I waved goodbye as María's sleek sports car pulled away from Rusty's, the red taillights blurring into the neon soup of The Foundation. The burger sat heavy in my stomach—real meat, not the synthetic stuff I usually scraped together enough credits for—and my mind felt just as weighted.
"Two days," I muttered to myself, watching the car disappear around a corner. María would be back then, ready to collect me from my actual address and haul me off to Catalyst Academy to start my new life as a legitimate hunter-in-training.
I rolled my shoulders, feeling the synthetic skin patches pull tight over my healing wounds. The Cathedral gate seemed like a distant nightmare now, but the aches were real enough. At least I'd gotten a decent meal out of this mess.
As I started the twenty-minute walk back to my apartment, I replayed the conversation with the Demara women. María with her easy confidence and genuine warmth that somehow never felt condescending. And Eliza...
"Definitely would," I muttered, then caught myself. Shook my head. Exhaustion was making me stupid.
Neo-Atlanta's Foundation level spread around me in all its grimy glory. The city never truly slept—especially not this part of it. Even at this late hour, street vendors hawked questionable food from carts retrofitted with salvaged filtration systems. The steam rising from their woks and grills carried the scent of cheap synthetic protein dressed up with enough spices to mask its origin.
"Fresh noodles! Real veggies!" called a wrinkled old woman as I passed, her cart's crystal-powered heater bathing her in an orange glow. Her eyes, milky with cataracts, somehow still found mine. "You look hungry, boy!"
"Just ate," I called back, patting my stomach.
She cackled. "You Foundation boys, always hungry! Come back tomorrow!"
I waved and kept moving. Above me, the massive support structures of The Meridian blocked out most of the night sky, their crystal-reinforced columns thrumming with energy. Occasional gaps revealed glimpses of The Crown, its gleaming spires and floating platforms so distant they might as well have been stars. Another world entirely, populated by people who'd never know what it was like down here in the muck.
A group of kids—couldn't have been older than twelve—huddled around a broken crystal lamp in an alley, trying to harvest the last dregs of energy from its fractured core. One of them looked up as I passed, his eyes reflecting the lamp's dying glow. I recognized that look. Used to wear it myself.
I kept walking.
The night air grew colder as I moved deeper into the residential zones. Here, the buildings crowded together like bad teeth, leaning on each other for support. Most were pre-Cataclysm structures, retrofitted and subdivided until the original designs were barely recognizable. Power lines sagged between them, humming with stolen electricity. The smell of cooking oil, unwashed bodies, and desperation hung in the air.
Home sweet home.
My building stood at the end of a narrow street, six stories of crumbling concrete with windows patched with everything from plexiglass to cardboard. The security gate had been broken for as long as I'd lived there, hanging open on one rusted hinge. I slipped through and took the stairs up to the fourth floor, avoiding the elevator that worked maybe one day out of five.
The hallway lights flickered, casting long shadows that danced along the peeling wallpaper. Mrs. Kwan's door was open a crack as I passed, her dozen cats mewling inside. Old man Petrov sat outside his apartment, cleaning a disassembled pulse pistol by the light of a portable crystal lamp. He nodded as I passed. I nodded back. That was the extent of our relationship, and it suited us both fine.
My door—4C—was just as I'd left it, security bolt still intact. I pressed my palm against the scanner, wincing as it drew a drop of blood to verify my identity. The cheap system couldn't afford the more sophisticated biometrics used upstairs in The Meridian.
The lock clicked, and I pushed inside.
My apartment was sparse, but it was mine. One main room that served as living area, dining room, and kitchen, plus a bathroom hardly big enough to turn around in. A mattress lay in the corner, sheets rumpled but clean. The secondhand sofa I'd salvaged from a junk heap dominated the main space, its cushions worn but still comfortable. A small table with one chair sat under the window, which offered a spectacular view of the building across the alley.
I locked the door behind me, engaged the security bolt, and collapsed onto the sofa with a groan. Every muscle in my body seemed to remember at once just how close I'd come to dying today.
