home—was enticing.
“No,” she said, staggering back. “You have a choice, too. Like me.”
Riven was clearly surprised. An android didn’t talk back. But suddenly, he froze… Did he have a choice? But his hesitation didn’t last. He lunged at her, reaching for her arm.
Riven circled the bed in two quick strides. Sarah backed up fast, the mattress brushing her hip, her spine hitting the corner wall.
A commotion. She screamed—short, sharp. The door burst open, Ward storming in. Sarah was pressed into the corner, Riven between her and the bed.
“What is going on?” Ward demanded, seeing Sarah cornered. His gaze locked onto Riven.
Ward’s hand hovered over the hilt of his sword. “Oh no. You won’t touch her.”
Riven didn’t falter, standing his ground. “She belongs to me.”
“You want to keep your bowels, you’ll walk away,” Ward growled. “I’ll make a mess of your bones faster than you can sell snake oil, Peddler.”
Riven sighed, shaking his head. “Such a waste, Ward. You have no idea what she’s capable of. What she’s done here, with Martha, that’s just the start. But very well.”
He shifted his weight. In a blur, he lunged around the foot of the bed toward Sarah, testing Ward’s reach.
Sarah pressed tighter into the corner, but she couldn’t move far.
Ward was faster. He stepped wide, sword already drawn. His blade flashed between them, catching the firelight as it split the air.
Riven stopped just short, flashing a smile that turned bitter with anger. Ward’s voice was a low growl. “Try it again, and it’ll be your guts on the floor.”
Slowly, Riven retreated, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Fine.”
He turned, his coat swishing as he strode toward the door. As he passed Ward, he leaned in, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “She’ll destroy everything, you too. It’s what she was made to do.”
At the threshold he spun, fixing Sarah with a glare.
“And you will join me,” he spat, then vanished through the door.
Ward’s grip on his sword didn’t loosen until Riven’s footsteps faded down the corridor. He swiveled to Sarah, sheathing his blade with a quick motion.
“Don’t let him decide for you,” he said in a softer tone before shutting the door.
A dim blue strobe spilled from the desk as the circuit re-energized. Sarah picked it up.
“Sarah,” she heard a voice. Was it hers? Riven’s? Nexus? Martha?
As she picked up the core, the room changed, transformed. The hum deepened, like something shifting in the unseen space between stars.
The chamber disappeared, and for a moment, she saw—a thousand versions of herself, all poised at the edge of this choice. Some knelt before the module. Some broke it. Some became it. Some erased it entirely.
“Do you know what you are, Sarah?” came the voice again. This time, she didn’t fight it. The universe split, spilling out, but there was no headache. She lifted the processor from the circuit, and as she did, she blended into it, blurring the lines.
“A Candlemaker,” she responded. “That’s all. My choice.”
The processor dropped to the ground with a clink, its light expiring. She drove her heel down, grinding the circuit into the exposed stone.