For a long moment, I just breathed, staring at the water stain on the ceiling that vaguely resembled Neo-Atlanta's skyline. Then I closed my eyes.
"Alright, Minerva," I said aloud. "We need to talk."
No response.
I frowned, concentrating harder. 'Minerva? You there?'
『I am always here, Pierre,』 her voice finally came, resonating within my mind. 『You need only direct your thoughts inward.』
'Great. So how do I get back to that obsidian throne room? My... inner territory, or whatever you called it?'
『You wish to return there? Interesting.』
'Don't act surprised. You knew I'd have questions.'
『Indeed.』 I could almost hear the smile in her voice. 『Close your eyes. Focus on your breathing. Visualize the chamber—the obsidian walls, the marble floor veined with your Essentia's color. Feel yourself being drawn inward, into the core of your consciousness.』
I followed her instructions, my breathing slowing as I pictured the strange throne room. For a moment, nothing happened. Then I felt a sudden vertigo, as if I were falling without moving.
When I opened my eyes, I was standing in the obsidian chamber once more. The walls gleamed with a dark luster, and the orange-magenta veins in the floor pulsed gently. The throne stood empty at the far end.
Minerva materialized before me, her form more defined than in our previous encounter. Her black hair cascaded down her back, transitioning to silver at the ends. Those gold-flecked eyes studied me with predatory intensity, cat-like pupils dilating slightly.
"You've returned," she said, her voice no longer just in my head but resonating through the chamber. "Have you made your decision?"
I crossed my arms, keeping my distance. "I'm here to negotiate."
Her lips curved into a smile as she circled me slowly. "Negotiate? I believed I made a generous offer. Your continued existence, enhanced abilities, knowledge to save your mother... and in return, I merely ask for a vessel."
"Yeah, about that." I turned to follow her movement, unwilling to let her at my back. "You're not telling me everything. What exactly does being your 'vessel' entail? What happens to me when you're in control?"
Minerva stopped, tilting her head slightly. Her hair shifted like liquid shadow. "You remain aware, observing. Think of it as watching through your own eyes while someone else drives your body."
"That sounds fucking terrible."
She laughed, the sound echoing oddly in the chamber. "Most would consider it a small price for the power I offer."
"I'm not most people." I gestured around us. "And this whole setup—the mysterious goddess, the doomsday prophecy, the perfect solution that just happens to benefit you—it's all a little too convenient."
Minerva's eyes narrowed, the golden glow intensifying. "You think I fabricated the threat? That I chose you on a whim?"
"I think you're desperate," I countered. "You said yourself you're dying. That means you need me more than I need you."
The floor beneath us pulsed more rapidly, the orange-magenta veins brightening with my rising emotions. Minerva noticed, her gaze dropping briefly before returning to my face.
"Perhaps," she conceded, moving closer. "But your mother is also dying. And without my knowledge, you cannot save her. It seems we are both desperate in our own ways."
She was close enough now that I could smell her—an impossible scent like ozone and old books and something alien I couldn't name. I stood my ground, refusing to back away.
"Here's my counter-offer," I said, keeping my voice steady. "You provide the knowledge to cure my mother—all of it, not just the first part. You help me develop my abilities. But you only get control when I explicitly grant it, and I can take it back at any time."
Minerva's lips curved into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "You ask much for someone offering so little in return."
"I'm offering the only thing you need—a compatible vessel. Without me, you fade away. Game over."
She reached out, her fingers hovering just above my cheek without touching. "And what of my siblings? The threat to your world? Do you believe me about that, at least?"
I hesitated. The truth was, I didn't know what to believe. But the Cathedral gate had been real enough, and whatever the Choir was, it hadn't felt like anything natural to our world.
"Let's say I'm open to the possibility," I conceded. "But saving the world isn't exactly on my priority list right now. Saving my mother is."
Minerva's hand dropped, and she stepped back, considering me. "Very well. A compromise, then. I will provide the complete knowledge for your mother's cure. I will enhance your abilities and guide your development. In return, you will grant me control in three specific circumstances: when we face my siblings' servants, when we encounter gates they have influenced, and when your life is in immediate danger that you cannot overcome alone."
I narrowed my eyes. "That last one's too vague. You could claim I'm in danger anytime you want control."
"Then you may retain veto power," she added smoothly. "Even in those circumstances, you may deny me if you choose. Though I warn you—doing so may prove fatal."
The floor pulsed beneath us, the veins glowing brighter as I considered her offer. It was better than I'd expected, which made me suspicious.
"And what about your endgame?" I asked. "After we deal with your siblings—assuming that's even real—what happens to me? Do you just... leave?"
Something flickered across her face—so quick I almost missed it. Uncertainty? Regret? It was gone before I could identify it.
"If that is what you wish," she said carefully. "Though by then, I suspect our partnership will have evolved beyond such simple terms."
Her tone had shifted, becoming almost intimate. She moved closer again, and this time I did step back.
"Don't try to seduce me," I said flatly. "I'm not that easy to manipulate."
Minerva laughed, genuine amusement lighting her strange eyes. "You flatter yourself, Pierre Hayes. I am a Sovereign, not some desperate entity resorting to base tactics."
"Says the desperate entity who needs my body to survive."
Her amusement vanished. "Watch your tongue. I may need you, but that doesn't mean I will tolerate disrespect."
The chamber darkened slightly, shadows gathering around her form. For an instant, I glimpsed something else behind her human appearance—something with too many limbs and eyes that burned like distant stars.
I swallowed hard but held my ground. "Same goes for me. This is my mind, my body. You're the guest here, not the owner."
The shadows receded, and Minerva's form solidified once more. She studied me for a long moment, then inclined her head slightly.
"Your terms are... acceptable," she said finally. "For now. But understand this, Pierre—the threat my siblings pose is very real. And when the time comes that you face them, you will be grateful for my presence."
"Maybe," I conceded. "Or maybe I'll find another way. I'm good at that."
"Indeed you are." She extended her hand, palm up. "Do we have an agreement?"
I stared at her hand, hesitating. Every instinct told me this was a bad idea, that I was making a deal with something I couldn't possibly understand. But then I thought of my mother, wasting away in that hospital bed, and of the impossible cost of the treatments she needed.
"One last condition," I said. "The knowledge for my mother's cure—I want it now. All of it. Before I agree to anything else."
Minerva's eyes narrowed, but she nodded. "Very well."
She closed the distance between us and, before I could react, pressed her palm against my forehead. A flood of information cascaded into my mind—complex crystal structures, precise formulation procedures, application methods—everything I needed to create the three-stage treatment my mother required.
I staggered back, gasping at the intensity of it. "Jesus!"
"Is it sufficient?" she asked, watching me closely.
I sorted through the knowledge, examining it from every angle. It was comprehensive, detailed, and most importantly, it made sense. The treatment would work. I was certain of it.
"Yes," I said, straightening. "It's enough."
I extended my hand. Minerva took it, her skin cool and strangely textured against mine. The moment our hands touched, the orange-magenta veins in the floor surged with light, racing up the walls and across the ceiling in a web of luminescence.
"Then we have an agreement, Pierre Hayes," she said, her voice resonating through the chamber. "May it prove beneficial to us both."
"Just remember," I said, meeting her alien gaze, "this is a partnership. Not a possession."
Minerva's smile was ancient and knowing. "Of course. Partners."
She released my hand, and the chamber began to fade around us, the obsidian walls turning transparent, then misty.
"I will be with you when you need me," her voice echoed as everything dissolved. "And sometimes, when you don't."
I opened my eyes to find myself back on my secondhand sofa, staring at the water stain on my ceiling. Outside, Neo-Atlanta continued its restless night, unaware that one of its insignificant residents had just made a pact with something from beyond the gates.
"Partners," I whispered to the empty apartment.
In the back of my mind, I felt Minerva's silent acknowledgment.